The next three weeks were filled with denial, paranoia, and anticipation. Sam sat at his cubicle, staring at his computer screen. His mind was always on the hooded ones, the shells, and what it all meant. He wanted desperately to search the internet for answers, although based on how Aaron advised him to not alert anyone of him being real, he thought it would be best if there were no search history to track. The libraries were all he had.
A few blocks from work was the New York Public Library. He had been spending nights and weekends there, reading and researching anything that he thought would give him insights. At first, he didn’t know where to start. What was he even looking for? There wouldn’t be any books talking about freezing, shells, or real people. If anything, it would be old stories, perhaps religious? That is where he started.
After the first week, he had found nothing that hinted at what Aaron started to describe. If only he could search online. He wasn’t sure how to go about being anonymous on the internet. While Sam was proficient with the software needed for him to perform his role at his company, he was not comfortable beyond that. Searching for some tutorials of being anonymous online led him into a complexity of concepts. He didn’t trust himself to do it correctly. He would have to stick to the library.
In the next two weeks, he had come across old stories of doppelgängers and the Greek fascination with bio-techne, or life crafted through the art of science. Nothing was giving him any insights. Then it hit him as he was passing by the fiction section. Could shells write complex narratives? Aaron had said they were emulations of life. It couldn’t be that. Writers and artists would be easily identified with real if that was the case. Shells had to be able to write fiction as well.
He continued thinking about that for several days. If there were real writers, the safest place for them to hide the truth would be in fiction. Now the challenge was identifying the real from the shells. What were the tells? It wouldn’t be easy. They were hiding, yet risking discovery to guide people.
In the last week, he had read many authors, scanning for signs of someone real. His apartment became filled with stacks of papers, used highlighters, and Netflix continually playing in the background. Writers, filmmakers, musicians, somewhere in all of them were hidden truths. He was still working on mapping who was real and who was not, and he was hoping that Aaron would give him hints when they met.
It had to happen any day now. The last three weeks passed slower than at any time in Sam’s life. But soon, he would have answers. He just had to make it through work and hopefully into the freeze.
“Sam, I need to see you in my office,” beckoned Rick, his manager. Sam’s monitor had timed out during his deep rumination. How long was Rick standing over his shoulder?
“Now,” he demanded.
“Alright, coming,” responded Sam, emerging from his daze.
They walked to the end of the cubicles and into a windowless office. Rick motioned for him to shut the door behind him. Sam complied and sat in front of his desk.
“I wanted to check with you. You’ve seemed a bit,” Rick paused, “off, recently.”
Sam panicked internally. He was not expecting this. Honestly, he hadn’t been focusing on his work and had slacked in the last three weeks. The work was always finished on time, but he was sure his quality was down significantly.
“It’s been a rough few weeks for me,” he stalled, trying to think of a quick excuse.
“It’s coming to the end of the year, and it is about that time to do a review. I had high hopes for you, Sam, but your performance has been slipping. I can look past this and focus on your prior performance in my assessment, but you have to give me a reason to think this isn’t the new normal.”
Sam’s mind raced. He found one. “I’ve been on a new medication, and it’s been messing with my sleep. My doctor says that I’ll adjust after the first few weeks. I think I am coming around now. I can assure you, this is not the new normal for me.”
Rick stared at Sam, his eyes gazing straight through him. He didn’t buy it. He must know. The stare continued. Sam looked away, uncomfortable, and gazed at the clock behind Rick’s head. It had just hit 3pm. Rick’s face continued to remain expressionless with blank eyes. Was he frozen? Did the freeze start?
“Rick,” Sam said softly. Nothing.
“Rick!” He yelled. Still nothing.
Sam stood up and stepped to the side of the desk. Rick’s eyes continued to gaze into the wall where Sam was just sitting. It happened again, earlier than last time. He turned and walked out of the office and into the open area. The office was usually quiet and soulless, but right now, it was even more — dead. He turned to Karen’s desk. She had the same blank stare as Rick.
“Hello! Anyone there?!” He shouted. There was no response. He looked at his watch and set his timer for two hours and thirty minutes; half an hour to buffer a safe return. He rushed to his cube and unzipped his bag, grabbing the white coat. He turned and rushed to the elevator, down to the lobby, and out into a frozen world.
