The Plot Calls #24 : "Shimmering Soil part 2 of 2"

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and/or Ai-assisted-content-generation. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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The apartment had that familiar hum again—the faint, atmospheric buzz from the Faraday Cage Marcus installed. But for all its technical protections, it couldn’t insulate them from the weight of the conversation filling the room.

Sam sat at his desk, scrolling through the quiet reports, the hidden forums, the anonymous messages. Survivors. Witnesses. The occasional reluctant confessor.

The Plot was showing up more. Or maybe more people were finally admitting they were living wrong. Being wrong. Fighting truth. Misaligned. Willfully ignorant. Lazy through unnecessary hard work.

“Something's strange about it all,” Sam muttered, his eyes scanning the screen. “The survivors. All the ones who don’t go idle… they all want the same thing now.”

Marcus leaned by the window, arms crossed. “What?”

“Anonymity,” Sam replied, relieved Marcus couldn’t read his energy from that distance. “They vanish. Not physically. But publicly. Their social circles become more meaningful. They become more deliberate. Their brush with the Plot—or the thing on the other side of it—forced them to look at themselves. Their misalignments. Their fear, their need, their control issues. And when they saw it… they knew what we can’t express in words.”

Marcus tilted his head. “Surrender. Alignment. Truth.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Their truth. The truth of their soul. The thing they avoided their whole lives. They stopped playing games. Stopped feeding machines. They show up as themselves. Not the lustful kind. Not the insecure kind. But… the sound of their name.”

Marcus said nothing, but his expression confirmed he understood.

Sam walked over to Marcus, asking something he couldn’t say out loud.

“Yeah, Sam. You’re aligned. Your name reflects the sound of your soul. I couldn’t be here if that weren’t the case. I wouldn’t be able to use your name. It wouldn’t be you,” Marcus admitted.

Relieved, Sam went back to his desk. He leaned back, exhaling slowly. “It’s wild. Everyone feels those sharp gut-level cravings—the hunger for more. But if it isn’t grounded in unrestrained authenticity or forms of gratitude or love—not the romantic or sexual kind—then it’s a misaligned shout from the soul that attracts the Plot.”

Marcus’s gaze sharpened. He continued looking at the city outside. “If fewer people attract it… the thing on the other side eats less. Maybe it’ll manifest less.”

“That’s why I’m doing it,” Sam added, tapping his laptop. “The anthology. The Plot Calls. It’s a warning, wrapped as fiction. A way to show people that gut feeling—that misaligned craving—might be something they need to be careful with.”

Marcus nodded once, stepping away from the window. “Go for it. Just a heads-up… I can find you through your work, Sam. Other people can too. Keep it clearly expressed as cautionary fiction. If certain people—Eugene Thaddeus types—realize you’re warning people about their minds and behaviors being groomed and consolidated… you’ll be a target.”

Sam frowned. He didn’t know what to make of it, but he didn’t argue.

“There’s a hidden group of humans being watched by creatures they can’t comprehend,” Marcus continued. “Some beings are good, some are evil, and others are just eating. And beneath that, there are humans who want other humans to mindlessly accept and allow a reality of fear and war. They want control, power, or endless fulfillment that they can’t obtain from within. Some of those people aren’t even real people. They’re possessed by creatures from a place called the Void. Onthiems. The Nothing.”

Sam cringed. “The Nothing?”

Marcus smirked. “Don’t worry about it. I’m rambling. Luckily, that’s not our responsibility. I’m just letting you know it exists. Our path isn’t cloaked under that destiny. Just be aware reality is complex, and people in positions of power are pawns for things that make false promises.”

Relieved, Sam frowned again, curiosity tugging at him, but he thought better of it. He didn’t want to know what he didn’t want to know.

“Anyway,” Marcus continued, “the Faraday Cage protects your signals, but your content is still public. If it appears to challenge certain perceived authorities or powers, they might come around with subtle threats, shadow bans, or worse… contracts, deals, money, control disguised as success.”

Sam exhaled. He shivered. “I gotcha. Don’t poke the bear.”

“Correct,” Marcus added. “But, if you do poke the bear—which might happen if your content succeeds in its aims—then do it in a way that forces the bear to reveal itself. Expose its hand. Show its real face. Publicly. Mask off. If someone comes to you with a contract, don’t sign it. Instead, do the thing you hate. Stream it live. Pretend to accept it. Make a spectacle of it. Tear it. Make the loudest statement you can.”

Sam smiled, thoughtful. “That’s bold, Marcus. You don’t think this is dangerous?”

Marcus’s laugh was low, quiet. “Do you have any idea how big reality is? Exist in your truth. You know when you’re aligned. People might not understand immediately… but when you do things right, they’re bigger than you.”

Sam sighed. “I can’t watch myself die again, Marcus. At least not while I’m not hollow and idle.”

Marcus chuckled. He walked over to Sam. Stood beside him. Marcus patted Sam’s shoulder. “You’re worried about the wrong things. Watching yourself die proves you’re alive,” he said. “The Abyss, though frightening, looms over us through our Sideways experiences. The Abyss guides. The Abyss illuminates. And in ways we’ll never understand… the Abyss protects.”

Sam stared at him, unsure what to make of that. Curiosity burned through the uncertainty.

“Anyway… the Plot,” Sam began, Marcus feeling all of his underlying thoughts. “I’ve been thinking that it probably gets attracted by multiple people at once, but might only appear to one person at a time. The strongest attractor. People get more and more chances to stop attracting it. Then, eventually, when the Plot appears, it’s a final ultimatum. A last, ‘You sure you want that? Because you’ll get it… and more.’ I think it’s a series of tests that make a person decide if they continue faking it until they make it, or if they pause and finally admit the thing they were after was never who they were. It was just something they wanted… to prove something… or fill a void.”

Marcus watched Sam carefully, aware of something he couldn’t express.

“I think there’s something in that portal,” Sam finished. “Something… waiting.”

Then, a knock came, interrupting the thought.

Two sharp, precise, and familiar taps.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Always on cue.”

Marcus opened the door.

Officers Gunn and Alvarez stood there, the weight of their presence obvious.

“You know why we’re here, boys,” Gunn started. “Cases. The Voss family. Connor… and that poor kid, the veteran… Grayson Dwyer.”

Sam froze, exchanging a look with Marcus.

Gunn clenched his jaw. “We need to find a way to stop this. I think the Plot… it’s becoming an epidemic,” he said, grinding his teeth.

Sam exhaled, resigned to the pattern. “It doesn’t stop. It’s always this,” he said.

“Always what, son?” Officer Alvarez asked.

Sam grinned. “Oh, you know…” He looked around the room, trying not to chuckle. Sam sat up, leaned forward, and with animated enthusiasm, said:

“The Plot Thickens.”

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