《Until The Truth is Interred》 Case 8: Mirror Mirror 1 The Bureau of Corpse Disposal wants all citizens to always keep the following in mind when dealing with the deceased: 1. Make proper arrangements for corpse disposal. 2. If you see a zone of unreality manifesting over you, stay still and stay silent. 3.Do not engage with anyone that is not authorized by the Bureau of Corpse Disposal. Unreality manifests in uncertain ways. Keep these three tips in mind at all times, and you too can help ensure that corpses are properly disposed of. And in the off chance they aren¡¯t, you¡¯re well equipped to handle those situations.
¡°Work dammit,¡± he grunted. He slapped the washer-dryer, the machine rumbling as it went through its solitary cycle. It churned the clothing, noisily tossing them about as it finished up the drying sequence. It¡¯d been displaying it had zero minutes left for the last five minutes, and the electricity it ran on wasn¡¯t cheap. A radio bounced to the rhythm of the machine, a steady bass line plucking out into the air. The New Yorkers blasted their saxophones, threatening to give as much energy as the combo washer-dryer. The clothing pounded against the steel frame, concussive pattern setting a new tempo for the performers a few states over. He stared at it, waiting for it to jingle its completion when another noise rang from his pockets. This would be the ninth time he¡¯d heard it, but only the sixth time he¡¯d act on it. Barring the first time, but it wouldn¡¯t be right to track that instance with the rest. He fished out his phone, almost dropping it as it slipped between his coarse hands. It displayed a familiar, if not irregular notification. A corpse hadn¡¯t been properly disposed of, which meant it was time to go back to work. With a wave of his wrist, the washing and drying machine split back into two distinct objects, noisily cluttering on the floor of the apartment. A banging came from below, but Jericho paid it no mind. The downstairs neighbors complained about everything. They didn¡¯t deserve to be vindicated the one time their complaining was merited. So what if they periodically looked after Mordecai? That still didn¡¯t justify their behavior. ¡°The laundry¡¯s ready to be taken out,¡± he shouted to the kitchen. ¡°You mind putting it away? I¡¯ve got another corpse to handle.¡± The murmured grunt from the living room was all the response he needed. He didn¡¯t expect Mordecai to get up just yet¡ªthe kiddo was behind on his homework. Too addicted to gaming, and if it were another year ago, Jericho would have been ready to join him¡ªbut the acknowledgement meant things hadn¡¯t gone wrong just yet. Jericho tromped down the stairs. He stopped on the bottom step and put on his shoes. He reached for the hand mixer and pressed it against the footwear, the two objects merging into one. All he needed one was one last check to make sure everything he needed was on him. Shirt pocket, hips, side pockets. All patted, all present. With his final prep in order, he started for the scene of the corpse. He only hoped that it wouldn¡¯t be too dangerous. The improvised ¡®roller skates¡¯ carried him through the usually busy road. Each stride was boosted, making it effortless to glide down the empty streets. It was clear that the Bureau had already started funneling away any locals unequipped to dive into the unreality incursion. It only stood to reason that the capital would be well-prepared to deal with any unexpected pop-ups of unreality. It was all too obvious that the reality incursion was present from the distorted air off in the distance. Buildings crept up from the ground, only to fracture upon reaching the outer perimeter of the manifestation. Hard angles split, edges warping far past the horizon. Glass glimmered with untold stories, impromptu visions into histories fabricated out of other times. If one stood too close to the perimeter, strange whispers in tongues familiar and foreign invaded their ears, telling stories with no start and no end. The impromptu blockade sat right in front of the outer perimeter. The two government employees dispassionately watched Jericho pull up before them. They wore matching attire¡ªwhite button down shirts, black slacks, and sunglasses. They were the very epitome of casual professionals. There was a conspicuous absence of guns, but it wasn¡¯t as though he didn¡¯t understand the futility in having them. Most conventional weaponry was ineffective within the unreality incursions, and anyone with an ounce of sense would do their best to not be trapped in the proximity of an improperly disposed of corpse.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Now Jericho wondered if he was lacking in common sense, but given he was already at the blockade, well, it was likely a foregone conclusion. ¡°Please provide your identification,¡± the guard on the left said. It sounded like he smoked three times a day, but when one worked with the Bureau, it only stood to reason that one would have a vice or two. Unreality was a harsh thing, even on the border. In the background, a radio chattered, a north eastern girl monitoring the transit around the perimeter per the stray words that reached Jericho''s ear. Her raspy voice indicated a similar habit, and in this economy? Who could blame her? Jericho fumbled around in his pockets, giving a sheepish grin to the federal agents before finally fishing out the ID from his front chest pocket. He smacked the top of his head. ¡°Sorry mate, forgot I put it there to make it easier to remember.¡± The two passed the card between themselves before handing it back. ¡°Alright, you¡¯re clear. We¡¯ll tell you what limited information we can provide. This is a rank 2 unreality. It¡¯s approximately 10 city blocks wide. There may be some lost civilians inside, but they aren¡¯t the priority if you choose to continue in. It opened up around 45 minutes ago.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a pretty quick response,¡± Jericho said, crossing his arms. ¡°Who called it in?¡± ¡°Locals. We confirmed the unreality outbreak and set up the perimeter as soon as we could.¡± ¡°Seems like a regular case?¡± ¡°Are any unreality breaks regular?¡± One of the guards lowered his head, eyebrow raising above the edge of his sunglasses. ¡°Point taken. Did any of you go in?¡± The right guard shuddered. ¡°Only briefly, to confirm the strength of the unreality. Didn¡¯t see any obvious creatures, but as you know, an absence when we scouted doesn¡¯t preclude any hostile activity.¡± ¡°Right right, and you¡¯re not liable either. I get it. Any idea who the corpse was?¡± The wind howled through the area, blowing down the empty street. The guards¡¯ clothing billowed in the wind, but the pair remained unfazed. ¡°No one¡¯s been reported missing, but as you very well know, it¡¯s hard to know who¡¯s missing until they¡¯ve been noticed as being gone, and at that point¡ª¡° ¡°¡ªThey could already be dead,¡± you conclude. ¡°Was worth asking. The corpses are everything.¡± ¡°Yes, we all know that,¡± the left guard said. ¡°We don¡¯t believe it was purposefully triggered, but headquarters is sending down an auditor to investigate. Please don¡¯t fight with them.¡± ¡°Unless they¡¯re manipulated by the corpse?¡± Jericho¡¯s shit eating grin spread from cheek to cheek. ¡°Please don¡¯t fight with them,¡± the right guard repeated. It clearly wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d come across that line of reasoning. That, or his training had detailed measures for situations like these. Either explanation was perfectly likely as the other. Jericho raised his hands in defeat. ¡°Fine, fine. One last thing. Am I the first responder?¡± ¡°There¡¯s no records of other entrants at the other gates, so barring anyone sneaking into the unreality, you¡¯re the first.¡± The independent contractor nodded. ¡°Alright. I¡¯m going in. Mind watching this for me?¡± He pulled at his feet and the hand mixer popped out, the shoes back to their prior state. The guards nodded and motioned for him to deposit the item into a tiny black plastic bin. Jericho made a mental note: ¡®Do not leave possession at the perimeter.¡¯ ¡°Good luck,¡± the guards said, soft words trailing in Jericho¡¯s wake. He moved past the perimeter, towards the noises that made his skin crawl, hair stand on end. It was like thousands of little bugs crawling and writhing in his ear, their minuscule feet tickling the inside of his head. Nothing he could do would get them out, unless he continued on into the pocket of unreality or left it all behind, and that was the one thing he couldn¡¯t do. He barreled on through the shimmering landscape and entered the all too familiar world. The silence was deafening. Without the noisy tongue of dynasties past and future, there were no noises to cling to. No wind tearing through the buildings. No functional pedestrian traffic lights giving permissions to advance. No birds clamoring for attention. No cars struggling to make it five blocks down the road in twenty minutes. Nothing but Jericho¡¯s breath, a slow and steady reminder that there was at least one person still alive within the corpse¡¯s dominion. He stared at the perimeter, taking in the surroundings. These first moments within the pocket of unreality were crucial as to understanding what he was dealing with. Even if it was only a rank 2 unreality, that didn¡¯t mean he could relax, especially not with one that seemed as subtle as this. He wasn¡¯t a regular of this part of the city¡ªthe shops were all too pricey, and honestly? the food was overrated. Some of the best restaurants were on the outskirts of the city and¡­ that sort of thinking was a distraction. He had to focus. Just because things looked safe didn¡¯t mean they were safe. His feet slowly advanced, each step on the sidewalk placed with only half his weight. Something had to be wrong¡ªthere was an overarching feeling about everything being out of place, but he couldn¡¯t put his finger on it just yet. The windows were dark, but if they were cut off from electricity, it stood to reason that they weren¡¯t properly catching light. Wait, no. Jericho jogged over to the nearest storefront, gingerly putting his hands on the glass. It wasn¡¯t that the interior was dark. The glass itself was an inky well, no light passing through. On touch it felt like regular glass¡ªit was probably a mistake to touch it with his raw hands, in hindsight¡ªbut his palms wouldn¡¯t show up. And from there, he scoured the rest of the storefront, eyes drawn to the brand of the bank. The letters were reversed. ¡°That¡¯s fucking weird,¡± he muttered. It wasn¡¯t as though anyone else was around, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel like he needed to be quiet. It was uncanny being in this fucked up version of the city. It was so empty. A city wasn¡¯t meant to be this devoid of activity. Cities were meant to be filled with assholes going about their business, all single-minded in their goals and yet making the whole function like some sort of large organism. This city was dead. There was no blood running through its veins, no cells carrying necessary materials around. It could no more generate life than one could draw blood from a stone. This city was created on the back of death, and death was all it knew. The theme seemed roughly obvious, albeit that was apt to fall apart once he made it to the mausoleum, but with any luck this was the worst of the incursion. Of course, if Jericho had good luck, he wouldn¡¯t have even been within this pocket unreality in the first place. As he continued down the uncannily familiar streets, something else rang out as wrong. Something had changed. He paused, looking around for any new disturbances, but nothing else looked like it had altered further. All dark storefronts, signage reversed, streets going the wrong cardinal direction. In terms of visuals all was the same. The soft sound of others footsteps had never felt so loud. His hand darted to his waist and withdrew the pistol from the holster, pointing it at the advancing people coming around the corner, past the row of presumably unoccupied residential homes. ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± he commanded. Case 8: Mirror Mirror 2 The Bureau of Corpse Disposal wants to remind its workers and independent contractors about the natures of Mausoleums. 1. Mausoleums are the hearts of manifested unreality. 2. A mausoleum is the last defense of the corpse. 3. Please escape the closing Mausoleum.
There were too many people. Jericho kept his gun angled on them, taking their measure. Familiar forms, contemporary clothing, modern haircuts. Two eyes, one nose, two ears. Normal as normal could be, but normal ceased to exist when a corpse wasn¡¯t proper disposed of. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead, but his arm was steady. This wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d aimed at people, and it wouldn¡¯t be the last. One didn¡¯t survive past their first unreality incursion if they weren¡¯t ready to spill the blood of the presumed innocent. The three people kept moving towards him, faces flat, devoid of emotion. There was no recognition in their gazes for the gun fixed in their direction. One opened its mouth to speak. ¡°@#$^%!¡± A human tongue could not make those sounds. The gun kicked in Jericho¡¯s hands, the bullet whizzing through the air towards the collective. It collided into the closest one with a loud thunk, ricocheting off into the distance. There was no flesh wound. A fragment split off, lazily resting on the sidewalk. The outside looked like the exterior of a shirt covering the curvature of the shoulder. Not a separate fabric clinging to skin, but clothing colored and textured flesh. The underside was like marble, which matched the open wound. If he stared too long at the exposed ¡®flesh¡¯, his eyes started to heat up. The ¡®man¡¯ continued without a care, still babbling in that unnatural tongue while advancing, and the more the words were said, the more Jericho¡¯s ears started to tingle. ¡°I hope this works,¡± he muttered, running back down the street to the center, hands fumbling with the manhole. He brought his gun next to the man-made object and let out a silent prayer to anyone listening. The manhole shivered, rumbling around the perimeter of its confines before vanishing altogether. He wasn¡¯t sure if it would be real enough for his oracle, but he wasn¡¯t about to complain. Jericho pumped his left arm and pivoted about, gun pointing straight at the still-advancing. ¡°Last warning,¡± he said, wasting his breath. But they continued as they had before. Unerring, uncaring. Even the one that had been shot showed no difference in appearance barring its exposed marble flesh, and Jericho wanted nothing less than to be caught by them. Their steps were without haste. They carried an inexorable slant in their approach, certain that their arrival could only be delayed, not stopped. Jericho was ready to prove them wrong. He pulled the trigger and the gun kicked once again, a manhole sized bullet squeezing out of the chamber. It whirled through the air, and for a moment, he thought he could see their eyes widen. The massive bullet slammed through the the leftmost ¡°person¡±, coming out clearly through the other side before lodging in the guts of a stray restaurant. The brick wall exterior crumbled, the impact severing any stability the normally imposing wall once carried. Jericho hoped that there weren¡¯t any civilians hunkering down in the building¡ªhe didn¡¯t realize his oracle would make the shot that effective¡ªbut he didn¡¯t have enough room for half measures. The remaining ¡°people¡± looked at one another, still wearing their flat faces, but their words faded away, motion put to rest. Maybe it was a new-found sense of mortality, or maybe it was an understanding that this was not a winning match-up and they weren¡¯t ready to advance if the outcome wasn¡¯t in their favor. ¡°Oh, so you understand reason now?¡± Jericho grunted, still pointing the gun at the ¡°people¡±. His arm shook, the recoil of the shot fiercer than he had expected. For all that his oracle had crafted a miracle from garbage, it didn¡¯t free him fully from the laws of physics. They didn¡¯t answer, which he felt was likely for the best. His ears had started ringing in what he could only assume was hearing damage, something Jericho had managed to avoid for the last 10 years with judicious wearing of ear plugs and lower volume with his headsets.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Very well then. I won¡¯t shoot you any further if you don¡¯t give me any more trouble, capeesh?¡± There was the slightest suggestion of a solitary eye twitching, and for Jericho, that was enough. He continued down the street, walking backwards with his gun still trained on the ¡®people¡¯. A sickening thought erupted as they left his line of sight¡ªwhat if they were regular civilians corrupted by the corpse instead of constructs generated in this neck of unreality? It wouldn¡¯t be the first time something like that had happened. There was poor Milly the Marionette, as the newspapers had taken to calling her. Her corpse had taken over the better part of the theater distract in NYC. She had no family left in the area and the local government had failed to do their wellness checks when she hadn¡¯t left her apartment in a week. Pure negligence, really. Her corpse had manifested a sort of unreality where all of the people still present in the area where conscripted into a sort of play. They were conscious while forced to act, and the roles assigned weren¡¯t always positive ones. There were lovers forced into opposing roles¡ªa survivor had recounted on NPR how they had to hack off each limb and lap at the blood, and no amount of therapy would wash away the memory of their lover¡¯s eyes, that little twinkle within like an attempt at absolution from the buried personality. The Corpse Hour show was taken off the air by the end of the year after that episode. For his own sake, he had to believe that the ¡°people¡± were solely constructs of the unreality. Maybe a rank 3 would have had some sort of corrupting effect, but a rank 2 could only exert so much influence. At least, that¡¯s how he rationalized it to himself. The further into the territory he went, the more ¡°people¡± he ran into, and they had the good temerity to not mess with him. He didn¡¯t know¡ªcouldn¡¯t know, really, how they were communicating amongst one another. Was there a shared consciousness? Or were they just properly aware of what a threat looked like. It didn¡¯t matter, in the end. As long as they stayed out of his way, Jericho was confident he could clear the unreality in no time. It wasn¡¯t as though he had any competition. At least, he didn¡¯t, up until his phone rang. With a groan, he fished the device out of his pocket, reading the updated notification from the Bureau. ¡°Note: Bureau agents have entered the corpse manifestation.¡± He still didn¡¯t understand whatever kind of oracle was being squandered to allow messages to successfully passed between realities, but the Bureau had been faithful in their updates. If they finally got an agent here, he¡¯d have to work faster. Nothing he¡¯d passed by had suggested any connection to the corpse¡¯s Mausoleum, and if he couldn¡¯t find it, the Bureau agent would certainly be the one to would co-opt the relic. He couldn¡¯t let it happen. He had to resolve the corpse disposal. Jericho needed everything he could get if he was ever going to resolve the commingled corpses of Abe and Sarah. He had to. For Mordecai¡¯s sake. ¡°Stop right there,¡± a voice shouted across the street. Jericho came to a sudden halt, craning his neck for the speaker. ¡°Oh fuck,¡± he cursed under his breath. What were the odds that the employee the Bureau sent over was none other than Agent Ride? She wore her standard suit¡ªa Bureau employee could look nothing less than their best¡ªwithout any extra flair to individualize it. She viewed herself as a cog in the machine, nothing more, nothing less. Her hair was neatly coiffed in a bun, strands bound to the back of her head with a simple hair tie. She was the epitome of professionalism, which is why she liked nothing more than to bust Jericho¡¯s balls. She didn¡¯t need a weapon. He¡¯d already had enough first hand experience with her oracle to be certain of that. She was a potent fighter, and well suited to the proper disposal of corpses. Which made it all the more curious that she was allocated to this rank 2 manifestation instead of being literally anywhere else. She inched closer, a brilliant white flame sitting on the palm of her right hand. ¡°Are you the one that caused the corpse to manifest?¡± ¡°Wait, what? No. Don¡¯t be daft, Agent Ride. Why in the world would I do that?¡± The question was frankly, insulting, but that was typical behavior from her. In her zealous quest to be the perfect agent, she doubted everyone and anyone. No stone could be left unturned. ¡°Why do most villains do what they do? For evil, of course.¡± Jericho rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve barely even been in the area. How could I be responsible?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be daft. You could have stored the corpse ahead of time so that you could be here when it manifested.¡± Okay, maybe that was a credible hypothesis for why one could want to improperly dispose of a corpse, but Jericho took umbrage in those motivations being ascribed to him. ¡°How very dare you. You know I would never.¡± ¡°You¡¯d do anything for Mordecai¡ª¡° Jericho¡¯s gun locked onto Agent Ride. ¡°Is that a threat? Has the government finally decided to revoke my license?¡± ¡°Woah, calm down. You definitely don¡¯t seem like one of the mirror creatures. You¡¯re good.¡± Jericho blinked. ¡°Excuse me? You were testing me?¡± ¡°You say that like being cautious in a zone of unreality is foolish.¡± Okay, maybe she had a point, but that didn¡¯t excuse her name-dropping Mordecai. ¡°In what world do I seem like those mindless things who only speak like they were processed through a fax machine that was fed the input of a bivalve used to monitor pollution levels?¡± ¡°See, you could have just led with that nonsense.¡± Jericho did his best to refrain from attacking the government agent. He¡¯d have to have a long conversation with his therapist in the following days. ¡°What even made you think I was one of them?¡± Whatever cheer Agent Ride carried vanished into the air. ¡°I¡¯ve seen those weird marble fellows, and I¡¯ve seen, well, me. It was dressed like me, and more frustratingly, it sounded like me. I spoke in a similar manner, although it was all very surface level. It couldn¡¯t know anything that existed outside of this area.¡± Jericho shuddered at the idea of what could have happened if this was a higher rank unreality. There¡¯d been a few cases where elements broke out. The aftermath in those areas was spectacularly horrific. His gun slid back into his holder, and he crossed his arms, lost in thought. ¡°Where did you see that, uh, doppelganger of yours? And did you destroy it?¡± ¡°Oh, I came in from the northern gate. And of course I destroyed it. This is why I don¡¯t trust you independent contractors. You¡¯re willing to do a half-assed job.¡± The thought of beefing further with Agent Ride was always appealing, but her testimony was the lead that Jericho needed. If he could just diffuse the situation, he¡¯d be one step closer to claiming that artifact.¡± ¡°Oh, well. I came from the southern gate. Thanks. Now I don¡¯t have to retread the area you already investigated.¡± Agent Ride beamed. ¡°Why, that¡¯s some clever thinking from you finally. Maybe you aren¡¯t so bad, Jericho.¡± He grunted and nodded, giving her a curt wave. ¡°Right you are. Right you are. Now if you don¡¯t mind¡­ I can¡¯t leave Mordecai home alone all day. I¡¯ve gotta continue searching.¡± ¡°Of course, go ahead and waste your time!¡± the Bureau agent said. She started skipping down the street in the opposite direction, confident that nothing in the unreality could harm her and frankly? Jericho wasn¡¯t sure what could get past her oracle. She had good cause to be so blas¨¦. In her hubris, she failed to realize how unusual it was to see such a faithful recreation. That had to be where the Mausoleum was around. If he could find a more proper duplicate, then he¡¯d be within arm¡¯s length of resolving this corpse disposal and heading back home, spoils of war in hand. He lightly jogged up the street, looking out of the corner of his eye before sprinting back north, back to where Agent Ride had given up her chances of properly disposing of the corpse. Case 8: Mirror Mirror 3 Jericho was certain he¡¯d landed on the right idea when the streets started looking to suburban. Actual parking spaces for the cars. More than few trees littering the street. Houses with a little breathing room between properties. That sort of spacing was unthinkable, even in the outer limits of the city. The ¡°people¡± had dissipated as well. He was truly and utterly alone. No traces of a doppelganger either, but Agent Ride wouldn¡¯t lie to him. She was far too straitlaced for that. He scrutinized each house, peering at the darkened windows, but nothing stood out just yet. While the whole area was out of place, as a collection they were coherent. He could do nothing more than advance. A corpse wants to be disposed of. A corpse wants to have eternal rest. It would lead him, if he let it. The air was still. At the corner of his eye, something drew his attention. In a lifeless street, motion itself was all the sign he needed. The closer he got, the more he could make out the strange glowing from inside the house. And the face framed against the window, staring to the outdoor world. He approached the house, certain that this is where his investigation continued. The building had seen better days. The pain was chipped, roof tiling in shambles. The lawn was overgrown, filled with weeds. The presence in the house continued to watch. Jericho pulled up his gun and arrived at the door. He took a deep breath and kicked open the decrepit wood. It splintered under his feet, revealing an all too familiar face. His own. ¡°Stand down,¡± the pair said in tandem. Both of their eyes widened. Jericho moved to shoot, and the bullet flew overhead into the staircase. ¡®Jericho¡¯ ducked down, swiping at baseball bat sitting by the door. ¡®Jericho¡¯ took a mighty swing¡ªJericho jumped over the trajectory, rolling further into the living room. It was once a well-lived space. A lumpy beige couch, dotted with stains from years of stray liquids. A grandfather clock, the pendulum missing. The tv, with its bent antennas and glowing screen, knobs missing from the display. Now, all it a war zone. Jericho reached out and kicked the couch, subsuming it into the ground. The soft floor ate his momentum, just in time for ¡®Jericho¡¯ to follow through with another slam of the baseball where Jericho was moments prior. ¡°Fuck,¡± Jericho grunted, shooting another salvo at his doppelganger. The bullets were already astray, flying out the side of the house into the neighborhood. He slammed at ¡®Jericho¡¯s arms, the baseball bat noisily slamming into the grandfather clock. Splinters burst from the shattered wood, splattering into both Jerichos, but they paid it no mind. One had no reason to stop. One needed to press on heedless of the price. ¡®Jerico¡¯ left the other Jericho alone, scrambling towards the front door. He flung open the knickknacks drawer and pulled out a compass, slamming it into the baseball bat. The metal rod subsumed the smaller item. Jericho¡¯s eyes widened. He popped off another shots, but the other ¡®Jericho¡¯ understood his aim all too well, already moving out of the trajectory. He swung the bat with all his might, aim unnecessary. The metal rod tracked Jericho¡¯s twisting and turning. No amount of dodging would shake it off. With a groan, Jericho stomped the floor and ducked. The couch ejected from the floor, the bat meeting the soft cushion and eating the impact, but that was only a stop gap. He knew his other self wouldn¡¯t stop. He either needed to kill it, or find the entrance to the Mausoleum. Agent Ride was lucky. Her doppleganger would ask questions first and shoot after. She had at least enough common sense to not even let it take an opportunity to attack, let alone copy her oracle. Jericho scrambled for the kitchen, flinging the door behind him just in time to eat the impact of the bat, but not enough to properly absorb the full impact. The swing shoved him across the room, tumbling into the worn down cabinets. His hand scrounged around, feeling for anything. It was worthless. Pots and pans had no useful properties to borrow. They would, however, be able to buy a smidgen of time. He chucked them at ¡®Jericho¡¯s feet, and ¡®Jericho¡¯ danced around the clutter, careful to avoid tripping. ¡°Finally,¡± Jericho grunted. He scrambled back to his feet and clasped for a magnet from the fridge. He cocked his gun to the side, the manhole cover sliding out onto the ground, and pressed the magnet into the gun. A salvo of shots fired from his gun¡ªfuck, he just knew he was running low on ammo for this magazine¡ªand the bat was inevitably pulled towards the trajectory of the magnetic force of the ammo. The salvo was staggered as to wrench the body around in as cumbersome a fashion as possible, and in this brief window, Jericho took the opportunity to scramble past ¡®Jericho¡¯ back towards living room. He rolled on past, scanning the room for the entrance to the mausoleum. Not the mirror on the wall. It was dark. Not the front window, even thought it was porous enough to let through that glow¡­You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Jericho¡¯s eyes widened and he dived for the television just as ¡®Jericho¡¯s¡¯ bat slammed where he once was. On the other side of the television he locked eyes with his reflection, confident that it couldn¡¯t get to him in within the mausoleum. The independent contractor took a moment to catch his breath, lick his wounds and reload his pistol while taking stock of the situation. He certainly didn¡¯t expect to be in the midst of an open prairie. The television hung in the air, reflecting the small exit to the rest of the unreality, but if one couldn¡¯t see it? They wouldn¡¯t be wrong to think that they were out in the Midwest. But across from the television? A drab house. Two floors, but maybe two rooms a piece each, per the outside layout. It was pristinely preserved. Jericho just hoped it lived up to the rank 2 danger rating that it had on the outside. He walked up to the door and flung it open, confident that he could weather whatever the house had to throw at him. What he wasn¡¯t expecting was a full on birthday party. Two parents and a smattering of children sat around the table in the kitchen. The birthday girl didn¡¯t look a day over four. She stood on her chair, staring at the simple cake in front of her, a giant smile on her face. ¡°Happy birthday, Daisy!¡± Jericho crept further into the room, but no one present paid him any mind. He was like a ghost. It was too ironic, to be the sole incorporeal being within a demesne that manifested from an improperly disposed corpse. The little girl took three attempts to blow out the candles. The last attempt her mother leaned behind her, but the success was all Daisy¡¯s. She beamed with pride, and why couldn¡¯t she be proud? She had a family that loved and celebrated her. And then the room reset. Without any moment''s notice, the aggregated family split up. The mother stood over the kitchen counter, putting the finishing touches on the cake. She laid the four candles into the skimpily frosted cake, burying them deep to ignore the years of usage reflected in the shrunken wax. The father kept the small girl off to the side of the room, covering her eyes with his calloused hands. At this angle, Jericho could make out the dark circles embedded under his eyes, the effort required to remain upright. The siblings were moving chairs about, setting the table for their dear baby sister. A simple task for simple children. Any issue they caused could be mitigated, if need be, by the free hands of their parents. But it all came to pass as Jericho saw when he first entered the room. The father lead the small girl to the table, and she cried with joy at the bridleway cake before her. Her siblings and parents gathered behind her. ¡°Happy birthday, Daisy!¡± It played out just as it did before, only to reset once more. Jericho sighed, falling down against the wall. It looked like luck was on his side this time. This room was worthless though. He looked for how to progress, but the neighboring doorways were dark, empty, devoid. He inched over to the threshold and put the tip of his foot over, gasping at the emptiness that threatened to swallow him. Going off the correct path would lead to death if not something worse altogether. No matter. He could handle finding the right path. He¡¯d already done it once before. Kitchens aren¡¯t usually home to the most reflective surfaces, although that could be a consequence of the ease of creating a mess. There were no mirrors. A farmhouse couldn¡¯t spare such luxury. If the house had any, they were probably in the bedroom and bathroom. There was only one thing that could carry a proper luster, and Jericho ran for the kitchen sink. He vaulted onto the counter, ignoring the chills of the specters he passed through, and dipped his foot into the surface of the sink. It submerged, and while there was a great chill, it wasn¡¯t the emptiness of the door. This was the way. He knew it. He slid his other foot in and let the surface swallow him whole. The next room felt as though it was submerged in a cool mist. Goosebumps erupted under his shirt. If it was going to continue like this, the real challenge would be enduring the accumulated sensations by the time he arrived at the corpse, as opposed to watching yet another history replayed within the room. This time, Jericho had been spat out in what he presumed was the same house¡¯s bedroom. The family gathered around the bed. Based on Daisy¡¯s age, it¡¯d been more than a few years. She was no longer a toddler, but a proper child, still with a ways to go before adulthood dragged her kicking and screaming, although it looked as though that option was going to be taken away from her. Her father laid in bed, clearly on death¡¯s doorstep. His eyes were sunken, skin pale as corn silk. The family was spread in equal parts between trying to refrain from bursting into tears and openly bawling, hands clasping to their patriarch. Daisy was part of the former, tightly gripping the hem of her mother¡¯s dress. Her eyes were puffy. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her eyes contained the entirety of her father. There wasn¡¯t much left to reflect. Jericho watched the progression out of the corner of his eyes while scouring the room for the next entrance. The way things were going, the last ¡®room¡¯ had to be the one containing Daisy¡¯s death. ¡°The holy man¡¯s coming soon,¡± the mother said, stroking the brow of the father. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, &$&@#, you¡¯ll rest easy.¡± His name was garbled and unintelligible. Jericho hoped it was just a fragile memory, instead of the space deteriorating around him. If the mausoleum was already collapsing, then he was utterly and totally fucked. Fortune was on his side. The memory continued on for a moment, before resetting to much the similar state. His stomach twirled at the sight. This is what Mordecai was deprived of. He didn¡¯t get a proper chance to say goodbye. His parent¡¯s commingled unreality stay laid unresolved in the former heart of Baltimore, and the Bureau was willing to abandon that area if only to deny it from expanding further. Mordecai deserved a proper disposal for his parents. He deserved an opportunity to say goodbye. He deserved a world where one didn¡¯t have to panic when people died, but that was beyond his reach, so the next best thing Jericho could do for him was to give him that closure. One day. When he was strong enough. He almost wished that he didn¡¯t let them bring him into the business in the first place. They were ready to be retired. They didn¡¯t need to do any further jobs. There were always towns looking for new oracle users when their former ones left¡ªthe Bureau couldn¡¯t set up disposal sites everywhere, and no prudent town would persist without a backup planned for months in advance. But no, Jericho needed to get into the business. He needed to change his life, and he dragged the others down with him, and they were never coming back. He promised that he would look after Jericho, and if nothing else he was willing to fight hours on end in the courts to keep his promise, because what else could he cling to? How else could he make things right? They were dead and gone, and he would always miss them. And that¡¯s why he couldn¡¯t die. He couldn¡¯t leave Mordecai alone again. He would tackle the commingled unreality when the time was right, and not a moment sooner. But for now, he steeled his heart and headed to the bathroom, hands pushing through the mounted mirror, past the freezing cold underneath, hoping that this would be the final stop in the mausoleum. He couldn¡¯t bear to linger any longer.