Six

The new cycle on Eclipsis began much like the last. He stepped out of his hotel room, his fatigue a constant companion, yet his resolve still unshaken. Without a specified meeting time from Harlon, he chose to venture there early in the cycle.

The streets this cycle, however, felt different. They harbored a more sinister tone. Mo could feel it, like the city itself hated him. The towering structures loomed more ominously over him. The ever-present city hum now grated his nerves. All of this was surely a result of the lasting stagnation in this case. Stress, bad sleep. He knew it, but his mind still felt sharp. He just needed to solve this one, get it off his plate. Everything will be fine.

Drawing closer to the ESED headquarters, a prickling sensation crawled up Mo's spine, as if he was being acutely observed, though his OptiViz provided no warnings of outside surveillance. Heightened nerves. The feeling lingered, growing stronger as he approached the building's entrance.

Upon entering, Mo was promptly greeted by an Enforcer who had been standing ready, a notable contrast to his previous visit just a few cycles ago.

“You’re the Tracer, yeah?” the Enforcer inquired.

“That’s me,” Mo replied.

“This way,” the Enforcer commanded bluntly, offering no pleasantries.

He hadn't been given an appointment time-slot, and he was here very early in the cycle. How long was this Enforcer expected to wait for him? Did Harlon have no other appointments scheduled?

He was directed into an unfamiliar chamber, its dimness punctuated by a large table with a holosphere built into the center. The device's ghostly light intermittently revealed Harlon's face. Lost in thought or perhaps something deeper, Harlon's gaze was distant, his usually assertive demeanor replaced by an eerie tranquility. Mo entered the room and Harlon’s eyes stayed fixed elsewhere.

Harlon then began to speak unprompted, "Mo Darin," he said, his voice had a haunting and distant quality about it, "You tread upon covered paths. The boundaries of this world will erode before you."

A chill ran down Mo's spine, his initial confusion morphing into genuine concern. "Harlon?" he said, the name more a question than a greeting.

"The symbol you asked about.." Harlon carried on, "Is both the door, and its key.” Harlon’s eyes lifted to meet Mo’s, “The door opens to knowledge you could not comprehend."

Harlon’s lost it, Mo thought. It was only a matter of time he supposed. The man was under too much pressure. But the timing couldn’t be worse for him. He tried to get a word in, hoping to snap him out of it, or something. "Commissioner, I—"

But Harlon, with an abruptness that felt like a slap, silenced him. "This path is woven with intent, Mo Darin," Harlon's eyes, now alight with an unsettling fervor, bore into Mo's. "To step towards this precipice is to invite it to ensnare and consume you..” Harlons eyes rolled back. “Whole." he finished. 

Fuck, maybe the cult got to him? Or maybe he’s just cracked. Maybe he’s drugged up on bliss. Mo implored, "Harlon, I’m trying to understand—"

But Mo's plea was abruptly severed. The exposed whites of Harlon’s eyes turned a dark, inky black. It felt as if the very universe trembled. Around them, the room rippled, its walls undulating and distorting.

Mo realized now. The lapse in sanity wasn’t on Harlon’s end. He knew it couldn’t be real, but nonetheless continued to be an unwilling witness to the otherworldly spectacle.

Harlon's voice transformed, taking on a deep, otherworldly timbre, ancient and profound. "Zuran... Zuran'zul... A'zur Sul'zur'zan in A'zur Aur'vath'lo'i…” The words were completely alien to Mo’s ears. 

Harlon's voice multiplied. Mo's whole body began to shake, the room seeming to tilt and sway around him. Panic surged within. But he was rooted, paralyzed. 

In a voice that no longer resembled the real Harlon’s, the Commissioner intoned, "Itlu'vun Keth'rax'vun sul'zath'vun Lur'vath'vun'zan…” Each word distorted before reaching Mo, as if reality itself rejected their existence.

The words were now echoing from every corner and crevice, encircling Mo. Disbelief warred with fear. Then, suddenly, the chaos ceased. The room, once a tempest of distorted reality, stabilized. An oppressive silence settled, punctuated only by Mo's ragged breaths and shaking limbs.

Harlon, now returned to his recognizable self, looked at Mo, seemingly oblivious to the transformation that had just occurred. "Tracer, are you listening to me? Are you.. on something?," he asked, genuine concern in his tone.

Mo's thoughts raced, grappling with the impossible reality he had just witnessed. Words faltered, his voice barely more than a whisper, "...Harlon, you…” He had to compose himself now. He could not let Harlon know what was happening with him. “No, I’m not, it’s just.."

No evidence remained of the harrowing ordeal, the room devoid of the shadows and chants that had threatened Mo's very sanity.

Harlon's expression deepened with concern. "What’s the problem, Darin?" he inquired, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to pat Mo's shoulder.

Mo, still reeling, flinched away from Harlon's touch.

The Commissioner retracted his hand. "You might need a break, Darin. This case... it seems it’s taking a toll on you," Harlon advised, his tone carrying a mix of authority and genuine concern. “There’s no shame in it. Eclipsis has chewed up and spit out tougher men than you.”

A nod from Mo was more reflexive than conscious. Fatigue. Stress. That's all it is, he reassured himself. How much sleep have I even gotten in the past three or four cycles? He began to do the math in his head, before realizing he needed to reply to the Commissioner. “No,” he began sternly, “I’m okay. Been up for two cycles is all. Not used to the environment, I just need some sleep.” he lied to Harlon. Not counting brief one or two hour rests, it had been longer than two cycles. “But, the symbol?” Mo inquired.

Harlon looked at him with concern, as if he hadn’t the slightest clue what Mo was talking about. “Look, we’ll keep working the case,” he said, “Get some rest, Tracer. Take a break.”

Emerging from the ESED headquarters, Mo felt the city’s twilight close in around him. The experience with Harlon replayed with each blink—Harlon’s voice warped by an otherworldly timbre, his eyes a pool of inky void. He had never worked a case this long with so little progress. He knew that’s why he couldn’t sleep, despite obviously needing it desperately. 

The path back to his hotel offered no comfort. Locals passed by, their faces blurred and indistinct. His thoughts were a tangled mess. As he walked, he continued to try to do the math on his sleep in the past three cycles. His conclusions had to be a result of his tired state, he reasoned. Three or four hours wasn’t possible. Had to be more. Surely it was more. But then again, with what Mo just witnessed — hallucinated, that is — maybe it could be the case. 

Time seemed to lapse as the next thing he knew he was at his hotel room, and he was no longer thinking about anything other than rest. And he found it, however briefly.

He awoke three or four hours later. He immediately could tell his mind was in a better state, but still he couldn’t stop thinking about his lapse in sanity in front of Harlon. Yearning for a reprieve from the case’s complexities and his anxieties about his hallucination in the ESED building, he decided to take a break, getting up quickly and leaving his hotel room.

His wanderings led him to an O2 bar—a sanctuary for those seeking solace from the planet’s heavy atmosphere. Here, patrons indulged in the luxury of refined, fragrant air. Establishments like this were commonplace on Eclipsis.

Taking a seat, Mo attached a respirator and inhaled deeply. The refined air, mixed with hints of exotic flora, was nice. As he exhaled, he felt some of his tension, ever so slightly, fade away.

He began to feel his eyelids get heavy. After a few puffs, his eyes opened again, and in a state in between sleep and consciousness, they caught a familiar sight. Through the tinted window pane of the O2 bar.

The symbol. 

He was suddenly wide awake. Crudely etched onto a rusted metal hatch door across the street. He swore he’d passed by this lane countless times. Had it always been there? With a mix of dread and excitement, Mo detached himself from the respirator. Distractedly leaving a few credits as payment, he got up and made his way across the street.

As he approached the door, the symbol on the door seemed to beckon, the strange loops and swirls drawing him in once again. He had enough investigative foresight to snap a photo of the door and the symbol on it before going in. If only so he could reassure himself later that he hadn't imagined it, he thought. He placed his palm over the symbol on the door briefly, the metal was cold to the touch.

His heart raced as the thought of what lay behind the door plagued his mind. Taking a steadying breath, Mo cautiously pushed it open.