ELECTRIC ICARUS PUBLISHING · NEON THEATER · SATURDAY PREMIERE
THE UNVEILED UNIVERSE · MYTH-TECH · EPISODE 001
In a world where survival is entertainment, the most dangerous thing isn’t dying. It’s becoming worth watching.
THE PROLOGUE
BLACK SCREEN.
A man’s voice, exhausted and trembling.
“Please.”
A breath.
“Please, I’ve already done this.”
The darkness gives way to a forest clearing, where cold mist coils between the trees.
A barefoot man stands surrounded by seven crooked stones.
His shirt is torn. His fingernails are packed with dirt. A narrow stream of blood runs from one ear.
He looks over his shoulder.
Nothing.
He runs.
Through ferns. Over roots. Beneath branches that tear at his face.
He runs until his lungs threaten to collapse.
And emerges into the same clearing.
Seven stones.
Same blood on the ground.
Same dead bird hanging motionless in the air.
He falls to his knees.
“No.”
Behind him, something tall unfolds from between two trees.
The man doesn’t turn.
He already knows.
A long, pale hand settles on his forehead.
The clearing vanishes into darkness.
A woman’s voice, bright and cheerful:
“Survive reminds you that participation is a privilege!”
A cheerful jingle plays.
The jingle breaks off as rain and neon crash into view.
CHAPTER ONE: BACKLINE
The first punch missed Rae Morrow’s face by approximately three inches.
The second removed a considerable portion of the brick wall behind her.
“That,” Rae said, looking at the rubble, “was a perfectly good wall.”
The man opposite her had four arms.
Two were original. The others were industrial replacements, the kind used to lift machinery before somebody realized machinery was considerably easier to lift when the machinery couldn’t complain.
His name was Brask.
He owned this alley.
Or so he’d explained, at length, before attempting to collect a toll.
“You’re standing on private ground,” he growled.
Rae looked down.
A puddle reflected a dying neon sign.
“Looks pretty public.”
“You’re trespassing.”
“Then put up a fence.”
Brask lunged.
Rae moved.
For one extraordinary instant, the world stopped.
Rain hung motionless around her. The background vanished into a flat field of sickly yellow. Her silhouette stretched into a black brushstroke.
Something along her spine clicked.
BOXCAR FORM.
Her left foot planted.
Her shoulder turned.
She drove a fist into Brask’s abdomen.
The sound resembled a locomotive striking a refrigerator.
He folded around the impact and traveled backward through three garbage bins, a steam pipe, and the front window of a business advertising ETHICAL ORGAN REPLACEMENT.
The sign fell on him.
Rae winced.
“That’s unfortunate branding.”
A little girl watching from a nearby fire escape applauded.
Rae looked up.
“Don’t tell your mother.”
“She’s dead.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“Well, don’t tell anybody else.”
The girl grinned.
Then the streetlights went out.
Every one of them.
At precisely the same instant.
Rae’s spine flickered green.
Somewhere beyond the buildings, a siren began to howl.
Not police.
Not fire.
Something older than either institution, despite sounding unmistakably electronic.
The little girl’s smile disappeared.
“Backline?”
Rae looked toward the street.
“What?”
“They’re collecting.”
A convoy turned the corner.
Black vehicles.
No insignia.
No headlights.
Just a white symbol painted on every door.
A circle with a line through its center.
The people on the sidewalks vanished into shops and stairwells.
Brask, still buried under the sign, crawled out and began limping away.
Rae watched him go.
“Really? Now you’re leaving?”
He didn’t answer.
The first vehicle stopped.
Its door opened.
A man wearing a gray suit stepped into the rain.
He carried no weapon.
He didn’t need one.
“Rae Morrow?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
“Your presence has been requested.”
“By whom?”
The man smiled.
“An interested party.”
Rae looked at the vehicles.
Then at the empty street.
Then at the man.
“Tell your party I’m not interested.”
He reached into his jacket.
Rae’s spine ignited.
RAILRUNNER FORM.
The world stretched into speed lines.
She launched forward.
And struck something invisible.
There was no impact sound.
No explosion.
No dramatic flash.
Her momentum simply disappeared.
For half a second, Rae hung in the air, arms extended, feet off the ground.
The suited man checked his watch.
“That usually happens.”
Rae’s vision turned white.
The last thing she heard was the little girl screaming her name.
CHAPTER TWO: THE DROP
Rae woke with sand in her mouth.
She spat.
Sat up.
Spat again.
“Fantastic.”
The beach stretched in both directions, littered with rusted metal, broken plastic, and pieces of machinery she couldn’t identify.
Behind her stood a forest.
Ahead lay an ocean the color of engine oil.
Above her, a camera drone buzzed through the air.
A man in an orange jacket was standing nearby.
“Hey,” he said.
Rae ignored him.
“Hey, you.”
She examined the metal fittings along her forearm.
“Are we dead?”
“Not yet.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re talking.”
The man considered this.
“That’s fair.”
A loudspeaker crackled somewhere overhead.
“GOOD MORNING, PARTICIPANTS!”
Rae closed her eyes.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Welcome to another extraordinary season of SURVIVE! Your continued participation demonstrates your commitment to a safer, stronger, more responsible society!”
The man in orange raised his hand.
“Excuse me?”
The speaker continued.
“Please remember that all disciplinary decisions are final, all medical services are conditional, and all refunds are strictly prohibited.”
“REFUNDS?” the man shouted. “I DIDN’T BUY ANYTHING!”
A pause.
Then:
“Enjoy your stay!”
Music played.
The drone departed.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then a woman farther down the beach began screaming.
Not in fear.
In pain.
Rae turned.
Something beneath the sand was pulling her downward.
The woman clawed at the ground, kicking desperately.
Two people ran toward her.
One reached for her arm.
The beach opened.
A narrow white fissure appeared beneath all three.
For an instant Rae saw something pulsing far below the surface.
Not machinery.
Not quite flesh.
Then the sand collapsed.
All three disappeared.
The ground smoothed over.
The man in orange stared.
“Did you—”
“Yes.”
“Should we—”
“No.”
“Do you think—”
“Run.”
They ran.
Behind them, the ocean began to disappear beneath a wall of approaching fog.
CHAPTER THREE: QUALITY ENTERTAINMENT
Far from the island, the same broadcast flickers across a television in a cramped, cluttered apartment.
Tad Phelps was eating something from a bowl.
He wasn’t entirely certain what it was.
The packaging had said MEAT-ADJACENT FAMILY DINNER, which seemed sufficiently reassuring.
His cat, Boots, watched from the windowsill.
Boots was hairless, elderly, and possessed the expression of a retired accountant who had discovered an unforgivable discrepancy.
“Hey, Boots.”
The cat blinked.
“Survive’s on.”
The television displayed an advertisement.
A smiling family stood in front of a spotless suburban house.
SAFER STREETS. STRONGER COMMUNITIES. RESPONSIBLE REMOVAL.
A cheerful narrator explained that certain citizens required opportunities to contribute to society through alternative participation.
Tad scratched his stomach.
“See, Boots? That’s government working.”
Boots began licking his foot.
The commercial ended.
A man in a bright purple suit appeared on the screen.
“GOOD EVENING, SURVIVORS!”
Derrick Vox smiled with the strained enthusiasm of a man contractually obligated to enjoy himself.
“Tonight we’ve got fresh faces, fresh fatalities, and an exciting new addition from the Slumlight districts!”
A photograph appeared.
Rae Morrow.
Tad leaned forward.
“Well, hello.”
Boots sneezed.
“She’s got one of them fancy backs.”
Derrick continued.
“And remember, folks: these aren’t victims. They’re participants!”
Tad nodded solemnly.
“Important distinction.”
The television showed a beach disappearing beneath the Fog.
A distant scream.
A burst of static.
Tad reached for another mouthful.
“Ah, damn. They cut away from the good part.”
Boots left the room.
CHAPTER FOUR: THE MAN WHO SAW TOO MUCH
The first thing Rae heard was laughter.
Not happy laughter.
The kind that happens after someone has been frightened beyond the point where screaming remains useful.
She found him sitting beneath a dead tree.
His coat was torn. His hands were filthy. His eyes tracked something that wasn’t there.
“Hey,” she said.
He looked up.
“Oh.”
“That’s your opening?”
“I thought you’d be taller.”
Rae stared.
“Do I know you?”
“No.”
“Then why would you think I’d be taller?”
He considered this.
“I don’t know.”
Rae turned to leave.
“Wait.”
She kept walking.
“WAIT.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Don’t go that way.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where I came from.”
“And?”
“And I came from there six times.”
Rae looked at the forest.
Then back at him.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
She was holding up two.
“Wonderful.”
The man rose unsteadily.
“My name’s Kent.”
“Congratulations.”
“I saw something in the Fog.”
“Everybody sees something in the Fog.”
“No. I saw what was looking back.”
Rae hesitated.
Kent smiled weakly.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That look. That’s the look everybody gets when they realize I might actually know something.”
Rae resumed walking.
Kent followed.
“Don’t follow me.”
“I’m not.”
His footsteps continued behind her.
“You’re literally following me.”
“We’re traveling in the same direction.”
“Then change directions.”
“I’d love to. Unfortunately, most of them lead back to where I started.”
She stopped.
He nearly walked into her.
Rae turned slowly.
“Listen carefully. I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. And whatever happened to you in that fog is not my problem.”
Kent nodded.
“Understood.”
“Good.”
She walked away.
Kent followed.
Rae looked toward the sky.
“Of course.”
CHAPTER FIVE: NOW BACK TO THE SHOW
Beyond the island, in the brightly lit control rooms of Survive Broadcast Headquarters, panic takes a considerably less dignified form.
Derrick Vox was shouting at a young man holding two cups of coffee.
“I SAID RICE MILK!”
Arlo stared at the cups.
“You said soy.”
“Do I look like a man who drinks soy?”
Arlo considered several possible answers.
All of them seemed professionally unwise.
“No, sir.”
“Then why would you bring me soy?”
“Because you asked for it.”
Derrick looked at a producer.
“Is he always like this?”
“He’s new.”
“Get me someone old.”
The producer leaned over a monitor.
“Sir?”
“What?”
“Camera Seven just picked up something.”
Derrick glanced at the screen.
Two people stood at the edge of a clearing.
A woman with luminous spinal hardware.
A disheveled man talking with his hands.
Seven crooked stones.
The producer zoomed in.
“That’s the Slumlight contestant.”
Derrick straightened his tie.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Sir, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The camera keeps recording the same twelve seconds.”
Derrick frowned.
“Then fix it.”
“We can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because the people are still moving.”
On the screen, Rae and Kent approached the clearing.
Behind them, the trees shifted.
The picture froze.
Then resumed.
Then froze again.
Derrick smiled.
“Are we live?”
“Yes.”
“Beautiful.”
He turned toward his camera.
The red light came on.
“AAAAAND NOW BACK TO THE SHOW!”
Back on the island, the broadcast finds Rae and Kent at the edge of the clearing.
Rae stopped at the first stone.
Kent stopped behind her.
There was a body lying facedown in the dirt.
No identification.
No weapon.
No obvious reason for being there.
Rae crouched beside him.
The ground was warm.
Kent looked around.
“Something happened here.”
“Excellent detective work.”
“No, Rae.”
His voice changed.
“Something is still happening here.”
The wind stopped.
A leaf hung motionless between them.
Rae watched it.
Then another leaf.
Then a drifting particle of dust.
Everything suspended.
Except Kent.
Except Rae.
And the shadow of the dead man.
It was moving.
Slowly.
Separating itself from the body.
Kent whispered:
“Don’t let it touch you.”
Rae stood.
Her spine flashed magenta.
The shadow stretched toward her.
The stones began to hum.
Across the broadcast signal, the image washes over Tad’s television, bathing his apartment in a sickly glow.
Tad leaned forward so violently that half his dinner spilled into his lap.
“BOOTSY! BOOTSY, GET IN HERE!”
Boots did not come.
“THE BACK LADY FOUND SOMETHING!”
Inside the studio, Derrick watches the same impossible shape fill his monitor.
“Folks, it appears our newest contestants have stumbled into one of the island’s most mysterious attractions!”
The producer whispered something in his ear.
Derrick’s smile faltered.
“What’s that?”
“We don’t have an attraction listed there.”
Derrick glanced at the monitor.
The shadow was standing now.
Tall.
Featureless.
Its head nearly touched the branches overhead.
Derrick swallowed.
Then smiled even wider.
“Well, folks! You heard it here first!”
The studio’s cheerful commentary fades beneath the forest’s unnatural silence. Rae and Kent stand before the figure.
Kent backed away.
Rae didn’t.
The figure extended one pale hand.
A finger touched the air before her face.
And for an instant—
Rae saw the clearing as it had been before.
A man running.
A man falling.
A man begging.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The same terrified face.
The same desperate movement.
The same moment of absolute recognition before everything began again.
Rae staggered.
Kent caught her.
“What did you see?”
She looked at the body.
Then at the stones.
Then at the figure.
“Someone who never got to leave.”
The figure tilted its head.
Rae took Kent’s wrist.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere else.”
They ran.
And somewhere behind them, a man began screaming.
The same scream.
Again.
And again.
And again.
FINALE
Tad sat perfectly still.
For once, he wasn’t chewing.
On the television, the camera remained fixed on the empty clearing.
The screaming continued.
Then the picture cut to an advertisement.
A smiling woman held a brightly colored beverage.
FOGGO™ — THE FRIENDLY FOG!
“Nothing brings the family together like a little mystery!”
Tad stared.
Boots jumped onto the couch.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Tad picked up his bowl.
“Well.”
He chewed.
“That was weird.”
Boots watched the television.
Behind the smiling woman in the advertisement, for exactly one frame, stood a tall, featureless silhouette.
The screen flickered.
Boots hissed.
Tad didn’t notice.
The clearing vanishes into darkness.
SURVIVE: NEON SLUMLIGHT
END OF EPISODE 001 · THE MYTH-TECH REALM HAS OPENED
NEXT ON NEON THEATER · SUNDAY — GOLDEN BUCK CULT
The Neon Grit Realm. Different streets. Different monsters. Some of them wear very expensive suits.
Electric Icarus Publishing · The Unveiled Universe · Neon Theater
