Reflections on Morrowind

Actually seriously playing Morrowind. I love how creepy the story is. By comparison, Skyrim suffers from some serious emotional dynamic range comparison. It’s epic set piece after epic setpiece, with very little variation. And yet in Morrowind, I just plumbed a poorly lit ruin haunted with ghosts and dangerous automata, only to emerge to nightmares and random accostations by mouthpieces for Talos knows what sort of unknowable horror.
 
Six months of preparation, expanding my business, exploiting the training services of everyone in Balmora, raising my ego to a height of invulnerability, ascending in my imagination to the heroic image I had always coveted… only to be torn back down to a level of mere competence and preparation.
 
* * * * * *
 
Back in the real world, my experience with the exam I just did is that I always run up against boredom. In terms of aversive intensity, I think it’s comparable to a moderate headache or abdominal pain. I’ll do anything to escape how awful schoolwork is. Games are fascinating, especially the more psychologically devious and direct ones like Morrowind. They remove the barrier of the limitation of boredom, or physical ability, or genetics. They deliver to you an idealised Super-human, without any bounds on their potential. The cycle of empowerment and vulnerability mirrors my experience of life, except everything is structured
 
The other great gem of the Elder Scrolls* is the way it always needles you, prods you, asks you the barbed question of “Why aren’t you this great out there, in your other life? In this world, you have no limits. Everything is a step (or a thousand miles) away. As in life.”
 
The sad reality is that life is hard. There are so many hills to climb, jungles to hack through, shadow-choked swathes of ignorance and confusion to stumble and grope about in. In-game, you’re only fighting the mechanics and the narrative. In life, your worst enemy is yourself, and the patterns bestowed upon you through nature and nurture.
 
TES is not just an escape. It is a call to walk the hero-path in life. Where Tarkovsky meditates on man’s place in the cosmic and divine process, TES meditates on the individual’s hero-journey.
 
*A side note, the thing that really got me into TES is its approach to narratives, history, and science. TES doesn’t just provide a living world of characters, it provides a living world of intellectual engagement. The past is shrouded in mystery, and the very game mechanics themselves are a process of ongoing investigation by in-game intellectuals. The way Mysticism is treated in in-game texts, for instance, as a refractory scientific mystery. What I wouldn’t give to truly challenge my character’s psychological fortitude and genuinely plunge into Apocrypha…

The Spirit of Cinema, In Games

“Cinematic” isn’t about technological limitations on framerates, or ritualistic observances of arbitrary standards. It isn’t about visual melodrama of unremitting intensity. It’s a well-cultivated artistic discipline of using visual exposition to excite, engage, and immerse the player. Of all of Nintendo’s franchises, Zelda has always been the most committed to this discipline. Even the 2D games had a great sense of drawing you into vistas and scenarios that let the environment convey the drama and stories. Through peaks of tragedy, triumph, and wonder, through the quiet moments of reflection, through the strained intervals of grief and anger. Zelda is one of the series that don’t let us forget that the spark of cinema is alive and well in video games.

Though, that makes me wonder. Often the sense of wonder lapses into numb familiarity. The brilliance of cinema proper is that experience is (usually) brief enough to allow deep and consistent engagement. A game like Proteus is brilliant because engagements with it are typically short. Majora’s Mask is brilliant because the narrative is ever-present, where in Ocarina Of Time the dungeons occasionally distracted from it.

To create a cinematic RPG, I think the way some of the staples are handled should be carefully considered. A game that metamorphoses based on qualitative elements would be interesting. Have each element that communicates a mood to the player be a function on some semantic quality. For instance, even enemy encounters or random encounter rates can be used for storytelling. Throwing more or harder enemies at the player as a form of communicating the character’s psychological strain.

I feel a lot of RPGs become mired in mindless statistics, to the point that the gameplay acts against, rather than with, the storytelling…

A Song, A Prayer

What words could come with the last word spoken?

May the the last sound be as the first: some shapeless scream.

But may that wail rise into song, and in song fly free,

And may the song be joined in chorus.

And may that flocking chorus flee

And leave the one from whence it came.

Here I sit, at peace, as one,

And may you join me as we sit as two.

Timothy Dickson Chronicles: Darkness

The golem rammed into Timothy, sending him flying. Fury had focused his mind, and he righted himself in midair, landing clumsily on all fours. The pain of the impact stunned him for a moment, but the golem was relentless. It rushed over, bringing both of its fists down to crush him. Reflexively, he thrust his blade up in the path of the blow. As the golem’s fists drew near to the blade, white flames erupted from it, burning the golem’s arms away. Unfazed, the golem drew in for a kick. Timothy quickly stood, and swung his sword at the golem’s leg, obliterating it. Screaming, he stepped in for a thrust into its core. Before the blade, the creature sizzled and disintegrated.

The voice came again. “Very good. Very good, indeed. But perhaps your senses deceive you?” Thunder boomed, and suddenly he saw that students were running screaming from him, and scorched and dismembered corpses were littering the parking lot. Horror and regret gripped Timothy, and he felt sick to the bottom of his stomach. The vision faded, and the scene returned to the way it had just been. “Remember this: I am the master here. Trust nothing, trust nobody… least of all yourself!”

With the golem dealt with, he had to get back to the physics department. He looked around for his bike, and found that it had been trashed int he fight with the parking inspector. He ran over to the bike racks, and used his blade to cut loose one of the other bikes. He dematerialised it before hopping on the bike and racing off.

On the way over, he noticed black fluff rolling toward him, and gathering into small vortices as if caught by the wind. Looking behind him, he saw a large mass of the stuff forming. He began sprinting faster, observing that the tentacles on the fields were now vigorously twisting and thrashing at the air. The voice spoke. “Do you like my vision, Timothy? Beautiful, isn’t it? Oh, look out behind you!” Timothy swerved sharply to the side, twisting around to see a vortex of black fluff. Timothy scowled, doubled over on the bike, and tried to sprint away. “Tut tut, that won’t work.” Something sharp cracked against the side of his head, sending him tumbling off the bike. The vortex was forming whips. Another one shot out, catching him on his face. The stinging was awful, but his focus remained unbroken. “Oh, and…” the voice continued, affecting forgetfulness, “…don’t forget that you’re in a rush!” Another scream came out of the earpiece.

Timothy cried out in rage, and ran forward, weathering lashes from the vortex. He ripped his sword out, and, with a roar, summoned gouts of flame, bathing the vortex. It was reduced to ash. Dropping the sword, he ran to the bike and continued his sprint to the physics building. As he approached, he could see crowds of zombies milling about. He dimly felt a mixture of despair, frustration, and sadness through his trance. He hopped off the bike, and ran forward, yelling to grab the zombies’ attention. He manifested his blade again, and summoned a bright light while brandishing it. The zombies at first cringed, and then began to run and shriek. Timothy felt relief that he would not have to hurt any of them.

He ran through the Physics building to the secret passage, and headed down the stairs. The scanner room was blocked by thick metal doors, but Timothy simply hacked through them. “Careful now, you enter my domain!” said the voice. Timothy was greeted by the same concrete tunnels he had seen before, though he had no idea where anything was. Blood was pooled on the floor. He could use this, gruesome as it was. He continued on, splashing blood on the walls to mark his path, and scanning all the rooms. Eventually he game to some glass walls overlooking a massive hollow room, full of arcane-looking equipment. “I will give you a hint, lest I grow bored. Head to your right.” Timothy hesitated, thinking through what kinds of trap it could be, but erred on the side of following directions and facing down this “master”.

He continued on, checking in rooms, splashing blood to mark his path. Suddenly, his heart froze as he looked into one of the rooms. A figure sat there, smiling in his direction. It almost looked like Michael Hellessy, of Stalkerspace fame, but twisted and nightmarish. Tendrils of some black and smoky substance frenziedly whipped about its head. A thick black haze fell from its body, pooling and drifting about the floor. The figure spoke, and it sounded exactly like the voice Timothy had been hearing. “Would you care to take a seat? No? Feel free to stand. Or lean. Whatever suits. How do you like my gifts?”

Timothy felt something snap inside his head. Blind rage overcame his trance, and words came pouring out of his mouth with uncontrollable bile and fire. “GIFTS?! What sort of gifts are these? What twisted generosity is this twisted landscape of nightmares?!”

“The gift of meaning! Don’t you feel wonderful and alive with something to hate? With something to struggle against? With something that horrifies you down to the very fibres of your existence? Isn’t it grand! Tell me, up until now, how empty was your life? Barely filled by momentary fragments of joy and satisfaction and shadows to box? Play fights, mock wars, pretend struggles. In this short day, how many lives have you led? How many lives have you destroyed?”

“Why… why would you…”

“Because as your life fills, I feast! I told you. Your fury, your sorrow, your love, your pain. I need strength if I am to spread my influence. I indulge in my desires, for mine is the power to do so. I do so love your near-infinite capacity to suffer, and to violently overcome anything I might throw at you.”

Timothy’s chest was tight, and his heart was pounding. His breath became ragged, and his eyes wet. A terrible scream erupted from his core. He flung his arms open, and his head back, his face tense, twisted, and flushed a deep red. He screamed and scream and screamed, and black flames burst from his sword, licking at the ceiling. Eventually Timothy’s rage calmed, and he hunched forward, breathing heavily. Murder was in his eyes.

“I am not your plaything. I AM NOT YOUR PLAYTHING!!!” With another shout, he charged forward, and swung his sword, bathing the creature in the black flames. It threw its arms up to cover its face against them. He continued the charge, drawing the sword back. He reached the creature, and plunged the sword through its chest.

The voice’s laughter rang through the halls. “You pathetic fool! What intoxicating naivety! I am not done with you yet. Struggle and rage and FEED ME! Look! Look at what you have done! Look at what you have made for me, in my honour!”

Timothy was almost too afraid to look down, but he forced himself to anyway. At his feet lay Michael’s corpse. Timothy’s body weakened, then collapsed, and his face contorted into a grimace. Tears streamed from his eyes, and a pained, angry wail tore from his body.

All the while, the voice continued to laugh and laugh.

Timothy Dickson Chronicles: The Inspector

The earpiece kept yelling. “Timothy! Timothy, are you there? Are you okay? Please respond!”

Timothy groaned and shifted. Slowly his conscious came to, and he jerked upright, scanning for the creature. Slowly, he remembered that he had vanquished it. The earpiece continued: “Timothy! Do you read?”

He activated it and replied “Yes, yes… I’m okay. I lost control and got into a fight with some sort of… thing. It too referenced a higher power it was involved with. This one was experimenting with mind control. It gave me some kind of device for reverting the zombification. Do you mind if I leave it with you?”

“Yes, of course. I’m glad you’re okay. We have something to report. There were several discharges of some kind of signature just now. Do you have any idea where they might have come from?”
“Yes. I have a sword I can conjure in times of great need or duress. The creature used some sort of psychic ability to tear it from me. Then, the sword manifested its power, and I used it to destroy the creature.”

“Fascinating! We have a signature that matches that of the entity from beyond the stars, so presumably that corresponds to the creature. On the other hand, it seems as if whatever energy comes from your blade interacts directly with the other signal, yielding a lot of high-amplitude noise.”

“I kind of follow. Also, I have a request. I borrowed some supplies from one of the Curtin labs, but I’d like to return them. Do you have anything I can use to defend myself? It needs to be nonlethal.”

“Ah, yes, we might have some air cannons and shock devices. Is that okay?”

“Yes, how about distractions?”
“Ah yes, we should be able to jury rig some noise bombs for you, too.”

“Great, we’ll do a trade then. How do you want to do this?”
“You leave your device where the hatch was. There will be some equipment there for you.”

Timothy went and completed the trade, then found a seminar room to check his phone.

A post on Stalkerspace caught his eyes. “This is probably the wrong time, but, uh, I think there’s a parking inspector out and about.” There was a picture of a human figure wandering about the Hancock parking space. Cars had been strewn about, as if a severe storm had hit. Timothy made a quick post: “Zombies are being worked on. Heading over to parking lot to investigate.”

On his travel over, it was clear the campus was being twisted further and further. The earth around the fields was beginning to heave, and there seemed to be more and more vigorous tentacles sprouting from them. The sky had darkened significantly, and there were no sounds of birds nor wind. Finally he arrived.

The person was there, but it was obvious something was very wrong. The figure was larger, now, and twisted. Its muscles were bulging, and dark smoke slowly rose and curled from it. It turned, slowly, to stare at Timothy, and its eyes shone a brilliant, haunting amber. It raised one of its powerful claws and roared. The cry was like a peal of thunder, shaking Timothy’s body and pounding at his ears. The creature drew back its arm and charged at Timothy. He only just managed to fling himself from his bike, landing awkwardly. He scrambled to his feet as the creature charged again, diving out of the way just in time.

Finally standing and balanced, he crouched ready to dodge again. There was probably no way to reason with this creature, but he had to try. “Can you hear me? Is there anyone in there?” He looked into the creature’s eyes and saw only single-minded predatory ferocity.

The creature roared and charged again, Timothy nimbly avoiding the blow. “Please! I don’t want to hurt you. Are you human? Do you understand?”

Still roaring, the creature brought both of its arms up, and Timothy backed away. It crashed them into the ground, causing an impact that knocked him off his feet. With perfect agility, it lunged forward, bringing its claws down for a killing blow. Timothy stared at them, when suddenly, blinding light flooded the scene.

The creature recoiled, with a cloud of black smoke rapidly being blown from its arm, away from Timothy. The claw reverted into a human hand. Timothy stared, and had a brainwave. For a moment, he focused, and attempted to manifest his sword. Manifest it did, and he unsheathed it, holding it forth defensively.

The creature shrank from the blade, smoke billowing from it, as if blown by the sword. Fear was clearly visible in its eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. I can help you.” Timothy walked forward, slowly, carefully, guard at the ready. It did not look like the creature was going to attack, but he did not think it would be wise to be caught unprepared.

The creature held the clawless arm forward, as if gesturing to keep the sword away. Timothy manifested more of the sword’s light, and another cloud of the black smoke tore away from the creature’s upper arm, shoulder, and part of its chest, as these regions reverted to their human form. Part of a high vis vest became visible. Timothy’s heart sunk. “A parking inspector. Not even a parking inspector deserves this.” Out loud, he screamed at the sky. “Whatever you are, you are beyond forgiveness! How can you be doing these things?!”

He did not expect an answer. A voice as deep, dark, and cold as the cosmos boomed from the sky. “I am the hunger! The will to life and power! I feast, Timothy, for your pain is exquisite! Feed me your pain, your suffering, your rage, your anguish!” Callous laughter flooded the parking lot.

Timothy’s chest became tight, and his eyes moist. “Damn you! God damn you! I will end you, you beast!” With a scream, his sword burst into flames and bathed the turned parking inspector in brilliant light. The creature shrunk away, smoke pouring from it. Finally it reverted to the man it once was. Timothy drove his sword into the asphalt, and extended a hand down to help the poor man up. “I’m so sorry for what happened to you. Come with me, I’ll help you over to the library where it’s safe.”

The parking inspector turned his gaze down. “I’m real sorry, mate. I had no control. I could hear you, but there was no way for me to stop. Only madness and anger.”

Timothy smiled. “I understand. It’s okay.”

When Timothy got to the library, a crowd of students had gathered at the doors. One of them stepped forth and opened the doors up, and Timothy was met with a wave of cheers. He grinned, and handed the parking inspector over. He yelled over the crowd “Look after this man!” He waved, and yelled again. “I can’t stay. I have to get to the bottom of what’s happening on campus.”

He left the library, and activated the earpiece. “Hi, do you have any leads on where to go next?”

The voice that had come down from the sky laughed through the earpiece. “You might want to come back to physics.”

Timothy’s mind spun. Suddenly, the dangling threads all came together. The anomaly on the scan. The bolt of lightning. The hostile, heavy energy suffusing the building. The distraction all the way over at Hancock.

Suddenly, his heart sunk with dread. He spun around to look back at the library. A black haze blanketed the floor. The walls were splattered with blood. Bits of student were tossed here and there. Timothy fell to his knees, jaw slack. Suddenly, the sound of distant screams came through the earpiece, and the voice laughed again. “Ohhhhh,” it mockingly crooned, “what to do, who to save? Can you even do anything at all? But don’t give in! I hunger so for that defiant spirit of yours. Hate me! Revile me! Let your rage consume you, you miserable worm! And if you don’t…”

Another bolt of dark lightning struck Hancock, and the human debris began levitating and spinning. A vortex of blood and smoke formed, and began sucking in the chunks of student, finally coalescing a hideous mass of twisted flesh. It got to all fours and crashed through the glass, careening towards Timothy.

“…I have ways of making you. Fight for your life! Fight for the transient flash that is your insignificant existence! Fight because you must, and because I will it!”

Stunned, Timothy got to his feet and manifested his sword, readying himself for the fight.

Timothy Dickson Chronicles: Medical Research

It was zombies. They were spilling out of the John Curtin School. Timothy noted that these were the fast kind of zombies, mostly in full control of their motor skills. Since these were presumably previously faculty and students, he could not afford to be caught in a fight.

The earpiece started speaking. “Timothy, can you hear us? We’re detecting some sort of signal coming from your area.”

“I’m approaching the John Curtin School. There appear to be zombies swarming around it.”

“I see. Would you be willing to infiltrate the building so we can get a clearer reading? If there are any survivors, perhaps they could help outfit you, as well.”

“That’s a good point. I don’t have any other leads either. I’ll do my best.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you! I know I can do this.”

A cold focus came over Timothy. Keeping his distance, he slowly jogged around the JCS, mapping possible entries and where the activity was. There was a cold spot at the back of the building. This was where he was going to get. He carefully approached, and slipped inside. The entry hall had deep blue lighting. Timothy grinned out of a mixture of tension and excitement. “Fitting atmosphere,” he thought to himself.

While sweeping for survivors, he noticed a lab. “Hm. Maybe I could find some reagents and make some distractions. Loud noises, smoke bombs… I’ll see if there are any CO2 fire extinguishers too.”

He whipped out his smartphone and looked up what a smoke bomb might be made out of. It also suddenly occurred to him that he could check in with the Stalkerspace Facebook page and determine if there were any survivors, and where they might be found.

The page was full of photos of the insanity around campus. A thread had formed regarding survivors and their whereabouts. It seemed as if those that had not fled the campus or been killed had gathered in the libraries and computer labs.

Timothy mixed up a smoke bomb, just in case. He found a corner to hide in, and posted on Facebook: “I hope everyone is safe! In this troubled time, remember that your friends and neighbours are a powerful source of strength! Please support those around you. It is in moments of the deepest strife and terror that anyone and everyone may be a hero! I wish I had time to say more, but I believe in each and every one of you!”

He made another post: “I’m dealing with a zombie outbreak in the Curtin school. I’m in a lab, and have prepared some explosives as distractions, and a smoke bomb. Anything else I should look for?”

He turned his phone to mute, and switched all vibrations off, kicking himself for not thinking to do this earlier. He searched around a bit more, and found a thick lab coat and a gas mask as precautions against becoming zombified. He also looked for something to use as a bludgeon, and found an indeterminate object. Whatever it was, it was heavy and wieldy. Perfect for incapacitating anything that needed dealing with.

He checked his phone again. Someone had commented on his post. “Biology student here. It’s a long shot, but if you say you’re dealing with zombies, all bets are off, all common sense out the window. See if you can find anything called “QNB”. It’s a knockout gas. Make very sure not to breathe any of it in. The only antidote is physostigmine. Maybe try and find some of that just in case. It takes a while to kick in, maybe a few minutes. It should disorient an entire room.”

Fortunately, there was some in a locked glass cabinet. Timothy broke it open, and retrieved the canisters. He activated the earpiece. “Timothy here. How are the readings going?”
“Good, but they’re fluctuating. Can you continue your sweep of the building?”

“Will do. Tell me if you find anything.”

Timothy finished searching the ground floor, and continued upstairs, being very careful to avoid the front of the building. Unlike the RSHA, the JCS was thankfully uneventful. When he got to the third floor, the earpiece spoke again. “Be careful. The signal is very strong. We have enough… you can turn back now.”
“It’s okay. I need to find out who did this and why, and if I can reason with them.”
“Okay, Timothy. But please, as always, stay safe and be careful.”

Timothy smiled to himself. “Cheers. I’ll be okay.”

He continued his sweep, coming to another lab. This one was occupied. A figure was hunched over one of the workbenches. It turned, and Timothy’s heart felt ready to burst. It was like it was happening in slow motion, and he could barely make sense of what he was witnessing. Fleshy tentacles dangled from where the lower half of its face ought to have been. Its eyes were lidless and deep red. Its eyes flashed amber, and he heard a voice inside his head.

“You. Who are you? What are you doing here? Some greedy rat, scavenging for supplies?”

“I am Timothy Dickson, and I am trying to save the campus. Who are you? Are you responsible for the zombies?”

“I am. What do you think of my craftsmanship? I have bent their minds to my will, but at the same time without harming them at all! Further, I have improved their function with boundless energy and an overriding lust for violence and blood. A true masterstroke, if you ask me.”

“Why? Do you to answer to a “master” too? How can you do these monstrous things?”

“A master? I have a patron, yes. Its interests and mine align, and so it gifts me with the power to do as I will. I have no interest in playing its game of power or chaos. I simply wish to indulge my curiosity and attain higher and higher levels of mastery as an artisan of the mind and body.”

“Can you return these people to the way they were before?”
“Of course. But I won’t. It is beneath me, and serves to teach me nothing.”

“Can I, then?”

“If you want. Oh, but first, I need you.”

The creature’s eyes flashed amber. An electric sensation shot through Timothy, and an intense pressure exploded in his head.

The creature’s voice spoke again. “Interesting. You seem very resilient.”

A sensation like ice shot through Timothy’s head. The voice spoke again. “I see. I admire your restraint. Of course, it is a trivial defence.”

Timothy’s mind exploded in agony. The same sword as from earlier jerked erratically from his chest. He screamed and screamed and screamed.

The creature held out a hand, and the sword drifted toward it. He took it, turning it over, and examining it.

Timothy was slowly returning to reality. “Don’t touch that…” his speech was weak and laboured.

“Oh? And why not? It’s mine now. What an interesting specimen, so replete with energy. Where my patron and I are from, we do not have such miraculous things. Tell me. What is this?”
“It is the manifestation of my heart. It is heavy like my sadness, it burns like my anger, it cuts like my pain and it shines brilliantly like my hope!” Timothy was still weakened by the agony, but he spoke resolutely.

“Fascinating, if outlandish. I was hoping for a more concrete answer. No matter.”

The creature pulled a fleshy, pulsating device from one of its pockets, tapped at it, and swept it over the sword, before tapping at it a few more times and returning the device to its pocket. It held out its hand again, and the sword drifted back to Timothy.

“You have yielded much and powerful information. I promised you I would tell you how to revert my manipulations of your kind.” The creature reached into another pocket and pulled out a metal rod. “You may use this. I’m sure you can figure it out. Or find someone who can.” The creature turned back to the bench.

“That’s it? That’s all your help? After all you’ve done?”
“Yes. I am busy, and I am no longer interested in you. Begone.”

The pain from early had frayed Timothy’s nerves. He was at the edge, and the creature’s callousness pushed him over. He drew his sword.

The creature spoke without turning. “That would not be wise. I have neither the time nor the inclination to eliminate you. Save us both the trouble and leave me alone.”

“You are beyond monstrous! We are living, feeling, thinking beings! We are not experiments or playthings! We are not disposable materials! How can you treat us like this? How troubling could it be to restore the people you’ve altered?! How can you just cast them away? You are sick! You sicken me, sicken me with rage. With disappointment. How many of the people you changed did you acknowledge? How much respect do you have for anything other than yourself?”

Tears were streaming down Timothy’s eyes. His sword exploded into white-hot flame. The creature whipped around.

“Oh. Oh, now this is interesting. Such energy.” It raised its arms out in front of it, and turned its palms toward Timothy. “I will need to take that from you. I will need you as well.”

“Never! I am not your plaything!” Timothy charged forward, screaming and crying, and leapt in the air. He brought the blade down at the creature, but it rapidly slowed, coming to a stop.

“I did warn you this would be impossible.” Some force flung Timothy and his sword up and away from the creature.

He landed with a thud. He got to his knees, roared and charged and leapt again. In midair, the stress of the situation at its maximum, he entered an ecstasy of swordplay, absorbing into the motion of the blade. Again it encountered the force, again it slowed and slowed, but this time, Timothy willed it forth. It broke through, and came crashing down through the creature.

Timothy landed flat on the ground, sword clattering into the distance before disintegrating.

The earpiece spoke again. “Timothy! Timothy, are you okay?!”

Timothy Dickson Chronicles: The Hidden Tunnels

This was bad. With the RSHA destroyed, Timothy now needed technological help in identifying the evil  afflicting canvas. He absolutely could not afford to lose whatever knowledge and materials might be found in the Physics department. Dashing out to the front of A.D. Hope, he found a bicycle that had not yet been secured. He apologised under his breath to whoever owned the bicycle, if they had even survived the Hope building, and sprinted down to the Research School of Physics. Whatever the strange energy was, it was beginning to manifest on the campus. A black haze was settling over Sullys, and coils of tentacles had erupted from the ovals, writhing and flailing there. This both sickened Timothy, and spurred him on to sprint faster. He had to reach the RSPE.

Finally, he came to the building. There was an unnatural stillness. The wind and the birds were both silent. At least this place had not yet been warped into a nightmare vista. Steeling himself, he pushed into the building. Suddenly, the aura of stillness became overwhelming. The air itself became thick and unwelcoming, and weighed heavily upon Timothy. It became a struggle to continue through the building, looking for survivors. Suddenly, a hidden speaker crackled to life. “You there! What are you doing? Who are you?”
“I am Timothy Dickson the Student. I’m trying to understand what has come over the campus, so that I might reason with it… or fight it.”

“I want to believe you, but there are protocols we both must follow. You must follow my directions. If it is safe for me to do so, I may be able to help you.”

Timothy was directed to move to a certain place, where a panel in the floor opened up, revealing a stair case down. “Go through,” said the voice, “and you will come to a chamber. Stand there until you are instructed to move again.”
Timothy did so. Some sort of high-pitched humming filled the chamber. It went dark, and somebody grabbed Timothy, pulling something over his head. He heard the lights come back on, and someone grabbed his hands, pulling him forward. He was led like this for a while, before being stopped. A sharply dressed woman pulled the bag off his head. “We had to scan you for cosmic horror signals. You’re all okay, but there was some anomaly. I’m sorry we had to take the precautions we did. Please, take a seat. I’d offer you a drink, but I think you need your full faculties for what is to come.”

“What is to come? Do you know what’s happening to the campus?”
“Yes. And no. We have some of the picture. Something has come here, from outer space. We don’t know exactly what, but we do know it doesn’t belong.”
“Right. Do you know how to fight it?”
“No, and we lost contact with the Arts school. We were hoping there was some reference in history or narrative traditions that identified what this thing is, or whether anything like it has ever been defeated.”
Timothy’s face sunk. “I’m sorry, professor. One of the thing’s minions destroyed it. I found only one survivor, a student. I already told him to escape the campus.”

“I see. We will have to improvise then. Based on our observations, this entity is capable of interacting with some kind of field of a nature we are unable to determine-”

“-If it helps, when I encountered the entity’s minion, it said it was feeding off stories and emotions. When I came here, a profound aura of stillness was everywhere.”

“Fascinating. We may be able to interact with this in some way. I think the key to defeating this entity may lie in interacting with it through this field it seems to have influence over. Please, come to the labs, we will give you a sensor to try and determine what the field is and how it might be manipulated.”

The woman led Timothy through a series of concrete tunnels that felt alien and uninviting. Finally they arrived at the lab. Rectangular blocks of metal and blinking lights clicked and whirred. The woman called out: “We have someone willing to head to the surface! We will need an aetheric probe!”

A man in jeans and a t-shirt scrambled over. “Right away, ma’am!” He returned quickly with a backpack and an earpiece. “Take this, carry it with you. It will send data back to us. This earpiece will allow us to communicate. We will keep you posted. Good luck.”

The woman turned to Timothy. “Please, stay safe. I wish we could offer you some way of defending yourself out there.”

Timothy smiled. “I have my heart and my mind! I will be safe. I will get to the bottom of this affliction. I swear it!”

“Excellent! Come back with me to the office. I’ll have one of my assistants escort you out. Unfortunately, protocol will have you blindfolded again.”

“I understand.”

Finally, Timothy returned to the surface. Just then, however, an alarm began ringing from the John Curtin school. Timothy’s composure was worn, and broke for just a moment. “Shit! I hope it’s not be zombies.”

Timothy Dickson Chronicles: An Unnatural Opponent

There was some foul, otherworldly energy polluting the ANU. Timothy knew it. The students felt it. Some were afflicted with a sense of overwhelming lethargy and despair. Others with frantic, buzzing compulsions, anxieties, and obsessions. Not Timothy. He was a fighter, gifted with the supernatural boon to resist even the most incomprehensible of cosmic horrors. But no… perhaps he was more than a fighter. Perhaps he was a Superman, a Hercules from the pages of a comic book: an invulnerable agent of all the romantic ideals humanity holds dear, sent from some brighter place to inspire and help us all.

“I need to find the source of this aura,” he thought to himself. “It must be coming from somewhere. This isn’t going to be easy. I will need knowledge and resources. I should check in with the Humanities Research Centre first, to see if any of the professors there have any ideas about what might be going on.”

Whatever was afflicting the campus must have been drawn to the concentration of spiritual power in the A.D. Hope building. By the time Timothy arrived, it was a bloodbath the likes of which could have been lifted from a Hellblazer comic. Slimy, pulsating viscera spilled from the windows, tangled with writhing black tentacles. An oppressive, chaotic aura suffused the area, violently throwing itself against the fortress of Timothy’s heart.

Suddenly, a voice issued forth, its sound jagged and furious. “Timothy! My master has gifted me this place. I hunger for the shadows of humanity’s heart! I feast upon your stories and the weakness in your hearts! Cowardice, compulsion, myth and mirth! These are my ambrosia!”

Timothy was enraged, but not yet ready to do battle and allow violence to take control of his heart. “Who are! Why have you done this? Do any of the humanities researchers still live?”

The voice laughed with crushing cruelty. “Come, Timothy! Come and find out!”

And so Timothy plunged into A.D. Hope.

The picture inside was even worse. The stench of blood and death choked the air. Mutilated bodies were left tossed about in the rooms, jumbled with the tentacles and viscera seen from outside. Parts of the roof had collapsed under the weight of the filth that had worked its way through the ventilation. Rage became sadness, and Timothy’s heart became heavy at the callous brutality that the creature had effected in this place. He pressed on, for hope sprung eternal in his heart.

The voice continued its mockery. “Come, Timothy. Will you find anyone to save? Or have I claimed them all? Rent their form and devoured their spirit?”

The sweep of the first floor yielded no survivors. But on the second…

A student charged out of the fridge in one of the kitchens, brandishing a knife! “It’s okay, it’s okay,” said Timothy. The student dropped his arms and collapsed, shaking and sobbing. “Are you okay?” asked Timothy. “My God, the screams. The smell. Why am I alive?!” the student sobbed. “Because you deserve to live. Because everyone deserves to live. You should escape. The way out is safe. Get as far away from campus as you can, and tell the police what is happening.” Timothy helped the student up, hugged him, and then sent him on his way. He hoped dearly that he would be safe.

Finally, Timothy made his way to the roof. The owner of the voice was there, a tall, pale figure with a bulging stomach, a giant head, and a neck that seemed far too thin to support it. It was holding aloft a professor by his neck. It turned, breaking the professor’s neck, and tossing the body aside. It sneered at Timothy. “The great hero arrives. Die now!” The monster charged, jagged claws erupting from its fingers, splattering blood across the ground. Timothy nimbly dodged, for he was still not ready to let violence seize his heart, though his heart boiled with rage and sadness.

“Why have you done these things! Why did these people have to die!” Timothy demanded.

“I do my Master’s bidding. I hunger. I want!” The creature charged again. This time, Timothy misjudged, and his arm was caught by a blow. He screamed out in pain, and clutched at the wound.

“You are better than this! All the stories you have devoured, surely you have seen that violence is only incidental to struggle! Humans want many things, but we are not violent! We strive, and sometimes we foolishly hurt, but rarely do we wish to do harm! Do you not want to struggle to be yourself, to impress yourself upon the world, to find some way to transform that hunger into transformation?”

The creature threw back its head and laughed venomously. “No! My nature is to hunger. My purpose is to serve! I do what I will! You are foolish to think that I could ever care!”

With this display of irreparable evil, the seal on Timothy’s heart was broken. He collapsed on his knees, roaring with pain and rage. From his chest came a sword and scabbard, blazing a brilliant white. He grabbed it and pulled it out, drawing the sword, and dropping the scabbard to the ground.

“You monster! There were people here, plumbing into the depths of history, doing grand and noble things! These people had lives, people they cared about, people who cared about them. They were heroes, embodying the heights of community, aspiration, and aptitude! And you butchered them! All because you believe you are bound to… to what? Fate? Nature? Your master’s will? This is your evil: your submission to darkness. It is one thing to bow your head to a seemingly irresistible force. It is another to take the darkness within you and inflict it upon so many others, knowingly, willingly, and with delight! Damn you fiend, and damn your master!”

With a roar, he hefted the sword above his head, where it burst into blinding flames. “Take this! My love, my hatred, and all of my sorrow!” He raced forth with impossible speed and brought the flaming sword down, cleaving the creature in two. The sword disintegrated into ashes, and he fell once more against the ground, punching it. Tears fell from his eyes.

There would be no time for rest, however. A bolt of pitch-black lightning struck the campus. Timothy pulled out his phone. It had struck in the region of the Research School of Physics.

TO BE CONTINUED

Patterns of despair

I could synthesise a bunch of readings about memory and beliefs. Instead I want to talk briefly about the irony of the patterns of suicidal ideation. This has something that has been with me for an indeterminate period of time. It is so pervasive, even now, in one of the brief windows of freedom from pain, when I would even consider myself happy–even despite the transience that does not seem to fit the word–I think, I could channel this peace and happiness into committing to the moments it would take to end my life. This is absurd. At the same time, in this state of happiness, I am less concerned with the usual nihilism that holds me in an inescapable spell. I can substitute in desires and goals, and somewhat work towards them. (Not enough… I’m having maybe separate issues with motivation, but that’s neither here nor there.)

I feel like it’s easier to make sense of myself as a collection of thoughts and voices, each with their own desires and agendas. Personifying patterns makes them more tractable, and less persuasive. There is probably more work to be done here, especially at the moment, since I’ve all but lost my self-control, and my studies are suffering for it. I need to sit down to meditate on my feelings and beliefs.