TERRA INCOGNITA
A Tale of Two Synchronicities (Chapter III: Raid)
I want to see how human you are.
CHAPTER III: RAID
GRENADINE BLACK
“Zero Karma credits,” Damon says, brandishing the silver blade of his bolo knife under the colour-shifting lights. “How did that happen?” He glances at me over his shoulder as if fishing for some brilliant line of dialogue to play off of.
I stick my tongue out, though he can’t see it under my mask.
Go on, Damon. Don’t let me water down your Pulp Fiction moment.
“Don’t answer that,” Damon says, after my silence. “Karmic bankruptcy is moral bankruptcy. You and your husband must truly be monsters. What say you, Gren?”
“I’d bet all my Love on it,” I say.
“You and me both,” Damon says. Marcy stares wide-eyed up at Damon, splayed on a couch, paralyzed from the neck down. “Love makes people do unthinkable things.”
“What do either of you know about love?” Marcy says, finally, her lips quivering. “What do either of you know about sacrifice?”
“This is not about us,” Damon says. “What sacrifices are you willing to make tonight?”
“We’ve made all the sacrifices we’ve had to make,” Marcy says with conviction, right eyelid twitching. “Stop acting like you want to understand us.”
“Try us,” Damon says. “Your husband can’t save you now. Why not throw him to the wolves? Let’s make this easy.”
“Really?” Marcy asks. “You’re more naive than you seem.”
“Your lives are in our hands,” Damon says, holding the blade to her throat. “This is your invitation to plead. I want to see how human you are.”
“Silly little dark agent,” Marcy says. “Do you even know how human you are? Take my life while I still have dignity. There’s nothing else you can take from me.”
“I can think of a handful of things,” Damon says. “Your dignity doesn’t factor into the equation—nor do your fingers...”
> @AurumIntelligence this is Grenadine Black.
> HELLO, GRENADINE BLACK.
THIS IS AURUM INTELLIGENCE.
HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU?> You know what I want.
Run it back.> Name: Marcy Echo
Species: Human
Age: 55
Residence: Violet Lotus Hotel, Floor 47, Room [NULL]
[WANTED BY THE DEFAULT STATE]
[CODE: CRIMSON]
“Code Crimson,” I say, looking at the helpless Marcy. Damon nods. “You’ve got some skin in the red market?”
“Uh — ”
“Don’t answer. Your face says it all.”
Through the slits of his mask, Damon’s eyes soften — a subtle smize. He loves seeing this side of me — more than I like to show it.
“Correct,” Marcy says, her eyes downcast. “Mhm.”
“Index or no index?” Damon asks.
I raise a finger and bring it to my lips.
> @AurumIntelligence index:SOUL?
> AFFIRMATIVE.
> Both?
> ONLY ONE INDEX NECESSARY.
PARTNERS IN CRIME.
LIKE BONNIE AND CLYDE.
EITHER OR IS PERFECTLY FINE.
“Only one,” I say. “Bonnie and Clyde situation. Extract all the vidi files we need. I’ll check on William.”
“Copy,” Damon replies. “What’s taking so long?”
“Hopefully nothing beyond his control.”
WILLIAM BLUE
The Violet Lotus’ forty-seventh-floor reeks of candy booze, citrus vapours, and latent regret.
Robert gasps for air, running away — seemingly going nowhere. The hallway extends outward as I close the distance, barely speed-walking.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” I say. “Let me take you home, Robert.”
“Home?” Robert splutters — drunkenly tripping, stumbling over his own words and sagging pant legs. “The fuck are you on about?”
“Let me take you home,” I say, cranking the volume on my Walkman, Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew blasting through my Sennheisers dangling above my collarbones.
Robert hoists himself up, faces me, and starts walking backwards. “Listen, Marcy and I, we — we’re first gens. We came from the Outside. Let us go back. That’s home.”
“You remember your life outside?”
“Starting to.”
“That’s… that’s not an option,” I say. “It’s not my call to make.”
“Make a call,” he says.
“I have one job.”
“Let me talk to Mr. Black,” Robert says. “I-I promise, there’s a bigger picture here you’re not seeing.”
“Aurum Intelligence sees all,” I say. “And you and your wife are fresh out of Karma credits. Karmic bankruptcy is moral bankruptcy.”
“Mr. Black is shutting Pures out of the future,” he says. “But… you’re not a Pure, are you?”
I say nothing and check my watch.
29:13
“Are you human?” he asks. “What kind of heart beats under that ribcage, shadowfuck?”
“Shadowfuck?” I say. “That’s a new one. God forbid that catches on.”
He trips backward on his left pant leg, rolls onto his side, and crawls towards the elevator. The outline of the elevator — his only hope for salvation — emanates a mind-numbing purple glow.
You’re not a Pure, are you?
Does it matter what I am? I still think and feel. I’m here. I’m alive… I’m real.
“You know, belts are a good investment,” I remark, closing the distance. I slow my pace again, though I’m not one to milk a chase.
“Mindless drone,” he says. “You don’t even know who you serve!”
“I serve the Default State.”
“You haven’t the first clue, shadowfuck!”
Robert pulls up the back of his pants once more and extends his hand as if to signal me to stop. Heaving laboured breaths, he runs for the elevator. He trips again, his palms slapping the glittery laminate floor, followed by his sweaty mug.
“You could die with dignity, y’know,” I say. “This… this is pathetic.”
Then, after a blink, a time-lapse of a few seconds — quicker than I can roll my eyes — he’s back on his feet, running again. Then he trips, hopefully for the last time. I’ll make sure of it.
“Surrender.”
He begins to sob in Child’s Pose.
“Let’s go home,” I say. Once I reach him, he’s still face-planted and crying — just a few feet in front of the elevator. I remove my Desert Eagle from the holster, flip the switch to PARALYZE and aim right between his buttocks.
I pull the trigger.
“GAH!” he screams in response to the electric shock, his leg muscles spasming before settling. “For fuck’s sake!” He lets out a slow muffled groan. I loop my index and middle finger through the 6 o’clock belt loop right under his tailbone and pull. With his arms and legs limp, I drag him down the hallway back to the room. His skin and shoes skid and squeak against the floor as I pull.
I’m still mastering the art of indifference.
A door to one of the rooms swings open. A woman pokes her head out and sees me.
“Oh my God!” she says. “Mr. Echo, what did you do, you dirty geezer? Holy shit!”
“Go back inside, Ma’am” I instruct, gun in one hand, the other pulling the weight of Robert Echo. “Just a routine capture. Nothing to gawk at here.”
“Oh, mister,” she says. “You have no fucking clue.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Echos have had it coming,” she says. “Demented fucks.”
“Have a good night, ma’am,” I say.
She nods before retreating back into her hotel room.
“What are you gonna do to me?” Robert asks, straining his neck to look up at me.
“I’m going to take you home.”
“Outside?”
“You could call it that,” I say, as we reach their hotel room.
“Take me to Paris…” he says.
The door to the room opens, and Grenadine steps out.
“There you are,” she says. “We were wondering what was taking so long. You’re usually so much more… efficient.”
“Wasn’t that long, was it?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were milking the moment.”
“Not at all,” I say. “It’s been a weird night.”
“Oh yeah? What happened?”
“I checked out The Ocean Room, finally.”
“And?”
“Met a bartender pretending to be someone he’s not.”
“Hmm…” Grenadine says, pausing as if in thought. Robert groans on the floor, a single tear sliding down his cheek. “It’s the Underground, William. Folks always pretend.”
“He was using my dad’s name,” I say. “Aurum Intelligence pulled the credentials to match. I didn’t know what to make of it. Still don’t.”
“Ah,” she says. “We’ll figure it out. The three of us.”
“He might still be alive, Gren,” I say. “My dad. Maybe. At least, maybe.” I can’t see her full expression, but her eyes betray a look of concern.
“Stay focused, Billy Blue,” she says, laying her right hand on my shoulder. “Let’s finish the assignment first.”
“Let’s finish it then,” I say, “I’ll probably erase my memory of tonight so you’ll have to remind me after tomorrow or something.”
“It’s okay,” she says. “I’ll remember this part.”
Grenadine holds the door open as I haul Robert inside by the 3 o’clock belt loop. Following her lead, I take a quick peek at the shoe rack.
Timberlands, Nikes, Steve Maddens. A bunch of drab colours. One pair of heels, glittery gold. All worn out and creased to the nines. None of these would sell for a decent price.
Grenadine’s indifference to them seems to indicate she feels similarly.
Light strips on the corner edge of the wall flicker at first then turn on consecutively, lighting up the hallway leading into the hotel room like a narrow tunnel.
I take Robert by the shirt collar and drag him down the passageway. The black wall to my left ends abruptly; a purple staircase juts out from the adjacent wall. The wall on my right continues onto the living room, leading to a large glowing vidscreen that stretches to the far end of the hotel room.
“Over here,” Damon shouts, sitting beside Marcy on the couch. “Vidi-reel is ready to go.”
Grenadine stops, turns to me, and says, “I’ll take him from here. Go check the kitchen for some yummy loot.”
I nod, let go of the shirt collar and head over to the kitchen, a single waist-level room divider separating it from the living room. Damon watches as I reach the walk-in pantry, then springs off the couch to join me.
“William,” he says, removing his mask. “I caught a glimpse of Marcy’s vidi-reel during the indexing. They get their victims from Playgrounds. I — listen, I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see it.”
“Marcy?” I ask, perusing the shelves for cereals. Cheerios. Froot Loops. Special K. Love Crunch. “You like any of these?”
“Grenadine,” Damon says. “And nah… except for Love Crunch, but the rest? Basic breakfasts.”
“Eh,” I shrug, removing my mask, opening a Ziploc container of soda popcorn and downing a mouthful. “She’s seen everything under Sky.”
“I know, but —” he glances through the open door, ensuring Grenadine’s still out of earshot. “ — she’s been having these nightmares. Straight-up flashbacks. Of graduation night. Our last night at Playgrounds. Nightmare versions of what went down. Well, more nightmarish.”
“Hm,” I say, refraining from speaking with food in my mouth.
“She’s starting to doubt her own memories of what really happened, William. She deleted the vidi files of that night years ago.”
“Can you blame her?” I say. “Do you still have your memories of what happened that night?”
“I do. But it doesn’t matter. We weren’t there when Gordon and Levi were, y’know, trying to — ”
“Mhm,” I say, cutting him off, opening a mason jar filled with gummy bears and popping a few before offering him some. Damon takes the jar and pours a bunch into his mouth. “She was drugged up on Orange Bliss and Snowcrash. No way she remembers it clearly — not while Blisscrashed into another dimension entirely.”
“But…” Damon says, chewing as he sighs. “These nightmares? Vivid to the last detail, apparently. Even the aftertaste of vomit, the heartburn from the tequila shots we took earlier, the euphoria, the dissociation, the way they threw her onto the bed like laundry. She was barely conscious at that point.”
“Jesus Christ…”
“Every time these nightmares happen,” Damon says. “She said it’s like it was happening all over again. And again. And again. Imagine reliving the worst night of your life, but worse.”
“Do we still—” I say, sneaking a peek out the pantry. Grenadine’s sitting with Robert and Marcy on the couch, scrolling on her phone like a bored nanny. “ — intervene?”
“More or less,” Damon says, scanning the pantry shelves, grabbing a can of Pringles, inspecting it, and tossing it aside. “Everytime. We both show up eventually — but in some of these nightmares, we get there too late.”
“Okay,” I say, processing the information. “Okay… but, why has she been — ”
“No fucking clue,” Damon replies, cutting me off, thinking faster than the natural flow of conversation, as usual. “Without her vidi file of that night, those traumatic memories can be overwritten.”
“Has she been using again? Bliss? Snow? Haze?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” he says. “Doesn’t seem like it. Zenith, maybe.”
“Interesting,” I say, placing my mask back over my face. I press STOP on my Walkman. “And pretty fucked up.”
“Anywho,” Damon says before donning his mask. “Was that Bitches Brew?”
“Mhm.”
“William,” he says, just as we’re about to step out. “Before we put on the vidi-reel, let’s just tell her to go home.”
“Before the assignment is finished?”
“Let’s say,” Damon says, pausing to gather his thoughts. “She can have the rest of the night off.”
“You think she’s just gonna fuck off without asking questions? Just tell her the truth, man. That woman can see right through you.”
“I know.”
GRENADINE BLACK
“Take the rest of the night off?” I say. “Like hell, I will. What’s going on, Damon?”
“I’m just saying,” Damon says, removing his mask. “You’re stressed. We already have an idea of what these fuckers are guilty of. I caught glimpses during the index. This vidi-reel is going to be super triggering for you.”
“You’re super triggering for me,” I retort, somewhat proud of the comeback even though I didn’t think it through. “This is what we do, Damon. I can handle seeing fucked up shit.”
“Hey,” William chimes in from the couch, seated next to Robert and Marcy, fiddling with the remote. “Anyone know where the SOURCE button is? There’s only four buttons — wait, five? Who designed this?”
The vidscreen shuts off, leaving all of us in the dark for a moment. “That was the power button. Why is it on the back? Jesus…”
The vidscreen flashes back on. A green screen with the words ‘NO INPUT’ in bold, sans-serif lettering.
“Guess the remote ain’t too kid-friendly,” Robert remarks, sitting beside William. William pauses, looks at Robert, then smacks him over the head with the remote. “AGH!”
“That didn’t work either,” William shrugs. “I would ask either of you for help but neither of you have much motor control right now.”
“What I mean is,” Damon says. “I care about you. Those flashbacks you were telling me about — ”
Oh my God…
“No,” I cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t say another word about that.”
“Alright,” Damon says. “Fine.”
“Got it!” William cheers. Even through the mask’s voice changer, his delight with himself is palpable. “Y’all gonna join us?”
“Yup,” Damon says, smiling at me faintly. The look of concern in his eyes is palpable, too. He puts the mask back on. “Time to see some fucked up shit.”
Every pixel of the vidscreen sparkles and glows, coalescing into ULTRA-HD images of evil deeds perpetrated by Marcy and her husband. First-person POV — Marcy’s.
Screams… cries… laughter…
Unthinkable… unspeakable… unfathomable cruelty…
Distress… despair… debauchery…
“You people are sick,” Damon says. “Why would you ever want to remember this?”
Oh God…
They abducted their victims from Playgrounds…
Orphans, I’m sure…
Just like William…
Just like Damon…
Just like…
Sweet Absolute Infinity…
Damon was right…
These memories are even worse than I thought they would be…
William and Damon sit on either side of me. Next to Damon, the monsters stare at the vidscreen, expressionless — guiltless. Ruthless. Shameless. The nightmare continues onscreen. The victims and settings change but the sounds of pure horror stay consistent.
Stolen lives. Stolen futures. Stolen hearts.
That could have been me…
I could have been any one of them…
In another life, I wouldn’t have been so lucky; in this life, my father is the most powerful man in Aurum City.
Grew up an orphan just the same…
“Jesus Christ,” William says, looking over at the low-lifes we were sent to capture and kill. “How much Love have y’all made from the red market?”
“Enough,” Robert says.
“Not enough to avoid bankrupting on Karma credits, apparently,” William says. “Oh, excuse me…” He removes his mask, runs off to the far end of the room, opens the screen door to the balcony and vomits over the railing.
“You alright?” Damon calls out from the couch.
William, hunched over the balcony, raises a thumbs up. “Good…” he coughs. “Throat’s burning like a razor from hell, though.”
I chuckle. A welcome gag to contrast how harrowing this night shift has been. Sometimes it boggles my mind that this is my job.
I mean…
“Serves you right for your weird absinthe ritual,” Damon calls out before fixing his gaze on me, touching my forearm, his eyes watery under his mask. “Are you alright?”
…is this really any better than dying young?
“Mhm,” I say, sticking my tongue out again. He can’t see it, but maybe he can feel it.
I mean…
I touch his hand briefly. “I’m fine.”
…I still had my future stolen from me…
My father knighted me as a dark agent after graduation, right after the worst night of my life, no less…
This is how you protect yourself, dad said.
No man would ever think of harming you again, dad said.
You are the future of Aurum City, dad said.
What a load of steamy horseshit—straight from the horse’s mouth, no less.
“Are you sure?” Damon says, tone uneasy. He leans in. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can see it in your eyes, Gren. You’re not.”
“Then quit looking at me,” I whisper back, touching his hand — stroking his palm with my thumb.
I lean forward on the couch to look at the marks’ bare faces, scanning their expressions for remorse, guilt or humanity. Their eyes are open, fixed on the vidscreen. They feel nothing. At least, that’s how it seems.
Screams… cries… laughter…
The sound of a ribcage cracking open…
A beating heart removed from its rightful vessel…
“The Egogarchs send their regards!” Marcy exclaims on the vidscreen.
“Hold on,” Damon says. He pauses the vidi-reel. “What the fuck did she say?” He stands up, unsheathing his bolo knife from his left holster, turning around to face them, his right holster in plain view — his Desert Eagle gleaming under the colour-shifting lights. Both Marcy’s and Robert’s eyes widen.
“Marcy,” Damon says. “What did you say?”
“Haven’t said a word,” Marcy says.
“You know what I mean,” Damon brings the blade of the knife against her throat. “What the fuck did past you say?”
Robert shuts his eyes and starts mumbling under his breath, maybe praying to a god he believes will save them. Marcy keeps her eyes peeled, staring straight into the eye slits of Damon’s mask as if looking into the eyes of the devil himself.
“I don’t know what — ”
“‘The Egogarchs send their regards,’” William says, re-entering through the screendoor. “Heard it from outside.”
“Can confirm,” I say. “That is one-hundred percent what this bitch said in the vidi. Did you see the look in Robert’s eyes as she said it? They enjoyed harvesting those organs. They got off on their own cruelty.”
I shut my eyes and see a triptych of incisions and blood in my mind’s eye — like after-images fading a little too slowly.
Love makes people do unthinkable things…
Damon presses PLAY again, and the horrors continue onscreen — on, and on… and on…
That could have been me…
I could have been any one of them…
“I’ve seen enough,” I say, standing up from the couch and striding to the kitchen to fetch some water. I brace myself for Damon to say something cheeky, like I fucking told ya — but he doesn’t say anything. Not to me.
“Egogarchs…” Damon says. “What does that even mean? Is that code?”
“It’s code,” Marcy says. “It means ‘Fuck you and the tyrannical regime that feeds you.’”
“Oh,” Damon says. “That doesn’t sound correct.”
> @AurumIntelligence who or what are the Egogarchs?
> I’M SORRY, GRENADINE BLACK. I CAN’T FIND ANY RESULTS THAT MATCH THAT QUERY. DID YOU MEAN ‘OLIGARCHS’? OR ‘EGOCENTRIC’?
Damn it.
“AGH!” Marcy screams in blood-curdling agony from across the room. I close my eyes, knowing damn well what Damon just did.
Marcy cries out in pain. “Robert! Help me!”
“Oh my God!” Robert cries. “Oh fucking hell, just kill us already! There’s no need for this!”
I grip the handle of my Desert Eagle and take a deep breath.
That could have been me…
I could have been any one of them…
I open my eyes and make my way back to the couch. Fuck hydration. Marcy is bleeding from both hands, a trail of blood running down from the black leather to the floor.
“Please!” Robert says, aching to intervene — still unable to move. “Oh my God, Marcy! Breathe, honey! Just breathe!”
Marcy’s screams devolve into agonizing sobs, dazed from the blood loss.
William puts on his Sennheiser headphones, exits through the screen door again, and, after removing his mask, takes a long hit from his Green Zenith vape pen, looking up at Sky.
One by one, Damon throws Marcy’s detached fingers at Robert’s face. Marcy’s pinky hits Robert point-blank in his left eye. Robert’s left arm twitches — the reflex quelled by the paralysis.
“What the fuck is an Egogarch?” Damon shouts. “An egotistical oligarch? Kinda redundant, isn’t it?”
“They’re…” Robert says. “They’re coming…”
“Excuse me?” Damon says.
“The Egogarchs are coming!” Robert says, tone maniacal. “They’re going to save the Pures from the Default State! Mr. Black is going to kill every last one of us. And you! Assuming you’re a Pure, too.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say. “Guess we’ve been dealing with conspiracy nuts this whole night.”
I remove my Desert Eagle from the holster, flip the switch to EXECUTE, and aim it at Robert’s head from several feet away. “Define Egogarch.”
Robert sniffles, gulps, and looks at Marcy longingly.
Marcy’s eyelids flutter like little butterflies deprived of oxygen. Her eyelashes are so pretty and thick — but there’s no humanity behind those eyes.
Of that, I am goddamn sure.
“You talk of Pures as if you’re one of them,” I say. “Sorry, I just can’t believe either of you have human hearts.”
“The Egogarchs are coming!” Robert screams, voice tinged with desperation. “Then you will know! You will all know!”
“Rob,” Marcy whimpers, breathless. “It’s — it’s over…”
Without a second thought, I aim my Desert Eagle right between Marcy’s eyes and pull the trigger. The golden bullet passes right through her skull like a knife through melted butter, puncturing a hole into the wall behind her, surrounded by a smattering of red blood and grey matter.
Damon raises his hand as I aim the gun back at Robert.
“Gren,” Damon says. “We need to bring him in. For questioning. This Egogarch nonsense— ”
“Mhm?”
“What if it’s not nonsense?”
“Could be something,” I say, closing the distance and pushing the barrel into his cheek so he can feel its warmth. The fear in his eyes as he looks up at me… it’s fucking beautiful. “Or… it could be nothing.”
“Exactly,” Damon says. “We don’t know. This is above our pay grade.”
“What do you think, Robert?” I say. “Still got something to live for? What did y’all do with the organs you harvested, anyway? Eat ’em for breakfast? Lunch? Dinner? Dessert? Sell ’em to the Egogarchs?”
“If you only knew…” Robert says. “There’s a bigger picture none of you are seeing. Marcy and I are just two pixels of a grander puzzle. And so are you. And you.” He looks at William on the balcony, pointing with his eyes. “And him. Damn fools, the lot of you.”
“We have to take this seriously,” Damon says, signalling again to reholster my weapon. “Even if it’s bullshit. Let’s take him to The Central and let Mr. Black decide his fate.”
I lower my gun and shut my eyes.
That could have been me…
I could have been any one of them…
“Fine,” I say. “You and William take care of it. I’m taking the rest of the night off.” I reholster my gun and walk away.
“I fucking told ya.”
“Fuck you, Damon,” I say. “With love.”
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.
〽️〽️〽️
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).
