LARK

You open your eyes, but you may as well have kept them shut. Shrouded in a blanket of darkness, you blink, but you can’t quite make out where you are now.

Fuck! you think to yourself, I’ve finally gone and Cut six feet under! Your heart sinks like a rock plummeting through the depths of a cold murky lake and your blood freezes over as your head begins to spin.  

You’re sure you might die here this time. But just before you lose yourself in a fit of despair, you somehow manage to come to your senses. You shake your head to clear the rest of the fog from your brain and wonder if it’s possible to ever get used to this. You’re not the type of person to be easily shaken, but this Cutting business is unfamiliar territory.

You realize now that you’re in a room and not a casket. A casket would have surely been your chariot to the underworld.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper with an exasperated sigh, “I swear to God, no more of this Cutting bullshit after this one.”

You regain your composure and notice a dank and musty smell. The room is dark and your eyes have trouble adjusting. Nothing clearly comes into view, but you can somewhat make out silhouettes of objects around the room and this is enough to get you moving.

The nearest wall is to your left, so you use that as a guideline as you begin to navigate, hands brushing along, feeling for any change in contour or texture. You pause. Your fingertips caress a cold metal panel with what feels like a large switch or lever inside. Using both of your hands and more force than you’d expected, you push the lever upward. With a flicker and the sound of an electrical buzz, the room is illuminated with a bright incandescent light.

Well, that’s a start, you think to yourself.  

You squint as your eyes try to adjust again and you slowly look around the room. The cold and stale air that you noticed before now pairs with concrete walls and thick, reinforced, steel doors that are meant to withstand even the most violent of blasts.

“Looks like I’m in the right spot,” you say as you pick up your suitcase and begin walking deeper into what you now recognize as a bunker, your footfalls echoing off of the walls.  

Most of the items in the main room are draped with thick cloth or are stored in large wooden crates, maybe for protection or maybe to shield from prying eyes. All you know is that none of these items are of your concern. You’re here for one thing and one thing only, to trace her footsteps and find out where she’s gone missing to. If it were the other way around, she would have found you by now. 

You’ve known Emma for a long time and have always envied her seemingly innate talent and skills. But then again, you wouldn’t go off grid without any explanation like she did. It feels like you’ve been searching for her for decades now, though technically, you practically have.   

As you approach a large archway, you notice it’s flanked on either side with two big red flags, each one bearing an oddly familiar symbol, a white circle with a black swastika. Though, instead of the swastika having four bent arms, two of the four are straight.

You continue through the archway and into a long corridor, shaking your head. “Looks like some things never change,” you murmur, “no matter where you go.” 

The next room you enter looks like some sort of communications or command center. There are several patch bay stations with cables snaking every which way and large conduits running up the walls and across the ceiling. Dimly glowing meters swing their needles intermittently back and forth as little square buttons flash across several control boards displaying a vibrant show of red, green and orange back lights.  

But there’s still no sign of Emma anywhere. You thought for sure this was going to be it, the correct location and the final Cut that you’d have to make. Then the company could create a patch that would shut down these dangerous Cutting mods permanently. Luckily, other than the Curators, Emma has been the only person to find the flaw which makes the mods possible in the first place. 

The question is, why has Emma gone against regulations and the order to forget anything and everything about the Cutting mods. And why is this one of the supposed locations that she’s traveled to. Something about this whole mission makes you feel odd, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.     

You turn towards another command station that looks like it’s no longer in use. No lights blinking or needles dancing, just a supposedly out of service station, off in a dimly lit corner with dust and a few cobwebs.

Suitcase in hand, you head toward the station and see an emblem stamped into one of the metal panels with a large keyhole just below it. “Bingo,” you say as you toss your suitcase down onto the control board.  

You run your fingers over the circular, embossed emblem. It depicts a small bird with white cheeks, a black brow and a black breast with two small black feathered horns at the top of it’s head. You know this as the mark of the company who employs you, Living Among Realms and Kingdoms, or simply referred to by most as, LARK.

With Emma nowhere in sight, you feel the urge to give up on this location and wonder if it’s time to Cut to another Thread. Cutting isn’t sanctioned by the laws of LARK, but you’re a LARK Guardian and have been granted special privileges until this is all under control. 

Ordinary Roamers, or travelers, within LARK aren’t yet privy to the existence of Cutting mods. They’re a fairly recent discovery. A glitch created within LARK that would allow a Roamer’s consciousness to Cut through time and space, experiencing life in alternate universes, or as we refer to them, Threads.

LARK was simply designed to allow Roamers to have curated experiences back and forth through Realms, specific periods of time throughout our Thread's past and future. It was never intended to allow Cutting into alternate Threads. And unlike the standard curated experiences within LARK, Cutting poses severe risks. 

Every time someone uses a Cutting mod, a tear is created in the fabric between Threads, a fissure that let’s one Thread slowly bleed into the neighboring one. Roamers have no special protection outside of their standard LARK travels and they could actually die if something extreme were to happen to them while Cutting, which is not possible within a standard LARK experience. Not to mention these mods aren’t always stable and are often unpredictable. 

Cutting can only be accessed through a makeshift station that has been inserted into a Thread’s Realm using a mod. These stations are often marked with LARK’s emblem. Before attempting to Cut, Roamers could know the Thread, Realm and general area that they’d be traveling to. But the exact spot in which they’d materialize cannot be pinpointed until they’ve already arrived. Hence your casket freak-out moment.

All these reasons are exactly why Emma needs to be found, brought back to Guardian headquarters, in your own Thread where she belongs, then debriefed. Not only is she putting herself and other Roamers who find out about these mods at risk, but she’s putting our Thread and every alternate Thread that she Cuts through in danger of collapsing.  

Still standing at the station, hand brushing over the LARK emblem and keyhole, you open your suitcase and pull out a large key with a matching emblem on it’s bow. You prepare yourself to Cut to a different Thread once more and look inside your suitcase at the list of possible Realm coordinates of where and when Emma might be located. You run your finger down the paper as you try to put yourself in the mind of Emma.  

Suddenly you feel the hairs on the back of your neck and arms prick up. An uneasy feeling overwhelms you as the air around you suddenly feels thick and viscous like tar. You can’t shake the feeling that eyes are now upon you and you’re no longer alone in the room. You turn your head and quickly realize your senses certainly don’t deceive you.

“God damn it,” you say under your breath.  

Six tall creatures, resembling men, stand at the other side of the command center wearing grayish green military uniforms. They all don red armbands embroidered with the alternate swastika symbol that you saw on the flags at the archway earlier. They’re human in figure, but their skin is a milky gray color and almost resembles what you might think of as scales. Their eyes are all a vibrant, almost glowing, emerald green color. Their voices are unnaturally strong and booming and when they speak you can feel the weight of it pulsate within your chest.   

One of them has a pistol aimed directly at your head and yells something at you. You don’t speak German, or whatever language they’re speaking in this Thread, but you’re pretty sure that they want you to put your hands up.

“Okay, just keep calm,” you say, “I’m not here to cause you shit-bags any trouble.” 

With the LARK key still in one hand, you slowly raise your other hand out of your suitcase, but before you do, you pull a Micro Imploder out and quickly toss it towards the creatures. They all yell frantically and try to dive out of the way. You drop to a crouch with your head in your arms to protect your eyes and ears.  

You wait, but the implosion never comes. Instead you hear the sound of a low, vibrating hum, almost resembling the sound of a cat purring, but slightly lower and quickly repeating over and over. You look up and see an opaque dome emanating a faint icy blue glow, pulsing over where you threw the imploder.

A containment shield. Definitely not technology from this Realm, you think. You raise your head a bit higher to see where the shield came from and find a woman standing just inside the corridor. 

She’s tall and slim, but still has an athletic build that stands strong, even against the looming backdrop of the bunker. Her dark and wavy hair just barely brushes the tops of her shoulders, framing her attractive face. She’s wearing black battle pants and a dark gray, quilted shirt with long sleeves and six buckles that fasten across the front right side of her torso. The hood on her cloak is turned down and you can see several Guardian issued weapons protruding out from her multiple belt holsters.  

“Emma,” you say, a bit of relief and twice as much frustration coating your words. “I’ve been Cutting through Thread after Thread and I don’t know how many decades of Realms, just trying to find you.” A barely noticeable, but slightly amused smirk flashes across her face.         

You stand up to meet her at eye level and as you do the six alternate Nazi creatures get up and stand behind her. Your eyes dart to them, then back to Emma.

“I’ve been sent here from Guardian headquarters to bring you back. Your job as a Guardian is to regulate the Roamers in our Realms and to enforce the laws instituted by LARK," you say. "What are you doing fooling around with illegal mods and Cutting through Threads? You know damn well your actions aren’t sanctioned by LARK and could put us all in extreme danger.”

Emma brushes her cloak behind her hip, revealing a plasma pistol strapped to her leg and takes a step toward you. “Do you even know who or what I am? Do you even know what you are?” she asks.  

You pause for a moment, not sure that you fully understand the question. “What the hell are you talking about,” you say, “You’re Emma. We were once partners as Guardians until you defected and broke the laws of LARK. You created and are using illegal mods to Cut through Threads outside of our own.”

Emma looks at you with an expression that you can only assume is faint amusement. “You have no clue who I am,” she says, “But I’ve certainly seen you Guardian, many times over. Alternate Threads? Realms? Sounds a bit fantastical and grandiose, don’t you think?”

She takes another step closer. “Yes, I’ve created mods,” she continues, “Because sometimes cheating, just a little bit, adds to the fun. I mean, how is one supposed to find and recruit an army of super human Nazis to ruthlessly frighten and destroy enemy LARK competitors if you’re stuck in the confines of the basic LARK Realms? Am I a Guardian? The short answer is, no. I never was and we have never been partners.”

Your gaze with Emma doesn’t break. “Wow, all of this Cutting has really fried your brain,” you say. 

She laughs, then retorts, “What an odd thing, to think you’re like the rest of us Roamers in LARK and not have even the slightest clue.”

A bead of sweat drips down your forehead, “What the fuck are you talking about?” you say.  

“I’m a Roamer, just like the others,” she says, “And yes, you’re a Guardian. But do you know what a Guardian is?”

You open your mouth to reply but Emma cuts you off. “A moderator. An A.I. designed by the Curators of LARK to prevent cheaters, like me, from playing unfairly.”

“You’re making no fucking sense,” you say. “How could that possibly be true? You and I were partners!”

Emma shakes her head, amusement washing away from her face and pity taking its place. “That’s all a fabricated backstory in your programmed dossier. We were never partners, Curators upload that bit so you’ll develop an attachment to finding whatever cheater you’re supposed to locate at the time. They believe it makes you more efficient.”

You nervously twiddle the LARK key between your fingers, “That’s bullshit” you say plainly. “You need to stop this crap and come back with me to headquarters. Who knows how many more Cuts until Threads start collapsing.  

“You’re not hearing me Guardian,” Emma says sternly.

“Actual alternate realities aren’t a thing, just another programmed backstory to create a sense of doom and urgency in your mission to locate cheaters."

"Realms, they’re real to an extent, but only within LARK. And alternate Threads, they don’t collapse, they’re just ALPHA test levels yet to be released to Roamers in LARK."

“‘Life Among Realms and Kingdoms,’” she says. “It’s the title of the game man. You’re in a flipping game. But I’m the flesh and blood player and you’re just the digital bouncer.”

You look at her and can feel the flatness of your expression. Heat begins to rise in your body and your palms begin to sweat.

Emma takes another small step toward you and lifts one hand, pointing a finger in your direction. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asks, “You’re just a creation of the Curators. You’re not real.” 

Even though you don’t fully believe her, those last three words rattle you. Your body tenses up and you don’t know how to respond, so you just blurt out the first thing that pops into your head, “That’s not true!” 

“Okay Guardian” says Emma, “Answer me this. Where were you right before you arrived in this Thread to hunt me down then, hmm?”

You quickly respond with, “I’ve been cutting through Threads for months trying to find you!”

Emma snaps, “Irrelevant! Where were you right before you landed here Guardian? Specifically.” 

You begin to feel your heartbeat in your throat as you rack your brain. Your breathing becomes heavy and uneven. You look up at the ceiling and put your hands over your face. You can’t recall where you were before coming here. You can’t picture the Guardian headquarters or remember your life outside of LARK. Maybe she’s used some type of memory wiping mod to make you forget these things to fool you. Or maybe this is just an effect of the Cutting mod itself.

You look back down and pull your hands from your face only to see Emma now standing two feet away from you with a pistol drawn and pointed at your stomach. “See you on another side,” she says.

“Wait!” you shout, but it’s too late. She pulls the trigger and the world around you slows down as you float to the floor. The walls begin undulating and your vision starts darkening.

A searing pain like you’ve never felt before tears a hole in your stomach, like someone rammed a glowing hot, wrought iron poker straight through you and they just keep twisting it and twisting it back and forth. Your hands shake uncontrollably as you try to hold your stomach, but all you can feel is a warm river of thick blood pooling on your body and sticking to your hands.

You keep hearing Emma’s voice in your head ‘You’re not real. You’re not real.’ You think If I’m not real, why does this hurt so much? Why am I so God damned terrified?

Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you hear footsteps coming closer. Emma comes into view as she stands over your bleeding body.

She points her pistol at you one last time, aiming at your head. She winks, then pulls the trigger. You close your eyes and hear a loud bang, then everything flashes a bright white. Nothing.

You open your eyes, but you might as well have kept them shut. Shrouded in darkness, you blink but you can’t quite make out where you are now.