Chapter 2: Marcelli Residence

  As a series of confirming beeps sounded, various mechanisms moved behind the door facing Valen like organs. An unassuming gap slowly opened, revealing an extremely thick, alloyed side—the government put a generous amount of effort into protecting their assets, man or machine.

  A light, lukewarm breeze emanated from the room directly ahead. Stepping in, “Dad, I’m home!” Valen succinctly spoke.

  Directly past the foyer, a head popped out from behind an alcove. The head sported a chiseled look, gaunt cheeks, and a sharp chin, as if a statue of marble had life bestowed upon it. This statue wore a tired smile, and had kind, soft-lit pale blue eyes—directly over which sat graying, neat-but-shaggy black hair.

  “Welcome home.” A familiar, mellow voice said. “I haven’t started with dinner yet… I’m thinking chicken tikka masala. Thoughts?”

  “That sounds great, Dad,” Valen affirmed. As he took off his shoes and walked past the alcove towards the stairwell, a full figure came into view. At 5’11, Mr. Marcelli was only an inch taller than his son. He possessed a spindly look that definitely belonged to a lab-coat-toting, forgetful mad scientist. It was the biggest trope he had. He did seem oddly in-atmosphere though, his scientific skills brought to the science of cooking, passion fully on display.

  An old saying might have involved how good food came from the heart and was unscientific, but Mr. Marcelli’s scientific passion and love for cooking was undeniably heartfelt—Valen always had dinner to look forwards to.

  Without standing on ceremony in the lived-in kitchen, Valen continued on upstairs. Both Valen and his dad were of little words at times. It underscored their relationship, and was not anything telling.

  As Valen ascended rich, dark mahogany stairs, the rest of the eclectic interior of the Marcelli residence could be seen. Between the Brutalist-Victorian fusion of the exterior and the many ages and styles of the rooms inside, such was the union between a taciturn minimalist and a larger-than-life charismatic in love. A sleek kitchen, tatami and western rooms, concrete elements, in addition to an ornate staircase and hand-engraved banisters.

  Arriving on the second floor, much less was visible. A narrow, Japanese-style hallway came into being, sliding doors on both sides. Bathrooms, studies, a tea room—which had long been relegated to a storage space—lined both sides of the hall.

  An ordinary door identical to those of the bathrooms sat at the end on the right. This was Valen’s room. Across from it lay one of the few truly well-furnished rooms left in the house. The room was directly situated in the corner of the second story, and housed a unique architectural feature—a huge glass window bisecting the two outwards walls. The pane was expertly curved and entirely seamless at the corner, creating an almost-illusory barrier overlooking the backyard and biosphere walls in the distance.

  The whole room stirred memories in Valen’s chest. The now-empty loungers, the small hardwood table between, the aging pothos plant on a stand next to the glass, the olive-drab painted walls… A woman with brown hair and emerald-green eyes like a druid smiling as she held him, his sister chasing him around the table, holoboard games in the company of his parents—his mind flickered through echoes of the past. A familiar tightness gripped him, but all it constricted was an empty space. He didn’t dare linger on the past; that was an unspoken rule at the Marcelli Residence.

  Running a hand through his hair, the slightly drained Valen slipped through the alloy door and into his room—one of the few places he spent time in.

  What greeted him was a space as tired as he was—Valen was not one for room décor. Tucked into the left corner was a black, bamboo veneer twin bed. Next to the door, a terminal came out of the wall; it was here Valen read, kept himself up to date, and occasionally gamed. The warm LED light automatically switched on, creating a cozy atmosphere against the gunmetal-gray walls.

  Many would call Valen’s room a complete abomination that was hardly a place anyone would choose to spend time in, but it wasn’t that Valen particularly found the room to resonate within him—he just couldn’t be bothered to change it.

  Sighing, Valen put his hand over the interface panel, dimmed the lights, and lay down in his bed. Today was really unremarkable, but I’m tired as hell… No need to do anything else but nap to supper. His eyes almost shut themselves and he dozed off within 30 seconds of meditation.

  ***

  Oblivion. A world without light, hmm… I think… I’m sinking. In this black, formless void entirely alien to Valen’s subconscious, his senses became entirely mute. Time, space, even existence—in an entirely indescribable sensation, he knew something fundamental was missing from the world. A pit of dread formed within his chest. A sense of impending doom… Is this terror?

  From somewhere beyond, an inscrutable presence locked onto him.

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  The gaze that bore down on him peeled—it annihilated.

  It tore apart his very being at the seams, stripping him bare, those threads of his existence laid bare to the incomprehensible unseen tyrant.

  Agony surged through what no longer was Valen.

  Non-existent nerves screamed soundlessly in the vacuum.

  He? couldn’t tell if he was conflagrated by divine flame or frozen by the entropy of a dying universe.

  Slowly…Losing…Myself…

  Raw, infinite pain.

  However, the gaze felt merciful. As if it was sorry for what it was doing to him. As if it was out of necessity. The grace of providence.

  …

  Valen flew upwards, abs straining with all his bodily might. In cold, clammy sweat, the experience of his mind almost shattering only just starting to recede. What… the hell just happened to me? I thought I surely had died and gone to hell. I only instinctively sat up… That dream felt identical to the waking world.

  With a completely defeated expression, Valen wearily sat up fully, hoisting his legs off the side of his bed. He set his sights towards the pale-lit terminal, trying to discern the time, when his eyes froze: In the corner next to the terminal sat a small patch of oily blackness. It was almost impossible to tell it was undulating, spare its silhouette; The small shape absorbed all light around it. Valen’s heart began palpitating, his ears completely drowning in the arrhythmic thumping of his chest cavity.

  The tiny void instantly swallowed the entire room, once again enveloping him in its maw. This time.. I can see. The feeling of primordial terror in my heart is indistinguishable from the dream… Yes, this must be related in some manner.

  A massive, warped black object instantly crowned the sky overhead the illusory void. It was first circular, with black tendrils licking the space around it, like the cartoonish suns of small kids sketches or alchemists of old. His neck snapped forwards. All of his instincts screamed not to stare upwards—no, they forbade him. Valen felt his neck strain as he instinctively tried to wrangle control back from his astral? self, but was helpless.

  In his head, a scene was planted. In his mind’s eye, the warping, black sun of before instantly shifted to a face—one to blurry for him to make out any key details. As Valen tried to analyze deeper, the face instantly started contorting, forming hundreds—thousands—of expressions, and the illusory void was instantaneously filled with a cacophony of sounds. Ranging from shrill, crystalline voices to bass rumbling at the furthest end of the vocal spectrum, they all had something in common; humming.

  The sounds themselves were intoxicatingly beautiful, as if a Siren was coaxing Valen into her grasp. However, the dissonance created by the eerily low and high hums exuded something absolutely terrifying, yet filled with endless majesty.

  Valen’s mind was now implanted with another alien feeling—one so intense he fell to his knees, gasping.

  Pity. A sea of pity, complete with biblically sized waves, swells large enough to wash over the whole planet.

  Anger—a hole ripped in existence, through which a cataclysm descends. As for what that cataclysm entails, it was too tyrannical for Valen to comprehend. The anger… of a God?

  ***

  Valen’s eyes opened. His mind was insanely groggy, his countenance closer to that of a hungover partied-out kid than a good-to-do napping high-school student. His eyes quickly regained lucidity as the memories of what had just transpired came flooding back. They widened. He stood up, socks struggling to find purchase on finished wood, practically tore off his door handle, and sprinted for the bathroom, the world spinning around him.

  After violently retching and subsequently vomiting up his mostly-digested lunch, he felt slightly better than earlier. The sky outside had become an uncomfortable color for Valen succeeding his dream—pitch black.

  Damn…what felt like a fleeting ten minutes was hours? I guess dad’s still working on dinner. Valen was still spooked out of his wits, and vehemently opposed the idea of being left alone with his thoughts right then and thus left for downstairs.

  Flying down the stairs, Valen’s shaky legs struggled to stabilize him, left hand slipping down the rail as he found himself in the threshold to the kitchen.