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shinycircus · 1 year ago

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Here's a short story set in the DSS Universe! Acts as a kind of origin story for one of the reoccurring characters, too, so a good way to kick off this account. If the formatting is messed up somewhere, let me know!

TW: Gore, Graphic Descriptions of Death, Suicide Mention, Childhood Trauma

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Interview Log: TL-36

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The following is a transcript of a recorded interview with a subject involved in a temporal anomalous event. The identities of those involved in the interview shall not be part of the standard record and are for administrative access only.

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Interviewer: Dr. ████████

Subject: Anna Coleman

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Foreword: Subject is being interviewed on the origin of a temporal anomaly attached to their person where, should they expire, they would automatically return to the last instance of 8:00 AM EST they passed through, “respawning” in their own words with their knowledge and memories fully intact.

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[Begin Log]

████████: “Do you think you could talk about when you discovered this… ability of yours?”

[Subject adjusts in her chair, seemingly looking past Dr. ████████ and at the two-way plexiglass behind him. Subject responds after around a minute of idle movement.]

Coleman: “At the time, I was… God, I’d say twelve or so? Yeah, young enough to still make stupid decisions, but old enough to have known better. My old man had been a pretty big name in the small-time circles at the time, but he wasn’t big enough to be batting in the league he was trying to. He kept trying to make deals with big players- like Valentina and Ivan Petrovski- as if he had the manpower and influence they did. Heh… can’t imagine things went well, considering the extra air-flow through his skull after a month or two of that.”

Coleman: “But, where was I? Oh yeah, twelve-year-old me. I was playing outside with my bb-gun, taking pot-shots at blue jays and the like. Annoyed the shit out of the neighbors, because stray bbs kept hitting their house’s lining or paint or whatever, and kept coming over to my mom to complain, who always said she’d talk to me, and who never did, regarding the bb’s or anything else. Guess in that way, I was kinda lucky.”

[Subject once again adjusts in her chair, looking again over Dr. ████████’s shoulder and at the pane of plexiglass. Subject then looks up at the security camera and stares with narrowed eyes for around thirty seconds. Subject then clears throat and continues.]

Coleman: “But my luck had to run out eventually. I was standing near the end of the driveway, taking aim at a bird picking at Old Lady Morris’s garden, when I heard an engine rumble too loud for the small neighborhood we were in. I barely had time to register the swerving white van as it turned off the road and slammed into me, sending me flying through the air like a wet rag doll. A metallic taste filled my mouth like liquid tooth filling, as every sense of mine was immediately overtaken in a split second that seemed to last an eternity... I could feel my ribs and sternum splinter, like old wood on a dry summer day. I hit the ground hard, my torso bending in strange ways due to the now blatant lack of structure. Red spread out on the pavement around me, though I could barely see it as my thoughts swarmed with desperation. I tried to scream for help, but no sound came out. Now that I think about it, maybe my lungs had ruptured from the impact. Not sure though. Don’t know how I would’ve survived long enough to think at all, let alone keep breathing for around a minute.”

Coleman: “Explosive pain was pulsing through my body, but all that filled my mind was one sentence, over and over. ‘I’m going to die,’ I realized. ‘I’m really going to die.’ But I couldn’t. My family was never religious, and in my young, childish head, there was no comfort in the void I was told was coming. I struggled, I wiggled on the pavement- I did everything I could to hold off that darkness at the edge of my vision, but no matter what I did, it continued to advance threateningly. It was about that time when a kind of feeling began welling up in me. It wasn’t… Well, it wasn’t a new feeling per se, but it was something intense. Something primal.”

Coleman: “I kept screaming at myself to get up, get up, get UP. Unconsciousness kept trying to pull me down but I forced my arms to move, pulling myself forward on the rough concrete. My nails splintered and pulled from my fingers as I dragged myself down the street towards my door, but the pain, the fear, the resolve, and the determination all kept me going and, more importantly, conscious. My thoughts, my emotions, and my heartbeat were all ringing in my ears up to the end, as I was pushing myself off the ground to reach for my house’s door handle. My splintered rib cage cried in agony, but I stretched further and further, refusing to lay back down and accept my death. That pain kept building, but my tenacity forced me onward, pushing and pushing until finally, I guess unbending my chest finally allowed some air into my lungs. And the first thing I did with it? I screamed. I screamed my hemorrhaged little heart out. It tore through my blood-soaked throat with enough of a ring in my ears that I’m sure it would have echoed in empty air… but I guess I’ll never know what happened after that because then I-”

Coleman: “Well, I woke up.”

████████: “Hmm. Interesting.”

Coleman: “Weird, I know. I woke up that morning, the spring sunlight filtering through my window, that morning taste of sourness in my mouth. I sat straight up, soaked in sweat and tears running down my face. Wasn’t crying though, strangely enough. I just sat there in open mouthed shock for around an hour. I could’ve sat there as long as I liked; it wasn't like Mom was coming to get me.”

Coleman: “Thought it was a dream.”

████████: “A dream?”

[Subject nods.]

Coleman: “Yep. What, was I supposed to have believed all that actually happened at twelve years old? People don’t die and come back to life. That’s what I believed at the time. So after a while, I pulled myself out of bed.”

Coleman: “My house at that age was… ah, what’s the point. It looked mostly the way I wanted it to. I was pretty much the only one there most of the time. Mom was off who-knows-where a lot, so I cleaned up all the old coffee cups and whiskey bottles, I cooked my own breakfast, and I left tylenol and water on Mom’s nightstand for when she got home. It was a daily routine.”

Coleman: “But I noticed things were happening very similarly to things in my ‘dream’. It was little things. A bird slamming into the window. The toaster spring coming loose. That kind of thing. It was weird. Surreal. I even pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t still dreaming.”

Coleman: “But it was enough to make me cautious. As I went outside to practice my shooting, I looked towards Old Lady Morris’s garden. Sure enough, that same blue jay that was there in the dream was there. Pecking at her plants without a care in the world. That’s when it really hit me, you know? No denying it now. I had died, and for some reason, I’d come back. I slammed the door shut and stumbled back. My breathing quickened. I was panicking. In and out, in and out. I was twelve, to remind you. I don’t think you’re supposed to think about your own mortality until at least adulthood and after a few stiff drinks. God, it felt like I could feel the hit-and-run all over again. My side ached, my chest hurt with each breath, and I was desperately looking for an escape from a threat that wasn’t there yet. I ran over to the window and opened the blinds. Pulling into the driveway was that same white van, but of course, this time I got a good look at it. It was a beat up old thing, rusty in parts, with the hood all jagged and bent.”

Coleman: “God, I almost look back on it fondly. My first Groundhog Day.”

████████: “A Groundhog Day?”

Coleman: “What? It’s that movie with Bill Murray where he repeats the same day over and over, so I thought the name fit-”

████████: “I’m aware of the movie. I’m just interested in how jovial you seem to be about this.”

[Subject leans back in their chair, crossing their arms.]

Coleman: “Look, you asked for the story. I’ll tell it how I want, got it?”

Coleman: “Anyway, a guy hopped out of the van. Tall fella, paper bag over his head. Knew he was with Ivan after that. I’ve seen that gang’s uniform before. Bruisers used to come by when I was… six? Seven? Something like that. He kicked down the door, shotgun in hand. The door flung around and hit me in the head, the edge of the doorknob slamming into my skull. I yelped in pain, but just half a second later, I’d be feeling a whole lot worse.”

Coleman: “I heard the rough, crunchy bang of exploding gunpowder, like a crackling firework on the Fourth of July, and for a fraction of a second, my ears burned from the sound. But then I felt the first pellet from the man’s shotgun go through my head. A rending pain tore through my skull, only intensified as another went through. And another. And another. And another. I felt more and more painful piercings through my skull and brain as the buckshot rained down until it felt like a hail of hell exposing my brain to the bitter cold of the outside air, each slight draft in that microsecond feeling like raking red-hot blades across the now non-existent back of my head and neck.”

Coleman: “Then I woke up again. Sat straight up in my bed, sunlight through my window, yada yada yada. I jumped out of bed, ran to the kitchen, and waited. Sure enough, a bird smacked into the window. All the proof I needed, that. I ran outside, looked down the street. There was the van, rolling up the road. I started to prepare.”

[Subject sighs and rests an arm over the back of the chair, once again glancing at the security camera.]

Coleman: “And here’s the repetitive part of the story: all the different attempts I made to try and survive. You’d get really damn bored if I went over each attempt individually, so I’ll go broad strokes here. Tried disarming him with a broom handle. Dead. Tried laying a trap in the road. Dead. Tried attacking him with the neighbor’s dog. Dead. Tried to tackle him right as he came in. Dead. Tried to attack him, over and over, every way I could find. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Each time hurt in a new, horrible way. I like to call it the “cost of immortality”. You may be able to come back from death, but that moment you die is gonna really fuckin’ hurt. It’s like time itself slows down at that exact moment, letting you feel each tiny sensation in that microsecond.”

[Subject straightens her posture and idly rubs her arm, staring absently at an insignificant point on the wall.]

Coleman: “Gah… if I really think about it, I can still feel each one. I never forget a death and trust me, that’s a feat considering how many times I’ve died. Rammed, stabbed, shot, beaten, I couldn’t get away. Tried running, got run over. Tried to hide, got pulled out and shot. It felt like there was no end in sight, that it was endless.”

Coleman: ‘Maybe there isn’t an escape,’ I thought. ‘Is this Hell? Did I already die?’”

Coleman: “Yep, grappled with that for a while- Or, however you would define ‘a while’ in a situation like this. But I had to keep trying. I. Would. Survive.”

[Subject leans back once again, making eye contact with Dr. ████████ and maintaining it for the rest of the interview.]

Coleman: “My last attempt started like any other, I jumped out of bed immediately and propped a chair against the door. I learned to do that in attempt twenty-three, and every attempt afterwards, I did it again. It bought me valuable time- two minutes and thirty-eight seconds, to be exact. I sat there for a second, that despair of possibly never escaping still… I don’t know, there in my mind, you know? But when I saw the guy's car pulling up, that’s when it hit me. I thought back to when I got hit. By the van.”

████████: [Interviewer stays silent.]

Coleman: “…Oh come on, that was good.”

████████: “Excuse me for not seeing the humor.”

Coleman: “Ah, screw you then. Point being, I thought back to how powerful it felt when I got hit and it gave me an idea. I snuck out through the back door, I worked my way around the house while the guy tried jimmying the door, struggling with the chair I’d propped up. I looked behind him. He’d left the car running.”

Coleman: ‘Oh fuck,’ I thought. ‘Oh shit, this could be it.’”

Coleman: I snuck over quietly, walking at a snail’s pace. I swear, I felt like breathing was a death sentence. Now that I wasn’t being chased, attacked, or killed, I had an opportunity to truly get a look at this guy. He was putting all his weight on one leg in a way that was both pathetic and intimidating. Maybe it was just because of how often he’d killed me, but I couldn’t help but shiver being so close to him. The man who had been the cause of my hell for the last- well, it felt like forever at the time- was standing right next to me, so close I could almost swear I felt his body heat. But I got over it and proceeded to the van, opening the car door as slowly as possible. As the door clicked and popped open, my heart dropped as I thought it was enough of a sound for the man to turn around. But then, as the smell of alcohol wafted from the vehicle’s interior, I understood why his senses were both dulled and heightened. Why his balance was off so much, and yet he was still so murderously inclined. I thanked whatever horrible, fucked up god that was listening, and hopped in, got down on the floorboard and, bracing myself, punched the gas. Literally.”

Coleman: “The wheels under the car instantly peeled out on the blacktop, the loud screech finally being enough to make the man turn around, but far too late to jump out of the way. The car drove forward at an angle, slamming into him and pushing him back until he hit the garage door. The jagged metal of the hood on the beat-up van drove into him, blood already spreading over the front of it, but the vehicle kept going. It flattened the metal spike the man got stabbed by against the metal of the wall behind him, and pressed against him even harder. Because of the angle we went at, the vehicle slipped sideways as it drove against the metal. It smeared him against the garage, like a badly sealed paint varnish as sputtering gasps and screams echoed around me.”

Coleman: “I jumped out of the van, ripping the key from the ignition so it wouldn’t run me over too. I walked over and saw that, to my surprise, he was still alive. He reached for me, hand outstretched. He was begging. Ha! Can you believe that? He was begging me for help! Could hardly believe it then either.”

████████: “And how did that make you feel?”

Coleman: “Hmm… Indifferent, I guess? The reality of it didn’t sink in until a few hours later. When it did, though? Oh man, it was a rush! I had won. I was ALIVE. I felt unkillable- and to be fair, I was. Er, still am- whatever, you get the picture.”

████████: “Hmm, that would indicate far more loops than what our instruments have-”

Coleman: “How about you let me tell the story, alright? No more interruptions. Where was I- …right.”

Coleman: “I looked him in the eye, and I saw something. Those eyes that I’d seen so often, those eyes I’d seen staring dispassionately as I was strangled, stabbed, and shot, were looking at me now in fear. It was like there was new life injected into him, but I don’t think I appreciated it then like I do now. I looked back down to the ground. His shotgun was there. Loaded and pumped.”

Coleman: “So I helped him. Put him out of his misery, nice and quick. I’ll be honest, I- I didn’t really know what to do at the time, heh. My clothes, sneakers, shirt, pants, and face were all covered in blood and viscera. My hands were still shaking from the recoil. So I guess I just kinda… went back to normal. Walked back inside and sat there. For the first time in eight-thousand-five-hundred-thirty-eight loops, it was 8:12. I went back to the kitchen, made myself breakfast, and put the tylenol and water on my mom’s nightstand. Some loops never change, I guess.”

████████: “I see. Were there any repercussions afterwards?”

[Subject nods.]

Coleman: “Mom came back later, freaked the fuck out for obvious reasons, then asked me how I was still alive. I had already changed clothes, you see. Plus, I didn’t exactly know how to explain what had happened. So I just shrugged and said I didn’t know. That I got lucky.”

Coleman: “Then life continued without a feather ruffled. No therapy or counseling- hell, after the initial check-in, Mom didn’t even bring it up again outside of “We don’t speak to the cops about this.” I’ve had plenty of Groundhog Days since then. You run into them a lot in my kind of business. Which brings us back to you lot.”

████████: “Indeed it does.”

Coleman: “What happens now? I know there’s probably a team of You gonna lock me up like a lab rat with the other freaks? Cause I could just blow my brains out and avoid this whole interview if that’s your plan.”

████████: “Actually, quite the opposite. I have an offer for you, Miss Coleman, and I believe it’s one you’ll quite like.”

Coleman: “An offer? …Okay, I’m listening.”

[End Log]

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Closing Thoughts

Origin of anomaly is still unknown, and at time of filing, is of low priority.

Recruitment initiative was successful. Monitoring of the temporal anomaly has become more efficient by 76% with the subject’s cooperation and induction into the ███████████.

Subject currently owns and runs a bar in downtown Providence and is available for consultancy and fieldwork at the Director’s discretion. Compensation must be made on contact, with an unmarked envelope of ███████.

#creative writing #department of speculative security #time loop #bureaucratic horror

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