TERRA INCOGNITA
A Tale of Two Synchronicities (Chapter II: Absinthe)
But I can’t die, not now. Not anytime soon. The fate of the universe hinges on my continued survival.
CHAPTER II: ABSINTHE
WILLIAM BLUE
Sky is getting dim.
It’s almost time for my shift.
The black low poly mask is in my right hand. Its features are humanoid enough to evoke feelings of familiarity, but where there should be skin there is black metal, artificial like the Techs.
They, the fully bionic people, have well-defined purposes. They know who they are, and why they were made. I envy them for that.
It’s a never-ending cycle, drowning in my Shadow, getting consumed by it, becoming it. And when I finally re-emerge to the surface, from behind the mask, I regain my sense of humanity — at least until my next shift.
The cycle persists.
The numbness fades, and my Ego cascades back into full awareness — and I can feel again, and it’s beautiful.
Or maybe it’s the Green Zenith I vaped a minute ago.
This bliss is to die for. I live every second anticipating the next hit. I would give it all up to feel this feeling for endless eternities.
But I can’t die, not now. Not anytime soon.
The fate of the universe hinges on my continued survival.
The Underground is bustling with life.
As usual, I feel a subtle chill in my bones as I approach the cemetery.
Time to pay attention…
26:59
3 hours till midnight, and the beginning of a new Sky cycle. Then it’s time for work. But right now, it’s time for my Sunday Séance.
My Walkman is clipped to my belt loop, right atop my Desert Eagle. I tune the radio dial to a dead frequency. In my contact lens interface, I activate Aurum Intelligence.
> @AurumIntelligence this is William Blue.
> HELLO, WILLIAM BLUE.
THIS IS AURUM INTELLIGENCE.
HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?> Can you translate this white noise?
> SURE CAN!
PROCESSING…
TRANSLATING…> Agent Blue Sky, are you there?
“Hello,” I say. “I’m here. Please identify yourselves.”
> We are ghosts. We are lost and wandering souls who died without a purpose, without a direction, without the slightest notion of what comes after death.
> We decided to hang onto the trees before Sky could take us away from this world we have become so attached to.
> We don’t want to leave this place.
> We are afraid of what comes after this.
“Friends,” I say. “Don’t be afraid. It’s beautiful here. I’m sure it’s beautiful there too.”
> Where?
“Couldn’t tell you.”
> Does it matter?
> Who’s this handsome son of a mortal?
“None of it matters,” I say. “Listen, you are all so much more than this. You are energy! Energy is everywhere! Energy is everything!”
> What’s everything?
“Energy does not die,” I recite. “But transforms and transmutes, just like you. This happens all the time! It happens when you eat. It’s a natural process that scientists like to call digestion.”
> We don’t know anything. Not anymore…
“Some energies are conscious energies. Not all energies, but some energies. Like yourselves. It’s in food. It’s in water. It’s in the air we breathe. It’s in the drugs we take. It’s in the people we see, meet, date, fuck, or make love to. It’s in the 3D meat vessel buried next to you. It’s in you.”
> It’s in all of us…
Pause for effect…
“Infinity is in every moment,” I assert. “And we are all Absolute Infinity.”
> We are all Absolute Infinity…
“Amen,” I say. “If you can hear me, you’re probably dead.”
> OH FUCK!
> I knew it!
“This is perfectly alright,” I say. “You might even find it’s no better or worse than being alive.”
> Well, which one is it?
> Quit yapping! Let him talk!
> I miss being alive…
“Believe me,” I say. “You shouldn’t. Being alive sucks, and everything hurts.”
> Easy for you to say. You ever been dead?
“Sure have.”
> Lies!
> Dead man walking.
“You might be right.”
> Well, if being alive sucks so bad, why are you alive?
> Yeah! When you could be dead like us!
“Listen,” I say. “Everything is happening, and it’s all happening Now. No need to get your innards in a bunch.”
> Wait, what’s happening?
“Everything!” I say. “Time is a vinyl record playing on loop, and we, like, live these lives over and over and over — presumably till we get it right — but, like, when we’re alive, we really just — FUCK! These flies are all over the place!”
> Ha! He almost swallowed a fly! Y’all see that?
For fuck’s sake…
> Who got some bug spray in this beach?
This human man is trying to give a damn speech!
> Beach? Is that a figure of speech?
“I mean…”
> He’s referring to the phenomenon that is Life!
> 42? Or is it 39?
> I don’t know. It’s different between parallel universes.
“Hey!” I say. “Can y’all pipe down for a second? I — ”
> Why does it seem like everyone is losing their minds?
> This is all happening because the internet, bro!
“Exactly! See, Earth goes through these firmware upgrades. All the freaking time! Swaths of the population wiped out by some natural disaster? Error! It’s all part of the plan!”
> He’s right! This is the first run-through of the Earth simulation where we can do shit like this! Like, translating electronic voice phenomena into text! Miracle!
I let them babble on. It’s not often the living come to listen to the ramblings of the dead, much less engage.
> Last I heard, the previous version of Earth didn’t even make it past 2027!
“Wait… what?”
> Legend has it, that in the last Samsaric run, some knucklehead spilled a Venti Starbucks Nitro Cold Brew in the mainframe of Source and essentially just broke reality until the end of time, until the next run-through.
> Right!
> Source went into a coma shortly after, and none of the Variable Frequency Drivers could reprogram reality back to functionality — what with the mainframe completely juiced with caffeine!
> Source was in its own little dream world.
> Actually, legend has it, Source woke up in the year 1969 and kept possessing random people, and telling everyone in sight to call him… Jerry?
> Can confirm! That’s canon as fuck.
“Okay,” I say. “I don’t have all night. Any more questions?”
>> Hello, William Blue… sorry for the flood.
“Oh… hello there.”
>> Thank you for visiting and listening to us ramble like the mindless ghosts we are. You are a kind and empathetic Earthling. Most humans don’t care.
“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you seem to be of a different electrospiritual frequency than the rest. Please identify yourself.”
>> I am a nameless, formless ghost. You can call me whatever you like. I could be a faerie! Or an angel! Or, perhaps, your favourite djinn.
“Hmm…”
>> Maybe I could make a wish come true — one or two. I’ll be your genie, William Blue.
“I wish for you to have a name,” I utter. “I wish for your soul to find peace.”
>> In heaven, everything is fine.
On Earth, everything is on fire.
“Excuse me?” I say. “Wait, was that an… Eraserhead reference?”
>> Sorry… I was having a flashback, possibly of a past life.
“What can I call you?”
>> Just call me Cherry.
> Nice name! Can I be Berry?
> Shush, you!
“It’s okay, Cherry. Let go of these memories for now. You deserve to be free of all your Earthly attachments. I wish I could do more, but these words are all I offer.”
>> You are more than enough, William Blue.
My watch’s alarm beeps thrice.
“That’s it for me,” I announce. “I have to be someone else now.”
>> I feel so acknowledged by you, William…
“Thank you, Cherry,” I say. “I hope we meet again... under different circumstances.”
>> We will.
I switch off the Walkman as I exit the cemetery and make my way to the new ‘underwater music venue’ in the Underground called The Ocean Room.
Work starts in an hour. I still have time to numb myself. I’ve wanted to check out The Ocean Room ever since Grenadine told me about it. Not sure how long ago that was. Talking to ghosts tends to make my memory foggy. Or maybe it’s the Green Zenith I vaped earlier.
My left eardrum pings. A notification appears in my contact lenses, asking if I’d like to replay the memory of Grenadine talking about The Ocean Room. I wave it away.
Doesn’t matter…
How inconvenient it is to be smack-dab in the middle of two species: human and Tech.
Cyborg.
I despise that word — probably as much as Techs despise the word ‘robot.’
At least, I can still pass as fully human.
My heart is organic, and that’s all that matters. I bleed the same red as the rest of humanity — and so that’s where my allegiance flows.
Blood has a blue pigment under the skin. I believe it, even though I’ve never seen it.
Somewhere between organic and bionic.
Posthuman.
Yesterday, I was sitting next to an auburn-haired woman on the bus. She was twirling her hair around with her index finger and kept glancing at me.
“The pipelines are Wiki-leaking,” she whispered. “The time for breakfast is now.”
“It’s nineteen o’clock,” I replied. “Most people eat dinner at this hour.”
“Is that so?”
“And you are?”
“Denise,” she replied, beaming a wide grin. “Denise Rouge.”
“You are… curious.”
“The curiosity is mutual.”
“William Blue,” I said, raising my knuckles for an introductory fist bump.
“Hmm…” Her eyes darted around the bus — at the other passengers — meeting my eyes briefly before zoning in on my fist again. She licked her lips, then leaned over and planted a wet kiss on my fist. “Stay alive, future-tense.”
“What?”
She stood up and began walking to the front of the bus, disappearing into a fractal spiral that materialized out of the ether before dissipating.
I didn’t even get a chance to ask for her QR code.
It was probably a dream. Likely never happened. Not in reality. I must’ve been micro-sleeping.
Yeah… totally a dream.
Totally.
I should probably stop flooding my brain with psychoactives while sleep-deprived.
I press my left palm against my right wrist for ten seconds, remove it, and then look at the now visible QR code on my skin. The ink is stationary and matches the configuration in my memory.
I perform more reality checks to ground myself. I plug my nose and inhale. No air comes through.
I count the fingers on both hands: five each, ten in total.
I check the watch on my left wrist:
27:39
I close my eyes and count to ten, then open them again:
27:40
“It’s beautiful here.”
“Welcome to The Ocean Room, comrade!” the bartender says. “What can I get ya?”
“Ah,” I say. “I’ll have a double-shot of absinthe, neater than your outfit, good sir.”
“Neat?” he says, skeptical. “You dark agents got iron throats or what?”
“Nah,” I say. “Just wanted to pay a compliment is all. Do your thing. Just don’t burn the place down.”
“Absinthe ‘neat,’” he says, pointing finger guns at me. “Coming right up for the dark agent with the dark waves. Of all the venues, this is the least likely to burn down.”
We share a laugh. He places an empty rock glass onto the bar, then a miniature silver spoon atop of its brim, housing a giant sugar cube. He reaches into his red velvet blazer for a Zippo torch lighter and sparks it. The sugar cube, once white, lights up and melts into a caramel-like syrup, dripping slowly into the neon green liquid. Bit by bit by bit.
“The communal drink of the dark agents,” he says. “You drink this during initiation, right?”
“Mhm,” I respond. “Weird ritual shit. Wanna trade jobs?”
“I’m good, man.”
My left ear pings with a message alert. I open the message on my augmented reality contact lenses.
> AGENT BLUE SKY, THIS IS AURUM INTELLIGENCE.
> What’s up?
> BARTENDER IS SUSPICIOUS.
> How so?
> WHAT IS HIS NAME?
“What’s your name?”
“Oh…” the bartender says, face expressionless, disposition flat. It’s hard to tell if he’s a posthuman or pure. Might be either or. I doubt he’s a Tech. “Good question.”
A string of text appears in my contact lenses.
Name: Jericho Blue
Species: Human
Age: 44
Residence: Golden Oaks Hotel, Floor 39, Suite [NULL].
“Jericho,” he says, offering his fist. “Jericho Blue.”
What the fuck…
I scan his face for micro-expressions. Nothing. He must be a killer Poker player.
“William,” I respond, meeting his fist, completing the social ritual — like a normal person. “William Blue.”
His eyes narrow for a split second. He smiles.
“No kidding!” he says, pleasantly surprised. “A fellow Blue! Pleasure to meet you, William. Are we related?”
“I —” I reach for my mask on top of the bar, refraining from the impulse to put it back over my face. “I — I don’t think we are. We’re not even the same kind of Asian, anyway.”
“Japanese,” he says, with a polite bow and another forced smile. “Japanese-American.”
“Filipino,” I say. “Let’s cut the bullshit. Who are you, really?”
“Jericho Blue.”
Bullshit.
I glance up at the ‘ceiling’ to clear my mind before I say something reckless and impulsive.
The ceiling is made of glass, and above it is a cyan-tinged infinity pool. Countless swimmers, many of whom are fully nude, swim and tread water above.
The glass seems like it could break at any moment, holding all that weight. Maybe it’s bulletproof? If not, I could bring the whole house down at any moment. Right on top of this clown’s head.
Killing this bartender here and now won’t give me any answers, nor would it bring me peace of mind.
> @AurumIntelligence you’re right. This man is not who he says he is. What info can you give me right now? I don’t have time to grill this sushi roll. I have to start work soon.
> AGENT BLUE SKY, THIS MAN HAS NO RELATION TO YOUR FATHER.
HE MAY BE THE OUTSIDER YOUR FATHER FORETOLD WHEN YOU WERE YOUNGER. DO YOU STILL BELIEVE IN PROPHECY?> My father was blind. I doubt he could see the future any more than he could see how much my mother and I needed him to stay alive. I believe in prophecy as much as I believe in destiny. Not in the slightest.
The bartender’s neutral expression contorts into the smile of a slimy car salesman. I see right through you, Mr. Roboto.
“Alright,” he says. “Cut the bullshit? Let’s cut it neat then. I’ve been wondering when our paths would cross, William Blue.”
“Oh yeah?” I say. “You know me from my Gram or something?”
“I do,” he says. “I’m a fan. @williambluemusic hasn’t posted in well over a year. What happened?”
“I’ve been focused on other things,” I shrug.
“When’s the next song dropping? Or album? Or EP?”
“I’m — I’m not working on music right now.”
“Pity,” he says, opening a fridge underneath the bar and pulling out a Dr. Pepper. He opens the can and takes a swig.
“Dr. Pepper, huh?”
“The one and only.”
“The heck do they put in those things?”
“Some things are better left unknown.”
“Who are you? You’re using a name that doesn’t belong to you.”
“It’s a small world in here. Aurum City. Some of us are bound to have the same names.”
“Not that one,” I say, sipping my absinthe, twirling the glass in my palm, my other hand fidgeting with my dark agent mask. “Do you have any clue at all about the man whose name you’re using?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Stop dodging. Who do you work for?”
“The Ocean Room.”
“Who do you work for?” I repeat in a more aggressive tone. “You should be scared shitless playing mind games with a dark agent.”
“I work for Landon Burgundy and Jade Emerald,” he says. “I’m a bartender.”
“Do you work for Mr. Black? Is this a test?”
“No,” he says. “You work for Mr. Black. I have no affiliation. I heard he eats test-tube babies like you for breakfast.”
Oh, wonderful… another conspiracy nut who believes Mr. Black is a cannibal-pedophile. I would leave this conversation, assuming I was talking to another strung-out loon from the Underground — but I know better. This asshole lives in a fancy hotel above ground.
“Don’t talk about the mayor like that,” I say.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” he taunts. “Arrest me? Execute me? I heard you all have a license to kill freely. Bunch of psychopathic 007 wannabes.”
“More Judge Dredd than 007,” I say. “But that’s neither here nor there. Quit fucking around.”
“You first.”
“Golden Oaks Hotel,” I say. “Floor 39. That’s your residence, correct?”
He raises his eyebrows , but says nothing. There we go. A crack in the resting poker face appears! He licks his lips as if to spit a clever retort, but nada is all I hear.
“Your silence speaks volumes.”
“Maybe,” he says, after the gap of silence. “You gonna pay me a visit?”
“No,” I say, downing the rest of the absinthe. I gag slightly — hopefully not loud enough for him to hear. “Why would I?”
“You tell me.”
“Y’know…” I don the black, low poly mask once more, then hover my palm over the holster under my Walkman. “…I could just kill you now.”
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t reach for that.”
“My Walkman? You suggested I either arrest or execute you. I’m torn. I mean, I could just let you walk, man.”
“Really?” he responds. “That’s — that’s the line you chose to go with?”
I shrug. “Unlike this gun, they can’t all be bangers.”
“Look,” he says, glancing at the nearest surveillance sphere behind us. “Violence is uncalled for. Not when we can talk to each other like grown men. You are a grown man, right?”
“Hey,” I say. “Your employers aren’t going to protect you. Not from me. You haven’t been an Aurumite for very long, have you?”
“The time for breakfast is now.”
“What did you say?”
“Does that mean anything to you?”
“It’s nonsense,” I say, index finger sliding up the holster towards my Desert Eagle. I flip the switch on the side of the barrel from EXECUTE to PARALYZE. “That some kind of meme going around? What does it mean?”
“I was hoping you’d enlighten me.”
“Okay, Jericho,” I say, rising from the bar stool. “I’m now operating as a dark agent. In the interest of upholding the Default State, I’ll ask you one more time: who are you and what is your business here?”
“I’m a victim of a series of poor decisions and even poorer timing. Is this off the record?”
“That surveillance sphere is too far to pick up on our conversation. But me? I’ll remember this.”
“Two-way street,” he says as if to UNO reverse card my intimidation tactics. “I’m not your enemy.”
“Then what are you? Because you’re not Jericho Blue. You picked the worst possible dark agent to use that phony-ass name with.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I’m not Jericho Blue. But I know Jericho Blue. He’s the reason I’m here. And… it seems he’s the reason you’re here too.”
I look down — almost reflexively — breaking eye contact as my heart sinks into its own bloody blue infinity pool.
Goddamn it. Pull yourself together.
“Jericho…” he starts, angling his head as if to see underneath the slits of the mask. “…is your father, isn’t he?”
“He’s dead,” I mutter. “I’m not here to play games.”
“Nor am I.”
“You’re a tourist,” I say. “From the Outside.”
His brown eyes gaze at me through the slits of my mask.
“Your silence speaks volumes,” I say.
“I didn’t choose this.”
My watch alarm beeps thrice:
28:30
“Duty calls,” I sigh. “Tell you what, show me your QR code. Your illegal alien status will be kept secret so long as you tell me what you know.”
“Sounds good.”
“What should I call you?”
He lifts two fingers to his right temple and salutes, forcing a smile again. “Call me Parker. Thank you for not executing me in front of all these lovely patrons.”
He palms his right wrist for ten seconds, then, with his QR code exposed, extends his arm over the bar.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I say, focusing on the QR code on his wrist and blinking three times.
> QR CODE HAS BEEN SAVED.
“I’ll be in touch,” I say. “Expect a call or text in the next day or so.”
“You like Japanese food?”
“Of course.”
“Tokyoville Lounge. Tomorrow night at 27:00. Come alone. No tricks. No games.”
“Good night, Parker.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Stay alive. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Terra Incognita is the upcoming debut novel by Canadian writer Jonah Angeles.
The story centers around special agent Parker Shiro, who is tasked with the undercover investigation of Aurum City, an isolated “smart city” located in the Californian desert — blocked off from the world by four gold walls and an artificial sky.
When an extraction mission goes wrong, Parker must find his own way back to the outside world, all while navigating an uprising that threatens to swallow the city up whole.
〽️〽️〽️
Book I: A Tale of Two Synchronicities will be released serially, for free, starting in 2024.
The novel’s soundtrack is available to stream on Spotify.
Follow me on my main Instagram page @channelsurfcinema or my musician page @williambluemusic where I share the music I’ve made in character as William Blue (my self-insert).
