- Tick, tock...
The monotonous sound of the clock ticking filled the room I was in, somehow fueling the awkward and silent atmosphere between me and the woman named Roosevelt.
There, behind the desk, she sat quietly while reading something from her clipboard, while I sat opposite of her, not knowing what to do.
'Should I initiate a conversation?'
I feel like I shouldn't.
But then again, she did say she'd answer my questions here, so...
I cleared my throat, thus grabbing her attention.
But before I could speak, she raised her forefinger without looking at me, as if telling me to not say anything yet.
...okay.
I swallowed my words back and leaned back on my chair, not sure of what to do now. Well, aside from watching her read, of course.
After a good while, she finally finished whatever it was she was doing and placed her clipboard down on the desk, her eyes shifting to mine as she did so.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions for us, Mr. Cecil." She said as she leaned back a bit. "But before I answer any of them... Let me ask you one first."
"What do you think about our world?"
Well that's one philosophical question right from the bat.
Should I play Plato and answer with a similarly philosophical answer? No, be serious. There might be a reason behind this question.
I scratched my temples. "I guess... It's round and dirty? I don't know... decrepit, should I say?"
Indeed, this world was decrepit. What sets it apart from the Earth I know is that, for one, many of the nations present don't resemble the ones I know, and clear marks of devastation of wars are present everywhere.
This continent I'm on, for example, parallels North America, yet the United States doesn't exist. Instead, a republic with a different name stands here, with the states' names being replaced with numeric sectors and districts.
Or how the scale of wars from the early twentieth century have gone off the charts and had impacted everyone globally in a much more drastic scale.
Due to this, many of the landmasses have become dangerous, either due to environmental hazards or mutated creatures caused by the rapid advancements of technology as we reached the twenty first century.
Roosevelt looked at me for a moment, and what followed was her familiar sterile smile, not quite sincere nor cold. "You're not wrong. This world is indeed decrepit. But I'd like to ask you, is it normal?"
"What?"
That question caught me off guard.
To me, an outsider of this world, it was indeed not normal. Well, speaking from my standards, of course.
Is it true then? That they know I'm not from this world, and thus speculate that I find everything not normal?
But...
Before I could say anything more, Roosevelt continued.
"To you, I mean. Is this world normal to you, Mr. Cecil? The disasters? The way people live with the inexplicable as if it were common sense?"
Her fingers laced together over the desk, her eyes no longer scanning me, rather, they were intently watching me. Like I was a specimen under a microscope.
"I... guess not?" I answered truthfully.
A small chuckle left her lips, faint but laced with meaning.
"You're correct." She said. "The super-typhoons that change the topography of lands... the abrupt shifts in collective behavior that take over populations overnight... Even the mutants at the boundary of nations. Have you ever noticed those? How people react as if it's always been this way?"
I gave a hesitant nod. "Yes?"
I just assumed that those things were native to this world and were always the norm, that's why I didn't question them that much when I first arrived.
Roosevelt seems to scrutinize this thought of mine, however, and responded rather quickly.
"They don't question it. Because to them, it has always been like this. And what's more frightening is... they're not pretending."
Her voice dropped slightly, as if confiding a secret not privy to the public.
"To the ordinary citizen, these things are written into reality, memory, and history. And so, they adapt to them as truth, as if there was never a time before it."
Something about the way she said it sent a chill crawling up my neck.
"Let's pivot a bit." She said, crossing her legs. "You work at Orpheus BioDynamics, don't you? The symbiote manufacturing company in Sector 7?"
"Yeah." I replied, brow raised. "It's a decent job. Risky, sure, but the pay's good. Handling synthesis and interface regulation isn't exactly glamorous, but it's enough. Symbiotes help people, especially those in dangerous jobs or poor districts. They can… grow limbs and enhance performance. They're useful."
Roosevelt's expression twisted to an amused, almost condescending one.
"Useful? Oh, certainly. But let me ask you this... why do symbiotes exist in the first place?"
I opened my mouth to answer but paused.
Wait...
Why do they exist?
I racked the memories I have of this world to look for an answer.
"They're... bioengineered organisms invented during the early stages of the cold war, artificially designed to interface with humans. Well, at least, that's what we were taught."
"Engineered from what?" She asked, her tone light but her gaze razor-sharp. "Organisms with the ability to bond to humans, adapt their nervous systems, grow appendages, even respond to emotional stimuli? Tell me, Mr. Cecil, have you ever seen anything like that in nature before?"
I didn't answer.
She leaned forward now, slightly. Not threatening, but undeniably predatory in her calm.
"Biologically speaking, it is an impossibility. And yet, they exist. Integrated into society as though they were a normal byproduct of human innovation."
I stared at the desk between us, her words echoing inside me like a struck bell.
...She's right.
Even in a world ravaged by wars and environmental collapse, even with advanced tech and rewritten governments, creatures like those shouldn't exist. Not naturally nor without some source.
The silence between us lingered for a bit.
She was watching me again, her expression unreadable. And then, as though satisfied with my realization, she spoke once more, slowly.
"They're not normal, Mr. Cecil. None of this is. These things — the typhoons, the cognitive shifts, the symbiotes, and many more — they're Anomalies. Irregularities that slipped into the seams of history, woven deep into the fabric of our world until no one even remembers they didn't belong."
She gestured with a slow sweep of her hand, as if motioning to the very air around us.
"These anomalies come in many forms. Sometimes it's a new invention that was never invented. A phenomenon that shouldn't exist. Sometimes, it's a creature. A word or even a concept. And over time, they sink their claws into our reality until even the past adjusts itself to accommodate their presence."
Once more, I was unable to utter anything.
Well, it's not like I could say anything worth contributing right now.
Roosevelt, however, wasn't done.
"Do you remember those old folklore? Stories of creatures that hunted forests? Shadows that swallow entire towns? Men who sang and made the sun forget to rise?"
"...Yeah." I said, quiet.
They were common folktales everywhere, even in the Earth I knew. But it seems like, from what she's about to utter next, it's completely different.
"Those weren't stories. Rather, they were recorded events. Mythologized now, distorted by time and retellings, sure, but they were very real. And some..."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Some of them still walk among us."
Her words felt heavier than the air itself.
My throat felt dry.
She leaned back again, the sterile smile returning, but now it felt darker. "I think you understand what I'm getting at."
And I did. I knew what she was leading toward.
It wasn't just the world that was strange.
I was, too.
I was an 'Anomaly' she was talking about.
And suddenly, sitting in that room with Roosevelt, her eyes on me, her smile thin and knowing, I realized just how quiet everything had gotten.
Too quiet.
I've thought about it over and over again back in the confinement room as well as while we were walking around, the way I should act, I mean.
And now, faced with one of the scenarios I've feared, I decided to...
Act it out.
"What... What does that have to do with me?" I asked, hesitantly. Acting like I hadn't caught on yet.
Her smile, sterile since earlier, finally showed signs of life in them as they widened slightly.
"You're unfortunate, Mr. Cecil." She said simply, as if discussing the weather. "You just happened to become a vessel for an Anomaly."
'An... Anomaly?'
For a moment, something flickered in my mind. Did she mean that? My transmigration?
But... no. That wasn't it. The way she said it in her tone and words made it almost seem like... they didn't know.
'Could it be that they think I was just another Anomaly?' My mind once more raced with thoughts.
Maybe they saw something unusual in me, maybe something bordering on anomalous, but they didn't seem know what I truly was. At least... not yet, depending on how I present myself.
If my speculation is true... Then that would make my life a whole lot easier. I think.
While I was engrossed in my thoughts, Roosevelt continued.
"Yes. Not possessed, if that's what you're thinking. Not in the way those old horror tales describe it. You still retain your consciousness, your will, your self. But something has taken residence within you. A fragment, a root, or perhaps something completely different."
I stayed silent.
The way she was saying it... Makes it seems like my speculation was holding some ground.
"There are more like you." She said, tone dropping into a controlled calm. "Very few and exceptionally rare. But you're not alone. These individuals, carriers of these Anomalies, we call them Aberrations."
'Aberration...' That word stuck with me.
That word alone seemed like it carried more than it lets on. Perhaps a burden or even some kind of tragedy.
She then stood up, walking over to the window with her hands clasped behind her back.
"An Aberrationare is no longer fully human. But they're not fully Anomalies either. They exist between the two, existing in-between. Their very nature makes them unstable... and valuable because of one thing you all possess."
I felt something turn in my stomach.
...not sure if it's nausea or something else.
Roosevelt looked out, gazing at the distant skyline as she continued.
"You're the only ones who can sense Anomalies. You feel them, even if you don't understand why. Like an itch beneath the skin when something is wrong. And when a new one is about to appear, you'll know. Long before the rest of the world even registers the shift."
She turned back to me, her eyes unreadable.
"That is why Aberrations are kept under close watch. Because while you're useful... you are also a risk if left unchecked."
Her words landed like stones.
Not yet an Anomaly, but not fully human, but just something in between.
A bridge between the normal and the impossible.
I felt cold, not the kind you get from the weather, but the kind that starts inside your bones.
Roosevelt said nothing more. And just like that, the silence returned.
Suffocating.
What... Should I do?