Prologue

The Void

Dying? Not the end of everything. We think it is. But what happens on earth is only the beginning.

– Mitch Albom

The Afterlife.

...

JAMES WALKED HIS PATH IN silence.

If sound still existed, his footsteps would have tapped mutedly on the obsidian rocks that lined his path. The manifestation of his Johnny gown would have rustled faintly as it trailed along with his ethereal form. If touch still existed, he would have felt the remnants of other lost souls lingering in the air—the numbing obscurity tainted by their ghastly remains.

If he were still mortal… he would have sensed the unease that permeated this plane. The resentment and discontent that imbued in the very essence of existence. But no, he was not. For true mortality existed not in the void. And so, he walked his path. In silence.

He knew not how far he travelled. Or how long, for it could have been a moment, or an eternity. It was funny how little the difference mattered here. How insignificant it all was. And eventually, as all things do, he came to a stop. Before him was a flickering orb of light. It was strange, being able to see it without truly seeing. Able to feel its consoling warmth, an assuring certainty that it was there, without truly feeling. Familiar in a way he could not recall.

Hazy, but familiar.

James gazed beyond the orb and beneath it was another void. A wormhole? Akin to a gate to another state of existence. The void was an emptiness within another. One whose very existence defied all conventional logic. And floating above this said void were several phantasmal figures intermittently phasing in and out of this existence. They were restrained at the feet by ethereal tethers that extended back into the ‘gate’. But, though the figures phased about blindly, they never wandered. Seemingly… afraid.

Curious, James extended a finger towards one of the smoky spectres before immediately retracting the appendage. ‘Fascinating,’ he murmured in thought as he stared into the nothingness before him. Glancing from his slightly faded finger to the stygian beings trapped beneath the orb of light, he thought to himself, “demons?”

“No,” a voice drawled, breaking the solemn silence. “Voidings. Similar, but not necessarily the same. Both have rather illustrious histories of terrifying the sentient, it's just that demons are mythical. Make-believe. Voidlings are not.”

“Who's there?” James asked, wary as he swivelled to find the speaker.

“Ah, pardon me, good sir… Madam?” the speaker asked politely from within the seemingly harmless floating ball of light. The speaker's voice was inflected, heavy with static and odd modulations as if transmitted via an old, broken radio.

“...Sir,” James replied after a brief pause.

“Oh, good! It’s getting harder to tell these days,” The voice replied, relieved. “Nice to meet you… Sir. I was just mildly elated. Though I predicted this encounter, It is not every day one meets a fellow aesthete that can appreciate such delicate metaphysical intricacies. But one cannot blame the general populace for their woeful distaste, one borne of fear and ignorance. Voidlings do possess a rather morbid taste for transmatter, the very substance that forms the core of souls and other information-based lifeforms. Asides from that though, they could be as you say. Quite… fascinating.”

James raised a questioning brow.

“Who are you? And what do you want with me?” He asked blandly, his eyes roaming the surface of the orb.

“Ah, forgive me, forgive me,” the speaker said, “The name is Hue Dywn, but you can refer to me as the Contractor. What is yours, stranger?”

"...James. James Earl.”

“It is nice to meet you, Mr James Earl,” the voice said with a brief burst of static. “Since it appears you fulfil all the required criteria, would you be interested in being alive again?”

“What?!”

“Please, relax Sir. I am simply here to offer you a deal in which you would be granted the privilege of returning to the midst of the living in exchange for your participation in a privately-funded experimental program.”

James frowned. “... What do you mean by 'return to the midst of the living'. Also, did you just ask to experiment on me?”

"You know exactly what I meant, Sir James. Also, yes."

"And you seriously expected me to just agree to be experimented on? Not like I have much left to lose, but still."

"Indeed. Though your refusal might be a tad... problematic. If you could you give me a moment,” the voice said before murmuring faintly. “Now where did I drop that brochure?.. Ah! Found it. Ahem. I could enlighten you on our sustainability goals for the next two hundred years, as well as the positively eco-friendly, relatively safe and harmless nature of the program if that would assuage some of your doubts.”

Brief silence.

"And please enlighten me on how that might help assuage my doubts?" James asked, equal parts scornful and confused.

"It worked once before," the voice said, their shrug almost palpable from their tone alone.

“...Could I at least get more information, like for example what the program is about or what the end goals of the organisation you represent are?

“Mostly raw data for research purposes as well as a few other things. Sadly those are classified, hence, I cannot disclose them to you, Mr James.”

“Ok? But what do you or whatever organisation you are representing gain from doing this?”

“Like I said, mostly raw data. Sorry, but any additional information is classified, hence, I am required by contract to enforce its secrecy.”

“Sure…” James trailed in a doubtful tone, “but can I at least know the name of the organisation offering to me what I assume should be a contract?”

“Absolutely… not, Sir James. Classified.”

Silence.

"I could enlighten you further on our sustainability goals for the next two hundred lifetimes if you are still interested,” the voice offered again. James could have sworn that he heard paper rustling in the background.

“This is one very shady deal,” James commented, crossing his phantom arms with a frown. His expression bore a healthy dose of suspicion.

“But you are obviously interested, or at least curious. So, do we have an agreement?” The voice asked, clearly unperturbed.

There was a pause. A beat of hesitation. Then…

“Fine, where do I sign,” James replied with an uncaring shrug, letting his arms fall back to his sides. ‘I am already dead. What's the worst that could possibly go wrong?' he thought.

“Very well,” the voice said in an upbeat tone. “You have been approved and added to the database. Preparing for transfer. Temporal link established, please standby. Transfering… Now.”

The voice fell silent for a moment before adding. “Nice doing business with you, Mr James. And good luck and safe travels, you are going to need it down there.”

“Wait, what is that supposed to―”