‘A dance in the rain.’

April 11th, 2000 — Night

A caliper and infrared camera gun. Felix meditates over these two items as he eats a dinner of oatmeal and farmer’s sausage in his dorm. He only received these two items yesterday, but those twenty four hours have dragged on much too long for comfort.

Why exactly had he been given these items? Surely no department at MIT had any reason to send such serendipitous items to his doorstep. These two items are completely useless in his field of study — you’d need something much, much, much longer than a caliper to measure the length of an ocean gyre. They are small enough to fit on his person, but no sane person goes around carrying around mathematical tools like that.

Felix Conti is merely a boy on an internship of an oceanic research mission. None of the strange occurrences around him should be happening, yet they are.

Ever since he entered this place several weeks ago, some invisible force has been whittling away at his mind. It was a slow erosion at first — a mere trickle of illogical droplets on his bow. But just as water can eventually break through the hardest stone, unlogic has crystalized to a notable tumor in his mind.

His circumstances are nothing short of extraordinary. When factoring in the confirmed supernatural, the situation deteriorates to a confusing jumble of events.

Time writhes in his mind like maggots on a festering corpse — each second is too visceral, too disturbed to ignore. This thought pattern must have an origin that he is completely unaware of. And yet, even now, the intruding numbers chew away at his sanity.

Where is all this coming from? The obsessive desire to look at his watch claws away at his fingers, but it doesn’t make any sense. It eats away at his other thoughts like it’s trying to cripple his natural thought progression.

And he sees the numbers. The more he meditates on his inner self, the more the numbers blot out his surroundings. 7:34:29 PM scrawls itself on 7:34:30 on the walls on 7:34:34 on the ceiling and the individual oats in his meal and the spoon he’s holding and in his flesh and tasting numbers and flesh and meat and flesh—

Reality disintegrates. The boy falls apart into base ten and melds perfectly into ruling equations and questionable axioms.

Chipped doorway. Empty pewter. Brass cathedral, dash to bathroom. Nauseous. Numeral toilet seat: deposit stomach contents into stale water. Look up.

There is not a person in the mirror, only a jumble of imaginary numbers.

Who was he again?

Felix. Felix. He remembers. Felix is his name. Felix Conti, born in New York, a boy who specializes in oceanology. He is a normal boy with only a slightly eccentric outwards appearance.

Therefore, the numbers stop. He regards himself in the Closure Point Church’s bathroom, staring at a watch that bleats out 7:45:00 PM in bright LED numbers.

But this time, the thoughts remain. Something is wrong with him. Words cannot describe how wrong his mind is — a normal person should never think like this.

This cannot continue.

Felix no longer knows what’s going on in the town around him, nor does he understand the events of his own mind. Humans are a social animal, therefore he needs to seek help. He stumbles around the church, calling for Sister Jules, only to find it completely empty. He doesn’t remember if they said they were going to be away, but his own memories are no longer trustworthy.

He returns to his room and cleans up the spilt oatmeal. Then, he regards the briefcase given to him by an anonymous benefactor.

A caliper and infrared camera gun. Tools meant to measure. Perhaps they were manufactured for other intents — he needs to discover their true purpose. He can take nothing at face value any longer.

These two tools are the only clues he has — they will be the things to lead him to the truth, as silly as they are.

His flip phone buzzes in his pocket as he’s about to sit back down on his bed. He checks the sender of the message.

Marie Weiess. Perfect timing. He flips the phone open:

FROM: MARIE

I NEED TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN, SO MEET ME HERE

COME ASAP

IT’LL BE QUICK

IT’S IMPORTANT, I PROMISE

A concise and short message. Attached is the address ‘823 Reef Drive,’ a location to the northeast of the town. And some helpful directions, too.

For now, the numbers seem calm, but another episode is inevitable. He needs to figure out himself before he forgets.

If anybody could give him the answers he is looking for, it would be Marie. He isn’t sure if these are his own thoughts, but he doesn’t have anything else to latch onto.

He grabs the tools given to him and shoves them into his pockets. Then, he grabs his bomber jacket and marches towards the front door.

Tonight, he would find the solution to his problem, even if it isn’t the one he’s hoping for.

Many are unsure when the sleepy town of Sapphire Isle underwent its rapid modernization metamorphosis. One could track the exact dates the contracts and land leases were established, but those leave out the most important fact: the point of inflection. Although the end dates of negotiations are set in digital stone, it is unclear when the dealings began.

Nobody knows why all these companies had suddenly taken an interest in the sleepy coastal town. The nine mile stretch of island had no real merit to proper development. Sure, the surrounding waters were the colour of crying sapphires and the beaches were soft and white, but there are plenty of places like that. The waters were too shallow to support any seaborne vessels. There were no natural resources in the nearby vicinity — the isle itself was merely a pretty looking bog. Even the first iteration of Sapphire Isle from the eighteenth century disappeared after a few generations.

Yet somebody convinced all these corporate bigshots to buy in and convinced all the millionaire-billionaire landowners to part with their picture-esque vacation homes. And in those vacant lots, they built a city. Not a New York, nor a Boston or Seattle. Hells, they ended up with a modern day Salem. Or maybe a Jackson. But it sure didn’t look like it. They ended up with a shining steel island paradise off the east coast of Georgia, the perfect thing to attract tourists from all over the country. Local businesses prospered, and just like Monaco across the ocean, the city grew fat, sustained off many clammy imported dollars.

But not everybody could be a winner. Felix arrives at one of the places left behind in the commercial rush, reading through the post-mortem of Centurion Mall on the tiny screen of his flip phone. The place wasn’t even mentioned in the guidebooks at all — the authors of the ‘Guide to Sapphire Isle!’ decided it wasn’t worth mentioning.

South of Archer’s Note, there is a run down bridge connecting the island to an even smaller island. A five story steel bird nest stares back from the wrong side of the bridge — Felix has to watch his step around the crumbled roads.

Of course, there were steel fences and no trespassing signs and plenty of barricades blocking off the road to the bridge. But all of the doors were unlocked, so he figured he might as well make himself welcome.

According to some blog posts, the Centurion Mall was a casualty of a development war between two contractors: The Double Ten Group and Colsliniac Skyview. Once intended to be a collaboration — a shopping mall built as though to appear that it was floating on water — bitter disagreements and out of state conflicts quickly brought the fledgling mall to ruin. Neither company currently has the legal jurisdiction to reclaim the structure, either. That battle rages on in the courtrooms somewhere far away from here. What’s left is a nearly empty husk connected to the bustling town of Sapphire Isle, much like a vestigial tail growth to a growing boy.

Felix stops in front of the long-broken glass doors, illuminating the mall’s entrance with the light from his flip phone. There aren't even any fragments of broken glass on the ground — dozens of storms must have blown all the debris away. The night isn’t looking too kind either. Dark clouds brew above. He can only hope they’ll offer him some coffee instead of a faceful of rain.

“Hopefully at least one fast food place is still open,” he mutters to himself as he slips past the doors.

The inside of the place can only be described as oppressive. Four floors of shuttered storefronts and rotted tarps stare back at him as he walks. Some of them have motivational messages written in faded yellow letters.

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING CAN BE WONDERFUL, one reads.

LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE, says another.

IF LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS, MAKE LEMONADE, a particularly tattered banner howls, fluttering in the cold draft coming in from the open roof.

The only thing that looks relatively inoffensive and non-creepy are the plastic trees dotting the path. Their artificial leaves rustle gently in the night — some strange melodic whistle comes from their leaves, a siren’s mourning cry.

Although the halls are surely ruined beyond reasonable repair, it isn’t difficult to navigate. Some of the upper levels have collapsed entirely: Felix takes a small elevation detour on those for the fun of it. But there’s not much up here, either, other than stronger winds and the occasional blinking of two closely spaced purple dots. There are a few maintenance doors, big yellow doors that are broken open. He decides to not consider what could be creeping and crawling in those dark tunnels.

Having sated his curiosity, he returns to the ground level and presses forward.

His footsteps click against the tarnished tiles, a lone chorus to the sounds of silence. Once, there were meant to be other footsteps alongside his in this place. Now, nothing. Only the winds, broken waves, wailing of abandoned architecture, and the lingering stench of rust and salt.

He reaches Plaza 3 in a matter of minutes — laid before him is a half-flooded hall of broken water fountains and ratty pink sitting areas. A single ray of escaped moonlight shines through the arched ceiling and throws long shadows on the walls. And standing in the middle of the hall, balancing on an overturned table, is the lithe figure of a bored girl.

“Marie?”

The girl turns, twin emeralds staring through him. In a single small leap, she manages to clear a ten foot puddle and lands on the tiles in front of him.

His voice catches in his throat. The Marie that stood in front of him is surely the same old girl, but something is different. Very different.

Unyielding determination. Glowing green eyes. Strength beyond mere brutish force.

This is the first time Felix has seen Marie without her signature white jacket — she’s dressed in something that looks like a cross between a cloak and a bodysuit. A blue scarf covers her mouth and trails gently behind her.

Something is very wrong right now. The numbers scream in 8:39:31 PM.

“I really should’ve seen it coming,” she says. “You were suspicious from the very start. I don’t know why you were playing the long game, but this ends now.” She raises her right hand towards him — circular glyphs form around her wrists and etch complicated patterns around her raised arm, as though wiring the very air itself. There’s a glow from underneath the suit that follows the same pattern on both of her arms.

Felix doesn’t understand a thing that’s going on with himself or whatever the hell is going on with Marie in general, but he does comprehend one critical thing. His instincts alight and singe his mind with panic and cold adrenaline.

8:41:21 PM.

Marie is yielding a weapon capable of taking human life. Much like a gun, a single shot would surely end Felix.

Most people in civil society are fortunate enough to never face death head on. It’s only natural, of course. Merely reminiscing about death sends the average person into introspective desperation. Instincts activate — the ego ends and the lizard brain takes over. In Felix’s case, a nearly tranquil calm emerges and soothes his palpitating heart. But he takes a step back, anyways.

“Marie…? What are you doing out here?” His voice is calm and steady — he doesn’t want it to be calm and steady.

“I’ll tell you one thing before I kill you,” she rebuffs nearly instantly. A certain look emerges in her eyes: the same look one would give to an overly persistent cockroach. “This was entirely your fault, you know? You had plenty of chances to walk away — you brought this on yourself.”

Felix isn’t sure what she’s talking about. Were those blurry images of her standing around really that important to her? Looking at her now, the patterns on and around her arm are the things that make miracles happen. Her body is one that carries the weight of the impossible — a vessel that channels abilities far beyond human potential.

But one thing is painfully, absolutely, and undeniably clear. She would kill him if he just stood around. He takes another step back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tries. “I’m sure this is one big misunderstanding…”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” she says. “I know you’re working for somebody. But it doesn’t matter to me.”

Marie stares at him after she says that, as if waiting for him to fully comprehend her words. The moonlight wanes, allowing darkness to consume the edges of the plaza.

Felix, for better or worse, has a general understanding of the situation. As much as civil society pretends to be civil, plenty of things happen in the alleyways where people aren’t looking. Some people disappear and never come. This is another one of those mysterious incidents — Marie intends to end his life in this desolate place and remove any sign that he existed.

And strangely enough, he isn’t that perturbed by his own death. Another nagging thought overtakes it — the fact that he could die without understanding why infuriates him to no end. It rots the lining of his stomach and spills out bile and half digested mush and forces his fractured mind straight.

He hasn’t found a single answer in this momentary existence. Curiosity ravages his system and tears his soul inside out with the inevitability of time. He can’t allow himself to die until he finds something. The puzzle of Felix Conti will not go unsolved.

Felix finds his voice and forces out carefully selected words. “Tell me just one thing. Why do you want to kill me?”

Her expression immediately sours. “Do I really have to spell everything out for you?”

He pleads with his eyes. After a few seconds, she lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine then. You’ve stumbled into the world of witches, magic, and monsters. Because you saw something you really weren’t supposed to, and doubly so because you pissed me off, you’re going to die. Happy?”

Not really, no. That doesn’t explain anything at all. He never got to actually see the forbidden object that warranted death upon viewing, which means his death will be more or less meaningless. But he doesn’t say any of that out loud.

He can already sense that his next words will be his last.

And finally, he realizes that he just really doesn’t want to die. Not yet. So, he holds his head high and speaks; “Do you really want this, Marie?”

8:44:59 PM.

“You think I have a choice!?”

8:45:00 PM. Watch alarm beep.

Raw fury corrupts her delicate features — the patterns around her arm waver for a mere moment. That moment is enough for Felix. He screams and sprints back towards the nearest mall street.

“Wait, damn you! Prime: Burst!”

Felix is halfway across Plaza 3 when the world shatters. He is stumbling in the middle of a sprint when something akin to a sonic boom pushes him forward and causes him to stumble. Then he follows his instinct and keeps running — he only dares sneak a single glance at the area behind him.

The place that had taken the shot for Felix was a former smoothie shop. He can only recognize it as a smoothie stall because there’s a logo that says BLUE’S SMOOTHIES — around a dozen dinner plate sized holes have punched a clean path through everything that was behind the counter. These holes are rimmed in molten red and the unfortunate things they were attached to have been either destroyed, are flying, or are in the process of crumbling apart. Felix doesn’t look back.

He didn’t run the same way he came. Instinct told him to bolt at an angle that would make it hard for Marie to aim — instinct is the only thing keeping him alive. He turns a corner the first chance he gets and slides — this is also a very wise decision, because the brick and plaster corner where his head would’ve been is blown open by a spear of aggressive blue light. Said spear continues to the other end of the hallway and keeps on going through the wall. Felix takes this as a hint to panic a bit and seek some cover. However, this is a shopping mall. This was built to be wide and open and inviting.

Maintenance halls. His mind snaps to yellow doors — he finds the nearest one and shoulders it open. It opens up — thank every single god out there — he ducks in and just picks a random direction to run in.

Darkness surrounds him. He’s forced to fumble out his flip phone and cast unsteady lights on the path in front of him. The concrete is cracked, the steel rusted, and the pathway is dotted with splotches of stale gray water. It sounds like the entire abandoned facility is groaning around him. His shoes are already soaked — he doesn’t even have any time or mental energy to check the time. He doesn’t need to know the time to leg it for his dear pitiful life.

As unsightly as it is, this is his path to survival. He hopes to the gods that it won’t end.

I suppose it would’ve been anticlimactic if he didn’t get away. Me and Erika had been preparing since this afternoon — all of those preparations would’ve gone to waste if I managed to catch him there and then.

So I don’t mind that much.

Well, maybe just a little.

I close my eyes and focus on the mana now coursing through my body — a fling of my arm sheds the old glyphs and summons new shots in. Almost like reloading a gun. Maybe I should’ve gone and bought a gun. That way, I could’ve pretended to be a crazed serial killer and dusted him in a way that’s acceptable to air on national television.

Truth be told, I came in expecting a battle between mages. Us magic types are the crafty folk who try not to reveal our trump cards, or depending on the situation, we just launch our most powerful attack off. There’s a very good reason there’s no such thing as casual magic battles or even great collaboration between mages. And I have an even better reason that I’m going so far to murder one boy.

For us, magic, magecraft, miracles — all of it is a matter of life and death. The mage is a pitiful creature with many enemies, and their greatest enemy is merely another mage. Our secrets are our lives.

I’m still not sure what Felix is capable of, but I know myself and our preparations well enough. I can’t get too close since my most effective spells are medium to long ranged attacks. I’ll analyze him from a distance and take as much time as I need. This is more or less a training experience for me, after all. I’m sure my future enemies will be much less skittish.

Earlier, Erika and I had set up several bounded fields, or magic circles if you want to be pedantic. She lent me control of a scrying field while taking over the others. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to control the more complicated things, even if I tried really hard.

I remind myself to thank Erika extra hard tonight as I focus mana in my left palm and hold it to the ground — the field accepts my mana and connects my senses to thousands of disembodied observers. My roots spread through the weathered tiles, the empty storefronts, the ratmaze of abandoned tunnels he decided to duck into — I spy him in my mind’s eye from a dozen angles, running in the dark. Finding him is no problem, even for an apprentice like me.

Felix will not escape this place alive. I’ll make sure of it.

Merciless steps hounded him from behind — Felix can’t stop running, even if he wanted to. He isn’t sure how long he has been running now, but his breath is growing ragged. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up, and he sure isn’t eager to find that his limits are much lower than required.

His sprint hasn’t been completely in vain. He’s spotted several stencils and arrows pointing to the various delivery ports and the side doors. All he would have to do is make it back to the entrance and get across the bridge. And if he can’t do that, maybe he could find somewhere to hide. There should be plenty of concealed places in a derelict relic like this one.

This is one of those things that’s much easier said than done, but it’s a faint enough hope to motivate Felix. He cradles that ember in his chest, caliper and IR gun bouncing against his hip, and chases after that dream of survival.

The last maintenance door appears like a doorway into summer in the nonexistent light. Felix rams his shoulder into it and tumbles past it — the hinges were rusted enough that the entire thing went down with him. And just like a fleeing rabbit, he’s already up on his knees, panting little droplets of oxygen back into his system.

He made it. It is a different court than the one he saw coming in, but he’s close to the exit. This one is cylindrical shaped and connected with escalators and walkways that look more like the strings of a cat’s cradle is his blurry vision. He can see faded old brand logos above glass storefronts and even a glimmer of the moon from here — it’s a perfectly split between white and black. There are other maintenance doors here too, good for a quick getaway.

Felix knows he can’t sprint again, so he pulls himself up one of the escalators, breathing through his teeth. One particular step gives way and he’s forced to jump forward and land in a crumple at the top of the escalator.

“You’ve found a nice open area with plenty of cover. Not bad. We’ll both have to work to get what we want.”

As he pulls himself up using a nearby railing, a booming, whimsical voice rings out from behind him. He turns around and sees her magic first — in the tunnel he came through, two green dots and a serrated band of blue light eventually reveal a slowly advancing girl.

“By the way,” Marie calls out, stopping at the base of the elevator, “the exits? I already took care of them ahead of time. We didn’t actually have enough magical energy to set up traps on each one, so some of them are just physically rigged to crumble. So depending on how you’re feeling, you can either burn to death, wither away, or get buried alive.

“Though, any works for me. It’s much easier to clean up a corpse than deal with a living person.”

He doesn’t dare move. His body is crying out for rest, but he can only afford it a few moments of respite and maybe a dozen lungfuls of air. But his eyes catch on the patterns on her arms — bands of circuit-like scintillating blue pulsate gently underneath her clothes. They almost look like an extraordinarily complicated tattoo sleeve, a work of art inscribed on the human body.

Marie seems to notice Felix’s gaze and raises her arms for a quick inspection. “I suppose I could reward you for making it so far. These are my Sigils — the product of generations worth of research and selective breeding. Sadly, there’s no special powers to mine. I wasn’t born with one that had abilities on top of just being a massive energy battery. But, honestly? Just having reserve power is good enough for me.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Felix says, sweeping the sweat out of his eyes. His own mundane bodily energy has been restored — he might be able to survive if he outwits Marie. Somehow.

“What I’m saying is that I can keep this up for much longer than you can. But since I can’t catch you easily, you might have a shot.” Marie shrugs and raises her arm towards him — the blue bands around her arm begin to intensify. “Enough chit chat. Let’s dance, shall we?”

Felix gets the feeling that the ‘dance’ is not so much an invitation than it is a statement.

When he sees Marie steady her aim with her other hand, he hits the deck. And once more, a blast of unknown power scorches the air above him.

He runs. He runs a desperate run, much like any animal would sprint away from a predator, expecting every footstep to be his last. Marie’s assault takes her on a constant path behind him — although she can move much faster than him, she’s concentrating on keeping her distance and firing.

Blue death rains. His mind kicks into a vague fugue state concentrated only on survival: his neurons only react to the twitch of Marie’s aim. The first barrage comes. Then the third. Then the sixth. The shots get closer with each burst — he’s forced to hurl himself through glass, off railings, face first into the dirt. Anything for a little more time.

He knows this is useless. He can’t possibly fight against Marie — anything his mind could possibly think of would only buy him minutes at most. Concentrated terror like nothing he’s ever experienced surges through his mind. New pain from shrapnel mixes into his system; one particular shot grazes by his jacket and tears through the fabric. He feels the cold grasp of death now wringing his neck.

Noises that humans should never make begin escaping from his mouth. Little half-groans of pain and exasperation and exhaustion — he feels something breaking as his vision blurs once more.

He had come to this town not knowing exactly what he wanted — he accepted the reality of his apparent oceanographer internship and high school attendance, despite them being literally contradictory positions. His instinct and whims guided him alone: he never really had any ambitions of his own. Not once did he question his interest in Marie, or his obsession with the time.

From the very start, he was a puppet. A doll. A robot that followed its programming to the letter. Surely he would meet his end when he served his purpose, unaware of anything at all. If he died here or later, it wouldn’t matter — nobody would ever tell him anything. Perhaps this is merely his fate.

The twelve barrage hits a pillar in front of him and explodes in a burst of rock and dust — Felix is blown back. A single image flashes in his mind — the fuzzy recollection of a sterile white room, countless clocks, and scalpels flashes forward. Then he tumbles on the ground, cutting up his already wounded body on pavement, and comes to a crushing stop against a wall.

Something in his soul gives out as he writhes in agony. He isn’t sure why he expected answers. Some people go their whole lives without knowing what they really want.

So maybe it might just be best to die here. He wouldn’t have to think about anything that happened. It would all just be one very long bad dream.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Marie killed him. She was nice enough to him, and he could sense that somewhere in there, she was a genuinely good person.

He catches another glimpse of the star-lit sky and the split moon, absentmindedly laying in the rubble. The footsteps get closer and closer.

“You done?”

Marie’s voice comes as soon as the footsteps stop. Felix forces himself to glance towards her moonlit girl — her eyes pierce the darkness like emeralds. Maybe this town was named after her family.

Wouldn’t that be funny?

“C’mon. Got any last words? Gonna beg or scream or something?”

She isn’t even aiming her arm at him; she’s just staring at him, as though to decipher what he must be feeling right now.

But not even Felix knows what he’s feeling. Lucidity is inescapable now — he legitimately doesn’t know what he’s doing here. Sure, he might be getting killed for seeing something he shouldn’t have, but the rest of his mind is a mess. Even trying to recall the names of the months is getting hard.

He figures he should be begging for his life or something. Maybe she’s looking for a reason to spare him. But at this point, he just really doesn’t care anymore.

“...No.”

A fresh wind whistles between them and blows around the debris. A lick of dust leaps from the ground and swirls into the air, never to be seen again.

“Alright.” Marie raises her arm again and aims towards his head. “Any last requests? I’m going to kill you now.”

“I guess not,” he replies, realizing that not even his body wants to move anymore.

She nods and lowers her arm. “Well, I’ll make sure that it’ll be painless at least. It might be scary, but I guess everybody meets death at some point. You’re not even the first person I’ve killed — and you certainly won’t be the last. So you don’t need to feel too lonely.”

There is no emotion in her voice. No sadness, no joy, no regret, no excitement; only plain indifference.

What caused such an ordinary girl to turn herself into a monster? He can see the strife in her actions and her words — she’s still hesitating. He realizes that he barely knew Marie now, but there has to be something he can do. Nobody should be forced to become something they don’t want to be.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have a choice,” she mutters, averting her gaze.

Then, she visibly resolves herself and looks back at him. Her arm rises and new glyphs appear, encircling her arm like a nest of snakes.

Suddenly, something perks his interest. Two tiny purple dots shine from the fourth floor above them.

“Wait,” he says, glancing upwards. “One thing first, please.”

Marie purses her lips. “Go on.”

He points towards those distant purple lights. “What’re those?”

She narrows her eyes at him. Then, after some deliberation contemplation, turns around to the thing Felix is pointing at.

Then her jaw drops. “What the fu—”

Before she can finish her sentence, those purple dots animate. They seem to twist and rise into the air, then project two thin rays purple rays crackling with black light across the court — straight through Marie’s chest.