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It was a terrible pour outside. Rain battered everything with tiny whips of disapproval. Ren never much liked the rain, even if he could appreciate its necessity to the inherent function of life.
His ratty old apartment didn’t help either. The shutters had a screw or two loose, and made the fact known with intermittent slams he couldn’t help jumping at every time. The window glass, Ren swore, shook. If he didn’t know better, he would say it might burst at any moment, like an aquarium tank too pressurized.
As it is, he had no money to move out of this place that probably violated several building codes. The last of his savings were about to dry up, and in this economy, new jobs felt like a once-in-a-lifetime discovery.
So did new friends. Even his dog–she had died a year ago. Ren was still too torn up to get another.
There were several job applications still pending. No high hopes, but–Ren sighs, and sunk his head deeper into the pillows. Nothing much. He didn’t have much. Nothing much.
Maybe he should have laid off on the beer last night. But if he was about to be homeless anyway, and the little money left was nowhere enough to cover rent–well. Why just be miserable, when he could be miserable and drunk?
His phone buzzed. It was a sharp jab in the soft sea of yarn that was his sweater. He fished it out blearily, still rubbing his eyes. The number on the harsh white screen was listed as untraceable.
He answered.
“This is Rendog speaking,” he says, with the tone of a robot programmed to be unnaturally friendly. “How may I help you?”
Curse his retail experience. He rubs more grit from his eyes, and hopes he doesn’t sound too hungover.
“Hello! My name is Evil Xisuma, representative from ConCorp. Your job application has been reviewed, and I’m calling to schedule an appointment for–”
“I got accepted?” Ren blurted out, too fast. He nearly dropped his phone at the abrupt stab of dismay.
Stupid, stupid! It’s just a call–they’re definitely not going to accept now–he’s missed his one chance–
“Er–yeah?” Now even this “Evil Xisuma” sounded a little confused. “Um… you’ve been vetted as a… it says here, ‘desirable candidate’.” A slight huff from the phone. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Err–wasn’t planning to?” Ren steadied his head against his hand, a brace for an oncoming wave of dizziness. He tried to focus on the singular voice, slightly static.
“Right, right. Anyway, what time would work best for an interview? It’ll be at the ConCorp headquarters in this city, Room 124. I’m sure you know where that is.”
“Um… anytime, really.” Ren stifled a morose chuckle. “I don’t got much goin’ on, to be honest…”
“Does… uh… how about tomorrow? At noon?”
That meant he needed to be out and walking by eleven at the latest.
“Sure,” Ren said.
—
He met Evil Xisuma in person in that room. The man wore what looked to be a full-on spacesuit. A helmet obscured their entire face.
“Don’t mind the look,” Evil Xisuma said, when Ren stared a little too long. “We’ll be great friends if you don’t ask questions, Rendog.”
“Right, right,” Ren said. He took a seat across from the polished desk, which looked to be more like a slab of clear-cut iron than anything resembling office décor. Glazed blue streaks rimmed its edges.
“Just be aware there are always–” Evil Xisuma broke off with a painful-sounding cough.
“Are you okay?” Ren blinked, alarmed. The room smelled faintly sweet, like springtime pollen, though there were no windows at all. Maybe something got swept in the ventilation system?
Evil Xisuma waved a hand. The scratchy noises slowly died down. “I’m fine. What do you think the helmet’s for?”
Ren refrained from asking the obvious question. He also refrained from pointing out that the helmet didn’t seem to help much.
“Anyway,” Evil Xisuma continued, much slower. His voice had taken on a guarded, almost leashed reluctance to it. “Every job has some risks to it. Mine is office boredom. You’re going to be…” his eyes squinted at something on the open laptop, looked about to say something, and then seemed to change his mind. “It’s a variety of things,” he said instead, tone flat.
“Right,” Ren said slowly. At this point, he would take a job that required him to battle wither skeletons in the Nether. Beats a slow death from starvation and exposure.
The employment contract whipped out was the standard fare. A dozen pages, dense with legal language Ren would need either a doctorate’s degree, or two days and wifi access to figure out.
He skimmed the text as fast as he could. There were a few things he took notice of–he would work in “Area 77”, he would live by the facilities in provided dorms, vacation days had to be approved of by the director, he would obey orders given by superiors–all standard fare.
At the bottom, in the “Director’s signature” line, was a stylized blue “BTWS”. It almost seemed to glow in the small, dim room. Ren took the offered pen–with a similar blue color–and signed “Rendog” on the other line.
Evil Xisuma snatched the contract away as soon as it was done.
“Welcome to ConCorp,” he said, and though there was nothing visible behind the reflective black helmet, Ren had the distinct and crawling feeling that the man wasn’t meeting his eyes.
—
Area 77 was thankfully just a few hours away by bus, the fare for which Ren spent the last last of his money on. According to the small pamphlet he was handed, it specialized in “behavioral research”.
Not that it would matter to him. He’s pretty sure he’d be sweeping floors and taking out dumpsters full of frog carcasses, or something equally disgusting.
What did catch his eye was the site director’s name–”Scar”. Presumably, this was the Scar who had signed the “BTWS” on the contract form. It was also, apparently, the Scar that owned a majority share in the wider ConCorp company. Area 77, the massive, sprawling complex it was, also housed a mansion in which the man resided.
Rich people with mansions often built them out on hilltops, or at least a good ways away from the grime of the rest of civilization, right? Ren’s eyes flitted with the passing scenery–the trees did seem to grow larger, more alive, as the bus neared the facility. The roads became more littered with bumps, channeled grooves, roots that disrupted everything from below. The bus driver swerved on more than one occasion, nearly knocking Ren off his feet.
He would almost say that, when the sunlight dipped just below the canopy and shadows reached into the spaces between, the trees were unnaturally grotesque. As though they might be trying to eat the roads, the bus, and everyone within them alive.
As twilight fell, fireflies began their swirling dance. Their luminescent bodies flashed a mesmerizing blue.
—
The building grew around him, tall and luminous, reaching forth to pull him into its embrace.
“Oh, hello! You must be Ren. My name is GoodTimesWithScar, director of Area 77 and CEO of ConCorp. But just call me Scar, alright? We’re all pals here.”
The introduction slammed Ren like a hammer.
What was one of the richest and most powerful men in the world doing, introducing himself to Ren of all people? Shouldn’t he be puttering away at the private golf course on the other side of the complex? Why was he smiling so much? Why are his eyes so blue–
“What’s the matter?” Scar teased lightly. He bopped Ren on the nose with one ice-cold finger, still grinning. “Cat got your tongue?”
Ren managed another few seconds of disbelieving splutter, before pulling himself together enough to answer, “I–nice to meet you?”
Scar’s grin somehow grew even wider. “Most wonderful to meet you too, Ren!”
“You can–I’m Rendog, mostly–”
“Oh, but can’t friends call each other something better? The dog part sounds almost offensive, dear Ren. Let’s not worry ourselves with such things.” Scar laughed, again. It sounded like static in Ren’s ears. He felt, distinctly, like he was getting another hangover.
There were several employees around them. They pushed carts, worked at desks, did other… tasks. None of them were looking at this exchange. They were two people in the midst of a lonely and impenetrable fog, an obscuration, everything flying gone…
“...so let’s…”
Someone was leading Ren along. Their chatter clashed terribly in his ears. He stumbled after them, arm gripped by theirs like a leash, pulled along.
Scar, right. Scar was leading him along.
—
.
.
.
—
“So how was the first month?”
Ren startled, nearly knocking over his drink. Evil Xisuma had somehow slid into the seat next to him without sound, and was now signaling the waiter for another drink.
“It’s been pretty boring, actually,” Ren said. He watched in mild fascination as Evil Xisuma downed his entire glass in one go, just in time for the refill to arrive.
“That’s great,” Evil Xisuma said. “Scar must be busy. Most people don’t have that long.” A pause. “What’s he making you do?”
“Roll wires,” Ren said. He arched his back a bit, smoothing out some muscle tension, and then took another sip of the bourbon. “Literally, there’s a room where a bunch of the facility’s wires all run through. They’re insulated by this green… rubbery thing? I’m not sure. It’s kind of soft. Scar just told me to roll the wires into balls and set them in the corner so none of the electricians step on them.”
“And have you seen these electricians?” Evil Xisuma asked.
“One or two. Impulse was his name, I think… one of the names. Impulse and Tango?” Ren frowned. His memory was a little hazy about that introduction, which hasn’t been rare in the past few weeks.
“Ah,” Evil Xisuma said. “The lucky ones.”
“What?”
“Call me Evil X,” Evil X said, ignoring Ren’s question. “I know we’ve met two times, but you’re already the person I’ve talked to most in the past year. It’s not often a ConCorp employee goes drinking in town.”
Before Ren can ask what he meant, Evil X has already disappeared again.
“Huh,” Ren said. Something in his chest tugged–towards the facility, and the boarding rooms nearby, and his roommate, Bdubs, who’s probably singing something terrible in the shower right now. He finished his drink, quickly, and slipped out the door for the long walk back.
—
Bdubs’ job was something which, as far as Ren could tell, didn’t contribute anything to Area 77’s “studies”.
He carved wood. Had his own “office” for it, too, though Ren was more inclined to call it an indoor courtyard.
He literally sat on the branches of a tree, growing from the middle of a large atrium that served as a hub connecting several hallways together. The middle, around the tree, was a ring of lush grass, thorny bushes, and flowers smelling so strongly of sweet pollen Ren had actually considered filing a complaint several times. He’s nearly fainted from dizziness in their proximity.
The branches of the tree twisted around Bdubs as he sat there, wood block in one hand, a knife that never seemed to dull in another. He looked to be in quite the disheveled state. He hadn’t gone back to their room at the occupational dorms last night.
“Hey B, my man!” Ren called as he neared the giant, twisting jungle tree. “You doin’ okay?”
Bdubs, quite suddenly, teared up. Then he dropped the wood, and the knife. They landed with soft thuds onto the flowers below. Tears quitely followed, like mourning rain.
“Um–B? Bdubs?” Now Ren was trapped, awkward, feel small and helpless as he watched Bdubs cry even harder. Did the walls always feel so close? Was the sunlight through the glass always so faint and dying?
“I–I’m good, Rendog,” Bdubs insisted through the tears. “I’m so good. The bestest I can be, that’s–that’s me. Bdubs. Mossman, professional–an artist.”
“That’s right.” A creamy voice made Ren jump again. Scar stood, watching them both with serene green eyes.
“S-Scar! I didn’t see you there!” Bdubs gave a clearly forced laugh that made something in Ren twist with anger. “I think, uh… sorry, just had a bit of a… uh–personal moment. Nothing much going on here, haha. Everything’s great! ”
“That’s wonderful to hear!” Scar purred. “You really are such an amazing artist, Bdubs, it would be a real shame if you had an actual problem with… all this.”
“None!” Bdubs laughed again, a wheezing scream of a noise, even as the tears still came down like rain, rain, rain . He struck the image of a near-madman, crazed with some grief none understood, and it drove Ren crazy too because they’re not the crazy ones–
“You’re absolutely essential to our whole operation.” Scar grinned. “You know that, Bdubs. Right?”
The grass began to sway. They grew longer. They wrapped around the wood block and the knife that carved it, lovingly, and grew upwards, proffered it up like an offering to the heavens. Bdubs accepted with shaking hands. Ren could just make out the shape of what Bdubs had been working on–a wolf of some kind?
No, a man with some kind of ears. Not wolf ears–Ren would know if they were–cat ears. Yes, that. The shape of the face was curved slightly into a snout, with lines for whiskers. The eyes were slitted like eyes of ender. The mouth, though–it bore the resemblance of a terrified scream in response to something only the mind of a human could conjure.
—
There were several things Wrong with GoodTimesWithScar.
He just… appeared. And talked, always with a tone like honey, like it could web and trap and drown anyone in a viscous embrace.
He took a strange and obsessively active interest in the employees of Area 77. Always hovering, chatting, wrapping himself around the contents of their minds…
His eyes were sometimes green and sometimes blue.
The way he talked.
He could manipulate plants. They all saw it. No one, including Ren, dared bring it up.
Massive parts of Area 77–several other buildings–were completely off limits. Ren tried to wander around a bit, once. Scar somehow found him by the fence and dragged him back, cheerfully jabbering about mushroom cultivation the entire time. Dinner was served that night as mushroom soup.
The jobs here were strange. Bdubs carved wood. Ren rolled wire-vines into balls. It’s been three months. The wires are also vines. He’s long stopped believing his job had any practical use. The balls of wire-vine were always messily scattered again every morning. Several other people seemed to have equally useless tasks. A few have disappeared over Ren’s tenure so far–”promoted”, apparently.
Ren heard the screams at night. They all did.
Scar always seemed extra satisfied the next morning, if they were extra loud. He also looked extra sated. Like he’d eaten a terrific three-course meal the night before.
Maybe it bothered Ren, that Scar didn’t even try to hide it. That should be the least of his worries.
GoodTimesWithScar wasn’t very good. He wasn’t good at all. In fact, Ren and several other people would agree that he’s actually quite Bad.
That night, several hours after Bdubs had cried and Scar had laughed, Bdubs didn’t come back to their shared room. Ren was given a notice that he wouldn’t be returning–that Bdubs had been “promoted”.
He also noticed, in the shower, that there were two furry nubs on the top of his head.
They were fluffy tan cat ears by the next morning.
—
Grian was a man with parrot wings and brilliant scarlet plumage that always seemed to grow a little more over his body each time Ren saw him, which wasn’t often. He flew an obstacle course in a glass room. There were several small wind turbines in there. He was, apparently, helping power Area 77.
The whole thing felt like a zoo exhibit, and Ren an unwilling spectator. Grian never looked happy about it. Scar, surprisingly, never looked happy around Grian either, which when Ren saw for the first time left him doing a jarred double take. Scar with a frown on his face felt even more fundamentally Wrong than Scar with that Cheshire grin.
—
The next day Ren woke up with fur on his chest and claws instead of nails. Rolling up wire-vine into balls was easier that day. Impulse came in, once, and gave a look of pity.
Ren felt himself almost hissing in response. He caught himself just in time.
—
It is with great sadness I must announce I will be—
I’m sorry to say I will be—
I must—
Due to certain circumstances I—-
I—
I—--q—u—-i—-------
—
He went to a different bar, once. Several hours from Area 77. Took another bus ride. Was dizzy the whole time. Drank until he passed out. Woke up back in his bed next morning with fur choking his mouth.
—
“Yes?” Scar asked.
I quit, Ren thought.
He opened his mouth and the only sound that came out was a hiss.
Scar’s grin grew wider.
—
There’s a note on his desk and it’s bright blue and glazed and cracked and did you know crazing comes from a mixture of cracking and glazing and it’s all irreversible-
There’s a right downpour outside and Ren hated it for more reasons than one and he didn’t remember the name of his dog.
I’m sorry.
—Bdubs
—
“Rough night?” Evil X asked.
Ren didn’t respond. He’s not sure he can. Something’s got his tongue, for sure, but it hadn’t taken away his ability to down fives glasses a night just yet. He took another sip with a swing of his tail and relished as the alcohol began battling out the fogginess in his brain.
“I wasn’t always Evil, you know,” Evil X said, heedless. “I know everybody wonders that. Weird name, Evil Xisuma, even around these parts. I was just X once. Part of X, anyways. Xisuma.”
A pause.
“Xisuma is dead now,” Evil X said, with a rush of giddiness. “They took him and made me out of him and killed the original. Isn’t that funny? Now I can’t leave and neither can you. I bet you’ve tried it.”
“Yeah.” Ren slumped over the counter, body hard as stone. “Yeah. Tried. I–I…”
“Q-U-I-T!” Evil X threw back his head, and laughed, and laughed some more, until they were dragged out of the bar by another annoyed customer, and at some point Ren joined in through the hazy spirals of his vision, and they laughed like mad cats through the night.
—
Ren never got a version of the employment contract, but thinking back, he doesn’t remember anything about how to quit the job.
—
Ren woke up one day and he’s a human-sized cat. He wished he was surprised.
—
The balls took two minutes to roll that day. Ren began prowling when he’s done. There’s so many doors–he’s seen behind most of them. Nothing interesting.
He left the research building and headed for the so-called “private grounds”. This time, he ran fast enough that Scar didn’t have time to get a word in.
—
“What– what is that?” the words wrenched out of Ren’s mouth, impossible by his anatomy.
There were two giant test tubes with people floating in the terrible blue liquid. It was true horror in the moment. It didn’t make any sense like fractal patterns. Wires curled into their bodies in spirals, burrowing beneath skin like worms, clumped on the outside like dangling balls of yarn.
Cub, the nameplate on one read. He looked like a normal human, though with the same dizzying aura Scar emitted. He hung like a hanged man. Doc, the other said. He was a humanoid plant grown wrong.
“I’m fixing them,” Scar snarled. “Sometimes that requires a little bit of Bad Times.” His eyes were twin blue slashes of fury in the utter darkness of the lab. Ren could see nearly as well. It was almost blinding.
“I’m fixing them,” Scar repeated, “and you’ve dared get in my way. ”
Everything was light. The wires moved. Everything was dim. They squeezed the air out of Ren as they constricted tight into a ball with him as the marbled center. Everything was dark.
—
“You know,” Grian said one day through the glass, long ago, when Ren felt nothing but hair on his head. “Bdubs used to be my roommate. He’s quite the artist. It’s like his sculptures come alive.”
That was followed by a grin of jagged teeth.
