Across The Multi-verse

by I Ogunbase

  "For the record, I am going to confirm that you have consented to be recorded for the entirety of this questioning as well as retention of said recording for a minimum duration of five years. Is that correct?" one of the aides of the Questioners say to me, standing just underneath the platform of her bosses. There's a chair behind her, as well as a table with a computer on it.

  I nod.

  "Please say it out loud, Mr Devram," the woman repeats.

  "It is right. I agree to the conditions," I reply. There's a mistake in my title but it is not important at the moment. It does irk me, however.

  "Thank you. Recording has now begun and I shall leave it to the Questioners to take it from here," she says before taking her seat.

  ---

  "Mr Devram. You have been called in today to answer to the incident that occurred in the Saint Matthew Institute, three months ago, for which you have been charged with inciting genocide. This is a grave offence for which you will be sentenced if we decide you are dangerous to society. The record I have here says you released a missive or thesis, as you may believe it is called regarding the extermination of everyone born post 2155. You were subsequently fired from your job as a Bio-Etherialist. Am I right so far?" one of the questioners, Sir Mark Bradford, asked, sitting slightly to the right in front me.

  "It is true," I reply.

  "After that, as the news cycle began to record some deaths, you began to preach your thesis more and more to any available ear, claiming that it is proof for the deaths?" the questioner continues.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Can you explain why?"

  "To explain, I will have to go into my field as a Bio-Etherealist. Is... Is that okay?" I stammer a question towards the questioners and they all nod.

  I clear my throat and calm my nerves before continuing.

  "Bio-Etherialism is the field of study that got born out of the spiritual boom of 2099, where some scientists found quantifiable evidence of the soul, or soul property that exists within all humans. While it is still not a popularly held position, all living beings possess some sort of soul identity which is given to it at the moment of the being's awareness."

  "Awareness meaning birth," another questioner says. She was directly in front of me.

  "Negative. Awareness meaning awareness, Questioner Judy. A fetus gets aware a dozen or so weeks into pregnancy and while it might not have opened its eyes yet or cried yet, it has some form of awareness. We go by the stimuli rule. If it can respond, it is aware."

  "Understood. Continue," she says with a nod.

  "Among my field of studies and within my group, we held the majority belief that beings without a soul property are not alive, and we had some evidence to corroborate this," I continue my explanation before seeing one of the male questioners raise their hand. I believe that is Questioner Leyton but I am unsure.

  "What kind of evidence did you have?" the questioner asks.

  "Stillbirths, mostly. Miscarriages. The research a colleague of mine did made claims to the latter being a result of a soul rich body denying the soulless body from developing any further and thus, forcing a termination of the pregnancy."

  "And what is the name of your colleague?" the questioner asks again.

  "Matthias Jameson."

  I extend my hand towards the glass of water on the table in front of me and I take a small sip to wet my throat. The woman sitting in front of me seems to be taking notes. There is a sense of calm I'm feeling, but I'm unsure if it's because I am finally explaining my thesis or if I have just given up in the face of everything.

  "My thesis is based on a research I began with another colleague of mine, Anna Dryar. We sought to see if there was any case of people being born without a soul property, if it was possible and what it could mean. We, of course, strove to ensure all ethical practices were held in the process. We couldn't test with pregnant women as there would be no way to have a controlled test. So we instead built fetuses in the lab and then utilised an incubator for the final processes. At awareness level, for the twenty case we began, nothing happened. Whatever stimuli they had been exhibiting before then ceased."

  "Meaning?" Questioner Catherine asks.

  "They all died," I respond.

  There's a silence that fills the room in that moment. Death usually does such, especially if the subjects are young. Anna was disheartened by it, while I lamented all the time lost. She said I was far too practical for my own good. I didn't disagree. I did feel some sadness for them after that statement though. I lick my lips and continue.

  "We were beginning to feel pretty discouraged by this point because, as you can tell, 20 fetuses is more or less 20 years of study with no payoff. I had opted to call it on the research but Anna Dryar decided to take a different angle. Without my knowledge, she began a research into the fundamentals of Bio-Etherialism and proposed a theory that I increasingly believe is now true. She sought to understand what happened to a person's soul property at the point of their death. And that led to her theorizing that at the time of any person's death, the property is released back into an ethereal plane of sorts. And at the awareness level of the birth cycle, a soul property gets pulled from the ethereal plane," I say.

  "In other words, if I'm following this correctly, when a person dies, they release the soul that has been in them and that same soul gets put into a new body," Questioner Judy asks.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "How does all this relate to your thesis? You've spent a fair few moments giving us a lesson we could have skipped," Questioner Judy says, waving her hand dismissively.

  "Apologies, ma'am. It is so that I can explain the next bit. My... No. Our thesis, because Anna helped me with it, suggested something dire instead. The economic and social records, as well as the health system of our world has only gotten better and more efficient over the years, but as a result, we are quite frankly overpopulating our world. We have more people being born than they are dying."

  "Still waiting for the punchline, Mr Devram. I have gym in an hour," Questioner Mara says, a smug smile on her lips.

  The crowd of journalists and some of her colleagues chuckle at the joke and I laugh nervously.

  The punchline is coming, you pompous dimwit.

  "We were worried that, with our planet being overrun by too much of us, that we will suffer an abundance of stillbirth once the ethereal plane is emptied. We were naive, albeit by our limited knowledge."

  "So your thesis was wrong?" She asks.

  "It suffered from lack of new information."

  "Such as?"

  "Levels to the ethereal plane," I pause as I drink again, readying myself for what I am about to suggest,"Our belief in the soul property, made us understand that there had to be an ethereal plane where the soul would be until needed. We believed it would just be one location. One pot. We failed to take in the research of our religious counterparts who theorised that the plane was not singular. That there were more than just one levels to the plane."

  "What does this all mean, Mr Devram?" Questioner Judy asks impatiently.

  "If we say that the ethereal plane holds all human souls, and that plane is emptied. What would happen next, is the natural law of things. The body, in awareness, will strive to pull from the empty plane until it gives up. In 2154, we had a record number of stillbirths and for a while, we believed it was a plague or a virus running through the world, but by 2155, babies are being born in record numbers. It is my believe, as well as that of my thesis, that we have broken into a new ethereal plane that we should not have access to."

  The hall goes silent for a few minutes as everyone tries to take in what I have said. I can see them working it in their minds. If they are smart, they should be able to see what I'm trying to insinuate here.

  "And what plane will this be?" Sir Bradford asks quietly.

  "If I'm to theorize, I would say," I say with a swallow. I slowly dab my forehead with my handkerchief and reply, "Hell."

  ~

  That Whic
h One Wants

  ~

  "I promise you I didn't steal it," I said as I stared down the barrel of six guns and a whole load of glaring from the inhabitants of the Halfway Point.

  No one talked at first and I used the brief respite to empty my glass of the green liquid that was in it. Eldritch liquor. I felt it slide down my throat slowly as I attempted swallowing a few times. I reckoned the tension in the room was affecting me as it took a while before my airway was clear again. I coughed and cleared my throat, sliding the glass back to the bartender who didn't even acknowledge it. I didn't blame it. It had a gun trained on me as well. I was the wanted man after all.

  "Come on, Skraar... You made the rules of the Halfway Point. No business to be contacted by any being, living, dead or existential," I said in mock offence, clutching my heart and giving the best puppy dog eyes I could muster.

  It simply shivered in the fake human form it was assuming and removed the safety off the gun. I sighed and raised my hands up as I repeated again, a bit louder this time.

  "I can actually swear to you all. I didn't steal it. I did not steal the Lexicon of Damnation. If I did, I won't be sitting here, would I? I know the bastard baghead would have put a bounty on whoever stole it. So... I passed on the idea. Instead, during the scuffle, I got me a blade with a diamond encrusted handle. I promise."

  With a flourish, the dagger appeared in my left hand, with its diamond encrusted handle. Its shine pulled their eyes away from me to the object I was holding and I gently placed it on the bar table next to me.

  "This is all I got from there during the riot," I finished.

  I did say six gun barrels, right? Skraar was holding a weapon akin to a shotgun. I don't know if it really was but I have personally seen it be shot and watched as it tore the victim's soul from their body. I didn't think I would have been wary about it until I saw Skraar dropping his human illusion and wrapping one of its tentacles around the empty body, dragging it into a maw of a mouth. The next two gun barrels, are attributed to Jonny Four-Times, aptly named for his demented method of defiling a body four times before or after death. He's currently the only human present in the bar with me. And yes, if the above is any clue, he was a scumbag.

  The identities of the other gun wielders were a mystery to me but their races were rarely straightforward. A ghoul, a dragonling and one of the old ones, I think. It's hard to say because staring at it felt like staring at an immense soul sucking sinkhole and that was currently giving me a bad headache.

  It took a few more seconds before the guns begin to lower. Then the Old one speaks.

  "[ ], [ ][ ]?"

  The absence of noise irked me as I got goosebumps. Elder speech sounded like nothing. It was more like a void of words which hurts the longer they speak to us, humans. Well, the uninitiated humans at least. Word was, with the right contacts, ancient language ascension could be achieved. Other than that, a wise person would find other means. Or better yet, avoid dealing with the old ones. I heard that dragonlings could hear the exact words but for us, it always felt like sound is being removed from our hearing and it was painful.

  I glanced at Dragonling as I winced.

  "If not you, who is it?" the dragonling growled to me.

  I half shrugged. The gun barrels rose back up with Jonny pushing the barrel of one to the side of my head.

  "Give me a reason to shoot, boy..."

  I gritted my teeth and replied.

  "I have no idea. Honestly. Best I know is that rumors are circulating about an upstart planning to sell something to Chichi down under. But I can't verify that."

  Chichi. Cthulhu. Big mean bastard.

  "[ ]"

  "Who?"

  "uuuuhhhhh?"

  The ghoul, dragonling and the old one spoke at the same time. I grimaced, thinking through the list of douchebags that had wronged me within the last couple years. I remembered a little fucker who shot me in the foot so that I couldn't chase after him as he ran away with my reward. I did promise him retribution. I'm sorry, Ramon La'fete.

  "Best guess? I will say Ramon. He's always been trying to go up. Chances are, he'd be the one," I said, mustering all the certainty I could get and injecting them into my voice. I had to make them believe.

  The guns went down and I sighed with relief.

  Skraar holstered its soul-displacing shotgun back under the bar and pours me another round of the liquor and I thanked it with a smile, moving to sit in one of the cubicles as I thought.

  I had a few hours at best to figure out how and who I can sell the Lexicon to. As I went through my contacts of who would reward and protect me adequately enough, the bar door opened and I looked up to see Ramon walking in with his boys.

  Fuck.

  ~

  Suppression

  ~

  The air smells wrong.

  It smells different.

  I wake up to an empty bed and wetness. It seems I have been sweating through the night. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and shed my shirt on the floor. I pause and look back at what I've discarded before proceeding to pick it back up and place it on the bed. I've never done that before.

  I feel wrong. I feel... It's like I have been drowning and my head just finally managed to break through the water's surface. Hard to explain. My heartbeat shakes me back to the present. To the now.

  My mouth feels weird. Dragging myself to the bathroom, I gaze into the mirror. My eyes are red and it appears I'm still sweating profusely. Water travels down my head like as if a tap is dripping on it.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Water leaks from my head to the sink. Drops of perspiration echoing in the silence of the bathroom. Except the echo seems to fill the small room and reverberate into my very being.

  I shut my eyes immediately as my head pounds with alarming intensity. A headache. I grab the side of my head and rest on the basin for a few moments before dragging myself back out of the toilet.

  The radio on the room sounds louder than it should. I catch brief mentions of technology failing as well as some other sounds which sound awful. Like screaming. I stumble towards the radio, turning it off as soon as my hands can reach it. I fall to the floor, before pulling myself together to rest on the wall. I wipe the sweat from my eyes and shut it again, hoping the headache's intensity reduces.

  The air smells very wrong.

  I feel very wrong.

  I feel very... The words escape me but I know there's a better qualifier I can use. If I can just grasp the word.

  My eyes return to the bed and I remember I don't live alone. I get back to my feet and struggle out of the room and down the stairs. I hear movement in the kitchen and I hasten my descent. She comes into view as I get to the bottom of the stairs. She's sitting at the dining table, red eyed with a cup of what I guess is tea. It smells like coffee. She doesn't drink coffee. Does she?

  We don't speak but our eyes lock together. There are bags under her eyes like mine, and her hair is dishevelled. She pulls her bathrobe tighter around herself before speaking.

  "Good fucking morning," she says to me. There's something in her voice. Something dark.

  It's like she's shouting. I can't tell. Everything sounds louder than it should be. Might be the headache.

  My mouth opens to reply before I close it back shut. She's never sworn before. A feeling rushes through me as I find myself taking a step back.

  "W-what?" I hear myself mumble.

  My view of the table is clearer now. Something gleams in the sunlight next to the cup of coffee. It takes a few moment before I recognise that it's a knife. Her hand wraps around the hilt of the weapon as she speaks.

  "What did you do to me?" She shouts.

  We don't shout. The headache intensifies. Fuck. Wait... Did I just?

  An alarming feeling shoots through me as my eyes focus on a slash on my wrist. I see it open up as red falls to the marble floor. Something else comes through and I find mouth open as a shriek escapes it. It is... painful. I did not see h
er swipe.

  I return my gaze to her as something else rushes through me. I push her and she falls to the floor, dropping the now-stained knife. I pick it up as I tower over her. The feeling in me peaks as my wrist begins to pulse according to my heart.

  More red splashes on the linoleum floor.

  My grip on the knife tightens as I stand over her. Before I can do anything, my eyes lock with hers again. There's a look on her face that I don't recognise. And then a realisation dawns on me. One that I have somehow forgotten since I awoke this morning.

  She's my wife.

  My wife.

  Why am I holding a knife standing over my wife?

  A new feeling blossoms in me. A deeper one that tugs at the seams of my memory. A ring and a tingle when my lips brushed with hers. A white gown and a beautiful sunny day. Years ago. My head tilts as I blink back to the present.

  An emotion flits across her face and it takes a while for me to know what it is. Fear. She's afraid of me. Why would she be afraid of her husband?

  Memories swirl unbridled in the recesses of my mind. Vague recollections. A pill to make life better. A medical solution to the human condition. The human condition?

  The dark feeling in me dissipates as the sounds outside the house finally pull my attention from her.

  "This is not right," I say as I drop the knife on the table.

  Something is very wrong.

  ~

  World War

  ~

  "The thought was naive. So naive that we didn't imagine it would work. Imagine our surprise when it did."

  I down the little plastic shot cup of Daniels in my hand and toss it into the Recycler as I walk out of the bar. The little intern employed to shadow me follows on my footsteps, stumbling with her books. I chuckle to myself and wait for her to regain her footing before continuing out of the bar.