Nullville

Though Claire would never admit it, she enjoyed how loud New York City was. Yes, all

day and night, there was noise, cars honking in traffic, buses picking up passengers as they made

their daily commute, and the general chatter of people on the streets. Obviously, these sounds are

irritating; often, Claire sits through the rants of her coworkers complaining about having to listen

to cars with broken mufflers driving past or the drunk people living their lives in the middle of

the night. These coworkers will go on to tell Claire that they prefer the silence of the suburban

town they grew up in, and Claire will nod her head in agreement even though she has never

experienced it. They would go on and on about the peaceful silence that night brought out in

suburbia, how the only noise that could be heard was the crickets or the wind through the trees.

But again, Claire had never experienced it, so all she did was nod in agreement.

She grew up in New York City, and the noise has always been there; as a kid, when she

couldn’t sleep, she would sneak into the living room and sit in front of the large glass windows

that overlooked the street below. She would listen to the world outside as its cacophony of

melody lulled her to sleep. Maybe she and her coworker were not so different; they both found

joy in their respective thing—Claire with her noise and her coworker with their silence, but

Claire didn’t want to come off as rude by telling her coworker that she enjoyed the noise that

they hated.

So, alone walking to the subway, she would bask in the noise. She would pass people

talking on the phone with a faceless stranger Claire would never meet; she could hear the music

blasting from another person’s headphones as they attempted to drown out the noise she adores.

At the subway station, she will make her way to her platform, listening to announcements over

the intercom and the sound of thousands of footsteps as people walk to their destination,
wherever that may be. Once Claire gets to the subway platform and finds a place to sit, she pulls

her book out of her backpack and reads. As much as Claire loves the noise, she does tune it out

whenever she gets to this point in her routine—allowing herself to read in “peace and quiet”

while the world goes on around her. But the noise is still there, just filed away in the back of her

mind as she reads.

She continues to read, and the world fades around her, slowly getting quieter, footsteps

receding, and voices growing distant.

Until it was silent.

At first, Claire thought nothing of it, still engrossed in her book, but slowly, she became

aware of the lack of noise. It wasn’t just her brain tuning out the world around her; the world had

become silent. She set her book down and looked around the platform, only to find herself alone

in the once bustling area. The man that had once been sitting next to Claire on the bench was

gone too, except she had not felt or heard him get up to leave. She listened hard but couldn’t

even hear the intercom announcing the train's arrival and departure times.

It was truly silent.

Panicked, Claire quickly dug in her backpack and found her phone, maybe she had

passed out, and the day had gone by without her noticing. Or maybe some sort of emergency was

happening, and she didn’t notice while reading. But when her phone screen lit up, there were no

notifications, and it was only 7:25—the train would arrive in only 5 minutes. She sighed in relief,

but there was still an anxious little voice in her head questioning what was going on. Not once in

her many years of this routine had something like this happened; she never found herself alone

on the platform after she had been sure that there were other people. But she only had to wait

five minutes! The train would get to the platform in five minutes, and she would get on and head
to work. She’d tell her coworkers about what she had experienced and heckle them for lying

about how great silence was.

Because the silence she was in was suffocating.

She could hear everything, from her heartbeat in her ears to her white cotton sweater

rubbing against the metal of the bench, her hands gliding across the cover of her book. To her, it

was almost noisier than any cars honking in traffic or people yelling on crowded streets. She

decided she wouldn’t just heckle her damn coworker for lying; she would lecture them about

lying in the first place because silence was atrocious. How they could think the city's noise was

worse than this was beyond her.

But for now, she sat in the overbearing silence, waiting for the train to arrive. Claire

focused her attention back on her book, seeing the words on the page but unable to understand

what any of them were saying as her brain focused on the sound of her foot tapping anxiously

against the tile. After multiple attempts at reading the same passage, she put her book in her bag

and rechecked her phone.

7:25—the train would arrive in only 5 minutes.

Claire leaned back, a wave of relief seeping over her at the thought that the train would

be there in—

But that wasn’t right.

Claire sat up and turned her phone on, which still showed it was 7:25. She could have

sworn that more than a minute had passed since the first time she had checked her phone. Was

the silence already driving her crazy? Warping her perception of reality? Why the hell was she

still there anyways? She should just get up and leave!

 Claire felt like she might cry as she realized she could just leave and walk to work

instead, it would take longer, but it beat sitting in silence. She collected her things as quickly as

possible, praising herself for the great idea, before heading toward the entrance to the subway

station.

The only sound she could hear was the sound of her footsteps as she hurriedly made her

way through the empty station. She felt as though she was being watched as she passed a kiosk

with no one in it but still stocked with newspapers and candy. Claire checked over her shoulder,

constantly thinking she could hear another pair of footsteps, only for there to be nothing; her

brain tricking her with the silence. Claire walked for what felt like forever, then after forever

passed; she walked some more. She could have sworn the stairs were closer to her platform, but

apparently not.

She checked her phone again, but it still displayed 7:25, even though Claire was sure

time had passed. The silence, the confusion, and the fear finally got to her as she sprinted down

the platform. She should have found the stairs by now; she should have been out by now; she

should have been heading back home and calling in sick. She should have been creating a god

damn slideshow about how horrible silence is to show her coworkers by now.

But now, it wasn’t just the silence that made no sense; the platform isn’t that long, she

should have found the end by now. She should have found someone by now; she felt like she was

going in a damn loop because she could have sworn she had already passed the same kiosk with

the stacked newspapers and candy.

Claire’s panic slowly turned to exhaustion as the running caught up with her. She slowed

down in front of the stupid kiosk and took a minute to breathe to collect her thoughts. Claire

didn’t know whether she was in danger; she didn’t know what was happening, why, or how she
was supposed to get out. She took out her phone, which still said it was 7:25, and noted that she

had no cell reception and couldn’t even call for help if she wanted to. The pit in her stomach had

grown tremendously as she realized she was stuck—she was apparently trapped in the

deafeningly silent subway platform.

But right as she gave up all hope, she heard something.

In the silence of the subway platform, she heard a noise not made by herself.

It was the sound of a door opening.

Someone was here.

Excited at the prospect of another person being here, she started jogging towards where

she had heard the sound. She could see a door open in the distance, and standing in front of it

was a person! Claire couldn’t contain her excitement as she called out to the person, waving her

arms above her head. Tears started to fall as relief flooded her at the idea of not being alone.

The person whipped their head violently towards her at the sound of her shout, startling

Claire. Their movements were jerky and unstable—like they were unused to moving, and the

closer Claire got, the more apprehensive she became of the stranger. They were abnormally tall;

they would have had to duck to get through the door they had opened. As she approached, she

could see its unnatural grey skin stretching over bones that protruded from the skin as if they

hadn’t eaten in months. But what made Claire stop in her tracks were its eyes. They were large,

white, and unblinking, boring into Claire’s soul as it twitched and shuddered. Claire lowered her

arms to her sides, the excitement she once felt leaving her and leaving her with a feeling of

dread; it was not human.

She watched as the creature raised one of its hands to its face, and she watched as it dug

its fingers into its skin. Claire felt as though she couldn’t move as she watched the creature drag
its fingers down its face, slowly opening wounds that dripped blood onto the floor. All the while,

it stared at her, unblinking and silent. Once it opened large, ugly wounds down its face, it

dropped its arms to the side, and not knowing what would happen next; Claire continued to

watch as it slowly bent down, going onto all fours. Claire could hear the popping of joints and

see the movement of bones beneath the creature's skin as it moved; she could see the creature's

spine jutting from its back as if it would snap in half with the slightest pressure.

With blood dripping down its face, it started to crawl toward Claire, slow, jerky

movements that got smoother as it got closer.

Claire didn’t know what to do, what she was supposed to do. But once the creature got

close enough that she could smell the rancid odor it was emitting, she realized what she had to

do; she ran. She turned, and without thought, she sprinted back the way she came; she could hear

the creature as it chased, its hands and feet slapping on the tile of the subway platform as it

gained ground on Claire.

She must be dreaming; this is an incredibly vivid dream that feels real—she had read

about them before, though she never imagined they were like this. She would eventually wake up

in her bed in her apartment to the sounds of the city outside her window; she would laugh to

herself about the dream and how scary it was and go on with her day. She would find herself in a

regular subway station reading her book, the train would get there, and she would go to work.

But as the creature's footsteps grew closer and closer and Claire could hear its labored

and wheezing breathing, she didn’t want to test whether she was dreaming by being caught.

She saw her opportunity to escape just as her legs felt like they were about to give out on

her completely. An open door in the distance, a place to barricade. She may hate this dream, but

she didn’t want the dream to end with her in the creature's grasp. With what little strength she
had, she slipped her backpack off her shoulders and hurled it at the creature. It was not heavy, it

only contained her laptop, book, and a couple of papers she needed for work, but she had no

other choice. Claire hit it square in the face, catching it off guard and making it trip over its arms

and legs. Its head hit the ground with a sickening thud; it slid across the tiles, smearing blood as

it went, and Claire heard it let out a wheezing groan.

Claire lunged for the door and slid into the room; she turned around and watched as the

creature got up; this time, it stood on two legs, and with her foot, Claire slammed the door right

as the creature ran towards the door. She was plunged into darkness as the creature slammed into

the door. Claire lay on the cold hard tile, breathing heavily as the creature banged on the door.

She gave herself a moment to breathe and her heartbeat to calm down before she sat up, crawling

across the floor to the door and found the handle, locking in just in case as the creature continued

to slam itself against the door before running her hands across the wall before she found what

she was looking for; a light switch. As Claire was bathed in a dull orange light, she found herself

in a janitor's closet, surrounded by shelves of cleaning supplies with brooms and mops leaning

against the back wall.

She took stock of everything she knew about her situation—which was not much. Claire

was in the usual subway station she takes to work when everything went to hell, and now she

was trapped in a janitor’s closet with God’s mistake banging on the door. Claire didn’t know

whether she should try and kill the creature or just maim it. It could dig its fingers into its face

and bleed like it had no effect. Going for the head to kill it permanently seemed like a good

option, but what if that didn’t kill it? Her safest option was to wound its limbs, remove its

mobility and give herself time to escape—escape to where? Claire was unsure, but it might give

her time to find an escape; and considering its lack of reaction when she threw her backpack at it,
she guessed it was blind. Claire could take it by surprise; she could find something to use as a

weapon in the closet, kick the door down, rush at the creature, and break all its limbs before

running away.

Filled with a minuscule amount of determination and bravery, Claire took a deep breath

before getting to her feet, brushing off the dirt and dust that accumulated on her white sweater

from the floor. The creature had given up on banging on the door, but Claire could still hear it

crawling outside and see its shadow every time it passed. She picked up one of the metal handle

mops leaning on the back wall, removed the plastic from the end, and detached the actual mop

part. It was lightweight and easy to swing, and the end was quite sharp; it would have to do,

considering the only other option was a wooden broom. Claire also searched for things on the

numerous shelves full of cleaning supplies; most were mundane cleaning supplies, cobwebs, and

trash. She decided to take a bottle of bleach that sat on the bottom shelf, and, to her utter joy, on

the shelf behind the bleach was a red pocket knife. The blade was dull and rusted, as though it

had been there for a while, but Claire slipped it into her pocket anyways.

Claire was ready; she gripped the mop in her right hand and the bottle of bleach in her

left. She could see the creature's shadow from under the door, standing motionless as if waiting

for Claire to come out. She pushed down the feeling of dread as it clawed its way up her throat,

reminding her that she was not a fighter. That this plan was insane and that she should just stay

in the janitor’s closet until someone finds her or she dies. But as much as Claire wanted to curl

up into a ball and wait for someone to save her, thus far, that plan seemed unlikely to work. She

doesn’t want to die like this either; she has a life she enjoys, people she cares about, and people

she needs to make amends with before she dies. She wants to hear the noise of the city again, and

she needs to tell her coworker they are wrong about silence.
 With one more deep, calming breath, her hands clenched around her weapons; she

pushed down on the door handle, letting the door creep open before she kicked it open wide and

jumped out, mop ready to stab the creature.

But it wasn’t there.

Claire stared at the empty hall caked with dried blood, her grip lessening as confusion

took hold. But she could have sworn it was right before the door; she had seen its shadow and

was sure it was right there.

Claire felt something drip onto her shoulder; she looked over to see a spot of red had

landed on her white sweater before another drop accompanied it. She heard popping joints and

the faintest sound of wheezing from above her as she realized she wasn’t the one casting the

shadow on the ground. Before Claire could react, the creature wrapped its spindly fingers around

her neck, causing her to drop the bleach and mop in surprise. It hoisted her into the air with more

strength than Claire thought possible and started to strangle her. She struggled against it, grasped

its arm with all the strength she had to get it to let go, but she couldn’t do it. Claire’s vision was

fading quickly as she desperately scrounged around in her pocket and pulled out the pocket

knife; in one final act of desperation, she jabbed the pocket knife into the creature’s wrist. Its

fingers loosened around her neck, allowing Claire to pry its hand off and drop hard to the floor.

She scrambled to her feet and gasped for breath, her brain in disarray as she grabbed the bleach

as the creature dropped from the ceiling and stood on two legs; Claire unscrewed the bleach and

threw it. Bleach sloshed across the creature, getting in its wounds and eyes.

But it did nothing.

The creature stared at Claire, nonplussed, as its eyes and skin turned red from the bleach.

It took a step forward and forced Claire to step back, she threw the empty bleach bottle at its
head, but it only bounced harmlessly before falling to the floor. The creature let out a hissing

growl, the skin underneath its eyes stretching and tearing open to reveal a row of rotting, yellow

teeth as the creature lunged at Claire. Claire raised her arms to defend her face as the creature

latched onto her arm, its disgusting teeth digging into her sweater and into her skin, a feeling of

lighting shocking her system as she screamed in pain as the creature fell on top of her. It flailed

wildly, hitting Claire in the face and dragging its fingers across her forehead, opening a large

would that bled into her eye.

Claire couldn’t fight back; she couldn’t do anything to stop the creature as it attempted to pull a

chunk out of her arm and kept hitting her repeatedly.

This was it; she would die and be eaten by the creature. She would never get to hear the city that

she loves, she would never get to argue with her coworkers, she would never get to apologize to

her sister and get to meet her nephew because she was going to get eaten by a creature—

Claire was deafened by the sound of a gunshot, followed by nothing. Her ears were

ringing, her brain a jumbled mess as she felt her arm pulse with each pump of her heart. She

could feel the dried blood on her face and the new blood coming to join it from the wound on her

forehead. She felt sick to her stomach, overwhelmed, and understimulated all at once.

But she was alive.

She was alive.

She could barely see with the blood drying and gluing her eye shut and the dizziness that

plagued her every time she thought of sitting up. Claire didn’t know what had happened, how she

was still alive. So with a lot of effort, she sat up, her hands slipping multiple times before finding

a pillar she could lie against.

Through blurry eyes, Claire saw the creature lying motionless, eyes wide open and staring at

nothing, its mouth agape as if it were screaming. Its midsection was gone, and its organs spilled

across the subway floor, a pool of blood slowly growing beneath it. Claire couldn’t help but stare

at the horrific sight, how the creature's grey, leathery skin contrasted with the soft pink organs

that were once inside it. She watched as its fingers twitched, occasional spasms flitting across its

face before going still once more.

The creature was dead.

Claire was alive.

She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, whether she wanted to celebrate that

she was alive or celebrate the fact that the creature was dead. But whatever she wanted to do was

interrupted by footsteps approaching her as the ringing in her ears faded.

Claire looked up slowly from the creature to see two figures walking towards her. They

looked human in shape and stature from afar; Claire felt hope spark in her chest as she thought

she was about to be saved. The hope was that they would get her out of there, and she would find

herself in a hospital before being discharged and sent back to her small apartment in the middle

of New York City. She could sit near the small window of her apartment and listen to the city

outside late at night like she did as a kid. She’ll then walk to work, avoiding the subway station,

and once she gets to work, she will punch her coworker.

But that spark of hope diminished faster than it had started as the figures got closer, and

Claire could see that, once again, they were not human.

The one on the left was tall, the subway platform lights reflecting off their skin,

highlighting the metal texture on their shoulders and head. Their face was flat, with two green
lights where their eyes should have been, with tiny holes where their mouth should have been.

Claire’s mind supplied uselessly that it looked like a fast food drive-through speaker.

The one on the right was shorter, and they were the most human looking out of

everything Claire had seen. Their skin was tan, and their arms were covered in tattoos of flowers

she had never seen before. But once again, they were not human; they lacked something that

Claire argued was important for a human; they didn’t have a neck or head. Instead of a neck,

there was nothing, just open air, and where the head should be was a clear glass ball.

The two figures stopped a couple of feet from Claire, the one on the left raising their hand

and waving in a friendly manner, “hello! Do you need some help?” A southern American accent

emanated, the holes where the mouth should have been lighting up green with their speech.

“We have a gun so if you attack we’ll—” the crystal ball on the right started to say, a

gruff, Australian accent emanating from…somewhere, but before they could finish their

sentence, the one on the left punched them on the shoulder. “OW—what the fuck was that for?”

The one on the right hissed as they stumbled from the force of the hit.

“Why would you say that?! Look at it! What could it possibly do?” The one on the left

hissed back—and Claire wondered for a moment if they thought she couldn’t hear them, even

though it was silent and they weren’t that far from her.

“What do you MEAN look at it? Just because something looks pathetic doesn’t mean it's

not dangerous—”

“Ah, anyways,” the one on the left interrupted, drawing Claire’s attention back to them.

“We are here to help you! Do you need assistance?”

Even though Claire was sitting in a pool of blood, her left arm and forehead bloody, they

still asked if she needed assistance—as if it wasn’t fucking obvious that she needed some help.
As if it wasn’t fucking obvious that things had gone to shit and that she didn’t know what the

fuck was happening.

At that moment, Claire realized what she wanted to do to celebrate that she was alive and

the creature was dead.

She felt tears start to fall as the absurdity of the situation made her burst out laughing.

Claire was asked whether she wanted to be saved by the Tin Man look-alike and a fucking

crystal ball with legs after being smacked around by a goddamn abomination after finding herself

in a hell version of the usual subway platform she takes to work. She didn’t know what was

happening, what she did to deserve this, and what would happen next.

“Uh…hello?” The one on the left asked awkwardly as Claire laughed and cried.

Claire’s chest hurt from laughing, her arm hurt from the fucking bite, and her head felt like it

would split in half as things started to fade in her vision. With her last bit of energy, she looked

at the creatures standing before her, asking if she wanted their help, and she answered.

“Yes I would like some fucking help,” and with that, Claire finally let exhaustion and pain

take her into unconsciousness.

Chapter 2 - Welcome To Nullville!

Claire woke up.

She sat up violently, a half-aborted yell leaving her lips before recognizing where she

was. She was in her bed, in her small apartment in the middle of New York City, her bedroom

window open exactly how she had left it the night before, letting in the city's noise in all its

glory.

It had all been a dream.

 She checked her arm, where she could have sworn the creature had bitten her, but all she

saw was undamaged skin, familiar freckles, and old scars from old injuries. She brought her hand

to her forehead, but there wasn’t a wound there either.

It had all been a dream.

Claire laughed to herself about how crazy that dream had been, feeling her heartbeat slow

as she laid back down, closing her eyes. It had been a while since she’s had nightmares; the last

one she could remember was during high school. The dream had been about her being late to

some class where they were supposed to be writing a quiz, but since she was late, she had only

20 minutes to finish. Claire remembered thinking it was so realistic then; her hand ached even

after she awoke as if she had been writing a long time like she had in the dream. But now this

nightmare had to take the cake as the most realistic dream, the fear she felt when she realized she

was alone, the panic when the creature started to chase her, the pain she felt when the creature bit

her, and the feeling of helplessness when the two other creatures showed up.

“Holy hell,” Claire mumbled as she rolled over, grabbing her phone from the nightstand

to check the time.

It was 7:25.

Claire felt her heart jump into her throat as she read the numbers on her phone. Her brain

went blank as she turned her phone off; the world outside her bedroom window was suddenly

quiet, as if a switch had been flipped. She felt something drip onto her bare shoulder, and

through the reflection on her phone screen, she saw the blood slowly running down her arm

before falling onto her bed.

Claire lay frozen as, in the silence, she heard the familiar sounds of wheezing and popping joints

from above her. More blood dripped onto her shoulder, but she didn’t dare look above her as the

wheezing got closer and closer to her.

As a hand wrapped around her neck, Claire could feel her head and arm pulse with pain as a

loud, rhythmic beeping filled her ear before everything dissipated around her.

****

Claire awoke slowly, disorientated and sick to her stomach; the rhythmic beeping in her

dream continued, except it was accompanied by a female voice humming and the sounds of glass

clinking together. Claire opened her eyes, her blurry vision clearing slowly as she took in her

surroundings.

If she only went off the fact that her left arm, which had been bitten by the creature, was

wrapped in clean, white bandages, the wound on her forehead had some sort of covering too.

And she was in a hospital gown with tiny patches attached to her arm connected to the beeping

device; Claire would have thought she was in a hospital.

But it didn’t take much to know that she wasn’t in a hospital; she was in a small room

with walls made of exposed red brick with small green vines climbing up and large blue flowers

peppering the vines. There was an open window to her left, letting in a cool breeze that swayed

the myriad of other plants on the windowsill. Dark purple flowers with smooth petals, large,

spiky plants with orange bulbs in the middle—plants Claire has never seen nor imagined. There

was a dark wood dresser in the corner opposite Claire with a small desk and chair and an open

doorway on the wall right of Claire, the door was open, obscuring Claire’s view of the other

room.
 It was peaceful, a severe juxtaposition to the subway station, Claire could hear things

outside the open window, the faintest sounds of life similar to the city.

But where the fuck was she?

Sure, she was being cared for but she had no idea where the hell she was. Was she in

New York City still? Was she in a different country? What about the two creatures that she

encountered before she passed out? How long had she been out? Had she been kidnapped?

Was the humming coming from a human or another creature?

Carefully, Claire sat up, groaning as her legs protested at being used, a stinging sensation

shooting through them before an intense cramping causing her toes to curl. She felt sick, she was

thirsty, but she was spooked by the sound of knocking on the open door.

“Hello dear! May I come in?” A cheery voice came from the other side, causing Claire’s

heart to jump into her throat. The machine beside her started to beep rapidly, startling Claire

even more. “Oh! I did not mean to spook you, my bad,” the voice said, still cheerful.

“Who are you?” Claire asked, her voice raspy and quiet from a lack of use and water.

“If you are okay with me coming in, I would rather talk to you face to face,” the voice

answered, the same cheery voice starting to grate on Claire’s nerves.

“Are you human?” Claire asked cautiously.

“It would be easier if I come in to talk face to face dear,” the voice said sympathetically,

but there was an undertone of irritation. “I understand that you are scared but I am here to help

you, it has been a few hours since I have changed your bandages and in order to treat you

properly I need speak freely with you.”

Claire stayed quiet as she thought about what the voice had said, some words not making

sense, but she understood enough. “So, you’re not human?”

 The creature sighed, “yes and no, I am a human, but I am not a human like you. Now, am

I allowed to enter so we can have a bit of a chat?”

Claire pondered momentarily over the creature’s answer, yes and no? It did not make

sense to her, but at the same time, she was curious as to what that actually meant. But the only

way for Claire to know what that meant was to allow the creature in, and at this point, Claire

didn’t know what to expect.

She had seen more messed up things in the subway than in her whole life, the creature,

dead, its middle gone, and organs strewn about. The robot creature thing, glowing green eyes,

and an odd southern accent, and then the talking glass ball that threatened to shoot Claire if she

tried anything. At that point, nothing could shock her, she was sure, so with a sigh, she answered,

“yes, come in.”

“Wonderful!” The creature said, before Claire heard shuffling, “please forgive me, but in

order to properly disinfect the wounds I had to take off your clothes and put you in a proper

dressing gown.” The creature said, and Claire watched with wide eyes as black roots slowly

enveloped the door, “but while you were asleep I was able to get it cleaned and had The

Seamstress fix the hole in your shirt.”

Claire said nothing as she watched more roots appear through the door; one long strand

held her white sweater, pants, bra, socks, and underwear on the end of the bed. Claire couldn’t

help but stare as the writhing mass of roots slowly came together into a humanoid shape, the

creature reached out one of its arms, and Claire watched as it stretched towards the chair,

grabbing it before dragging it across the floor and then calmly sitting down in the chair, facing

Claire.
 “Oh! I almost forgot,” the creature exclaimed, causing Claire to jump as she had been

distracted by the roots that made up its legs slither and move. She watched as again its arm

stretched, this time out the door before it was pulled back in, and the creature was holding a book

and pencil. “Now, to start, my name is Despixs I am the main medical physician of Nullville but

I deal primarily in cases of new arrivals such as yourself who had a bit of a rough journey

through a Hallway.”

“You said you were human,” Claire said dumbly, still trying to find the ‘yes’ part of the

‘yes and no’ answer Despixs had given, all Claire saw was a moving mass of black roots

pretending to be human. Claire decided that she had spoken too soon that she had seen

everything—apparently, tin-man lookalike and glass ball were just appetizers for what was to

come.

Despixs tilted her head as if contemplating before humming, “are you unaware of human

variants across dimensions?”

“Human variants? No, that isn’t a thing,” Claire answered with more conviction than she

should have had, all things considered.

“Mm, interesting,” Despixs mumbled as she wrote in the book, “well, as much as I want

to tell you everything and more, that is not my job and you will learn everything in time.”

Despixs said sweetly as she wrote something else in her book before setting the pencil down.

“Now, lets start with the basics, what is your name?”

“My name?” Claire repeated, having stopped paying attention in favor of watching the

roots of Despixs face move to figure out how she spoke with no mouth.
 “Yes, like how I call myself Despixs, my full name is Despraksis Imperia Fereanes, it is a

form of identification, if you do not have one then could you please make one up so we can get

you registered in the database?”

“Claire.”

“Claire? What a lovely name,” Despixs said as she wrote that down in the book. “Very

rare name, it has been a while since I have met someone named Claire,” she added.

Claire only nodded; she didn’t want to talk more than she needed, even though she

wanted to tell Despixs she was wrong. Claire’s school life was plagued with constantly being

called by either her middle name or last name because there was almost always another girl in

her class also named Claire. One mortifying time she had even been nicknamed Claire two

because she was less popular out of the two Claires in class.

“Now, onto the more technical things,” Despixs started, “what are the main substances

that your body needs in order to function properly?”

Claire paused for a moment to think, “I…I don’t think I understand.”

“That’s fine! So, what are the materials that you need in order to keep function and

healthy, like some need gas, some need high concentrations of glucose, some need to absorb

limizite, and some need to drink water.”

“Oh, I need to drink water to…keep functioning,” Claire said awkwardly, the phrasing

feeling wrong.

“Anything else?” Despixs questioned as she wrote in the book.

“Uh, eating?”

“Eating what?”
 “...Food?” Claire felt like an idiot because she knew the things she needed to keep alive,

but she had never been asked to describe them to someone who wasn’t fully aware of what it

took to function.

But despite Claire’s lack of a clear answer, Despixs nodded and wrote something down,

“it's okay if you do not have answers, a part of the integration process will be finding what you

need in order to thrive, this is just so we can narrow down the options.”

Claire nodded, feeling slightly relieved.

But the rest of the conversation went just like that, Despixs asked a vague and confusing

question, and Claire answered it the best she could. Whenever Claire asked Despixs anything to

get an idea of what was truly going on or what was going to happen, Despixs would assure her

that she would be told in time. It got to the point where it was severely frustrating, but Claire

held her tongue.

By the time Despixs had finished asking questions, the light from the window had turned

red, the room getting progressively dimmer as the red faded into purple. Despixs grabbed a lamp

from the room and held it from a root protruding from her back above them. Claire had to guess

it was more for her comfort than a need to see as Despixs changed Claire’s bandages.

“It seems like its healing nicely,” Despixs hummed as her roots held Claire’s arm, the

feeling of warm, writing strings causing a shiver to go up her spine. But the once mangled and

bloody wound was all but healed. There was only a gnarly scar, red around the edges and

noticeable against Claire’s tan skin. Much to Claire’s dismay, it was the same on her forehead;

Despixs had been kind enough to grab a mirror and let Claire see the three healed gash marks

maiming her forehead. “I apologize if they did not seem to heal properly, you are the first of your
kind to have come to Nullville so I had to improvise and it took longer because of it,” Despixs

said apologetically.

“Wait, how long was I out?” Claire asked quietly as she rubbed her fingers across the

scar on her forehead.

“About three days,” Despixs answered before quieting, allowing Claire time to think.

Three days, three days were enough for someone to notice that she was gone. Her

coworkers probably thought it was strange that she didn’t show up to work on the first day. Often

when someone was late or didn’t show up for a shift, they would joke that their coworker must

have found a better job than writing ridiculous online articles nobody read. That was never the

case; usually, they forgot to set their alarm or were hung over from a night of partying, but the

speculations still flew whenever it happened.

Claire wondered what her coworkers thought had happened to her on that first day and

what they thought when she didn’t show up for the second and third day.

What did her sister think? Did her sister even know?

Claire shook away the thought and returned the mirror to Despixs, who Claire had gotten

used to, though it was still uncanny to look at her.

“You said that it was important to sleep,” Despixs said as she put the mirror into the

dresser, “is this an adequate place to rest? The two agents who brought you in, Jenny-Lo and

Dove wanted to talk to you after you woke up but I told them to give you some space.”

“Thank you,” Claire nodded, feeling exhausted, even though she had done nothing the

whole day. “This…I’ll be fine here,” Claire affirmed, more to herself than Despixs.

“Great, is there anything else that you need before I go?”

 “Uh, yeah, could I get some water?” Claire desperately needed water, her voice starting

to go, and she wouldn’t get any sleep if she didn’t drink anything.

“Sure thing,” this time, instead of reaching with roots, Despixs got up, pushing the chair

back to the desk before walking out of the room, taking the lamp, and placing it on the desk.

Claire felt like a child as she heard water rushing, and then a root appeared from behind the door,

holding a metal cup with clear water. Claire mumbled a quick thank you before gulping it down,

coughing slightly but feeling relieved as the dryness of her throat dissipated. The root took the

now empty cup and disappeared around the door, “just for safety, I will keep this door open, if

you need me I will be over here, I will wake you up once Helios rises.”

But Claire was already asleep.

Even though, for the thousandth time, she did not know what was happening, she felt a

little better than what was happening may not be as bad as she thought.