Chapter Text
Nobody knew what to say to Dib. Scientists nodded at him politely before drifting back toward conversations about patents, research grants, and the future of Membrane Labs. Reporters whispered near the refreshments table, and a few investors spoke in low, practical voices about legacy.
And still, despite the sheer amount of people who showed, nobody bothered to ask how Dib was doing.
The funeral, he thought, felt less like a burial and more like a press conference. Cameras lingered near the entrance, while a few scientists exchanged business cards between condolences. If he leaned in far enough, he might have been able to pick up the man in the corner already discussing the future leadership of Membrane Labs.
Dib wondered if anybody here actually missed his father. If they mourned him as much as… well, as much as he should have.
He wasn’t leaning over the casket like Gaz was, fists clenched tight as her eyes—glassy with unshed exhaustion—narrowed, almost as if scrutinising their father’s dead body. As if to say, silently—
Why did you have to die like that?
Why did you have to die at all?
But, of course, she never actually said any of that. Not out loud, at least. Dib wasn’t entirely sure what she was thinking about.
He wasn’t the type of person to criticise someone for the way they grieved. He should have been doing the same, really. Mourning what, on the surface, was supposed to be a great loss.
And still, he couldn’t bring himself to move any closer.
He stayed right where he was—a few metres away from the casket, and lightyears away from the girl standing beside it.
Dib didn’t dare step closer. It wasn’t the corpse that scared him—he’d seen multiple in his lifetime. No, it was another matter entirely.
It was the fact that he felt… numb. Empty, almost, as if the bitter taste of cheap coffee had hollowed him out from the inside.
He took another sip from the paper cup anyway, the stale smell of cardboardesque coffee and synthetic flowers enough to make him gag. Which he didn’t, obviously. Gaz might have turned the ceremony into a joint funeral if he had.
So he let his gaze wander instead. The lenses of his glasses were smudged enough to watch without worry, so he allowed himself the indulgence. Just this once.
He zeroed in on a few things: the bandaid on Gaz’s elbow, a scientist’s toupee. Before long, his gaze drifted past the casket, catching on a bouquet near the far edge of the display.
They were an aggressive shade of magenta—too bright for mourning, and far too vivid to belong among the pale suits, white walls, and tired faces bowed in practiced sorrow.
Dib stared at them for a moment longer than he meant to.
For one, sickening instant, he was twelve years old again, staring out his bedroom window as those huge, magenta eyes watched him through the glass.
He was being stalked. Constantly. He remembered lying awake long after midnight, staring into the dark corner of his bedroom and waiting for something to blink first.
“Dad. I’m not crazy. I—I know I saw it,” he’d say, desperately pulling on his father’s sleeve in an attempt to reach him. “It was green and had antennas. It was… it was stalking me—”
“Not now, son.” His father would say, barely looking up from the tablet in his hands. Dismissal, as Dib had come to recognise it. “I don’t have the time for your stories right now. Perhaps you can recount this alien tale of yours at the dinner table, hm?”
Dib cringed at the memory, almost as if on instinct. Which was an unnecessary reaction, really. His father was dead. And dead people, he reminded himself, would stay dead until the end of time. So it goes.
…
“California girls, we’re unforgettable…”
The sudden burst of tinny music sliced clean through the funeral home silence.
Dib blinked, his head turning toward the sudden intrusion.
A… ringtone?
“Have some respect! This is a funeral!” Gaz yelled over her shoulder, brows knit in barely contained irritation.
One of Membrane’s former colleagues bowed his head bashfully. He fumbled clumsily with his phone before scurrying out the room, the bright, synthetic melody fading into the silence of the hallway.
And still, even though it was gone—
—that same electronic melody would haunt Dib for the rest of his life.
“Nobody’s publishing this, Membrane.” Dib looked up from his computer as his editor dropped the marked-up article onto his desk.
“You’re calling it ‘investigative journalism,’” she continued, rubbing tiredly at her forehead, “but come on. At this point, it’s just conspiracy blogging with MLA citations.”
She leaned down, giving the article another once-over before sighing.
It wasn’t cold or cruel. Just… defeated. Or disappointed. Dib couldn’t really tell.
“These aren’t even proper citations, either. Enough messing around, alright? Come back when you have a real story.”
“Uh… yeah. Yes. Of course,” He stammered, straightening in his chair. He swivelled around to meet her eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“But… I suggest you read it again properly. I mean, I worked really hard on—”
The door slammed shut.
”—this.”
Dib sighed, staring down at the rejected article in his hands. The third one this month, as it were.
The delicate paper wrinkled under his fingers, the ink beginning to blur at the edges beneath his stare.
It’s whatever, he told himself. I’ll fix it at home.
His home that was just as unremarkable as he was, if that was even possible. His home that smelled faintly of burnt coffee and overheated electronics, a cramped apartment that was far from homely. He’d tried investing in air fresheners before—rose, lavender, chrysanthemum, you name it—and still, the smell lingered, persistent in its unpleasantry.
A rat or two had probably died somewhere in the vents. So it goes. And yet, instead of feeling disgusted, Dib felt envious. Corpses didn’t need to pay monthly rent, after all.
And It wasn’t as if his bedroom was any better. The only light came from his computer screen, flickering weakly across stacks of notebooks, unopened mail, and clothes abandoned wherever they landed.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the window.
Inside, the cursor on his defective article blinked patiently back at him.
LOCAL MAN CLAIMS SEWER MUTATION CAUSED BLACKOUT
DIB MEMBRANE • INVESTIGATIVE FEATURE • 20XX
A citywide blackout affecting three central districts occurred late Tuesday evening, leaving thousands without power for approximately forty-seven minutes. Official statements attribute the outage to a “simultaneous grid overload,” though utility representatives have yet to clarify the origin of the overload or why standard fail-safes failed to engage.
However, eyewitness testimony suggests the situation may not be as straightforward as initially presented.
One local resident, who requested anonymity, reported unusual activity in the sewer access tunnels beneath Linden Street approximately ten minutes before the blackout began.
“There was movement down there. Not like rats. It was… coordinated. Too coordinated. And then everything just went dark.”
According to the witness, the disturbance was accompanied by a “low mechanical sound” and a sudden drop in ambient temperature near the access point.
City maintenance logs indicate that Sewer Access Sector 14B underwent routine inspection earlier that morning, with no anomalies recorded. However, discrepancies exist in the timestamp records between electrical grid monitoring systems and municipal maintenance schedules, suggesting a possible delay or interruption in real-time data logging. ✅
Further inconsistencies arise when examining emergency response timelines. Utility teams reportedly arrived on-site within standard response range, yet no formal inspection of subterranean infrastructure was conducted before restoration efforts began.
This raises an important question: if the system was functioning as described, why was the subterranean network excluded from immediate diagnostic review?
Patterns observed in prior, smaller-scale outages across adjacent districts show a recurring cluster of failures originating near underground utility intersections. While officially attributed to aging infrastructure, these points overlap significantly with areas of restricted maintenance access.
It is worth noting that similar spatial overlap has been documented in unrelated incidents involving electromagnetic interference, though correlation does not necessarily imply causation.
The witness account from Linden Street also included a description of a “green, elongated shape” moving along the tunnel wall prior to the outage. While such descriptions are difficult to verify, they are consistent with previous unconfirmed reports involving subterranean disturbances in low-visibility environments.
If taken at face value, these accounts suggest the possibility of a physical presence within the sewer network operating outside standard biological classification parameters. Whether this is due to misidentification, environmental distortion, or an as-yet-undiscovered organism remains unclear.
At present, utility officials maintain that the blackout was the result of a cascading electrical fault originating in the northern grid junction. No explanation has been provided regarding the triggering mechanism for this cascade.
Further inquiry is required to determine whether the outage was purely technical in nature—or whether external interference within subterranean infrastructure may have played a role in destabilising surface-level systems.
Until full access to maintenance and diagnostic data is granted, any conclusion remains speculative.✅
— Submitted by Dib Membrane
Independent Investigative Journalist
Dib scrolled back to the top of the article, then down once more. Nothing changed. Three gruelling weeks of interviews, writing, and proofreading now stared back at him beneath layers of skepticism and backhanded praise.
“I need a coffee.” He grumbled, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes before heading for the kitchenette.
In the quiet hum of the faulty ventilation system, Dib leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he waited for the kettle to boil. The faint hiss and occasional pop from the water heating up filled his otherwise silent apartment, announcing itself as the only companion he would have that day.
Maybe I should get a dog.
The shrill whistle of the kettle grew louder, stifling his thoughts.
He shut the stove off, pouring the boiling water into his only mug—a plain white one, aged and chipped at the handle. He always meant to replace it, but somehow, he never got around to it.
It was strange to own just one of each utensil. He knew that. But he just didn’t see the point in stocking up on spoons when dinner for him usually meant eating alone in front of the TV.
Dib grumbled to himself, adding coffee powder and a splash of milk to his sad old mug. He watched the colours swirl together before leaning toward the sink, grabbing a spoon—his only spoon—to stir. His motions were methodical, almost automatic.
After finishing his coffee, he brought his mug to the sink.
It might have been smart to wash it.
His hand hovered over the faucet—
—and then he turned away, leaving the pile of dishes untouched. With no roommates to share the space with, everything stayed exactly as he left it.
At his desk, his article stood waiting for him.
Dib could only tolerate a single, pathetic minute before slumping forward, a heavy sigh escaping him as he forcefully closed the tab.
Emails, he thought grimly, would be easier to sift through. Though whether he would actually respond to them this time, he couldn’t yet say.
Dib rolled his eyes, sending the message to his junk folder.
Membrane,
I’ve mistakenly sent back your sewer article before I finished annotating it with my editor’s comments, so the version you currently have is incomplete. Oops! Here is the final version with…
“Nope.” He grumbled under his breath, navigating to the next message without so much as a second glance.
“Oh, for the love of...” He muttered under his breath, leaning forward as he squinted at the screen. He frowned at the sender.
He almost deleted it immediately. The company still sent him automated newsletters sometimes despite the fact that he had unsubscribed years ago. Usually, they involved new patents, product launches, or heavily edited photographs of his father pretending to smile beside expensive machinery.
He clicked the email anyway.
Before the message could fully load, something buzzed loudly against his desk.
Dib glanced down absentmindedly.
His phone vibrated again before he could look away.
One missed call.
Another vibration followed almost instantly.
Then another.
And another.
His stomach tightened.
Gaz wouldn’t call him three times in a row. She had barely called him once in the two and a half years since the move.
His hands trembled as he navigated to their direct messages.
"Gaz? What's going on?"
"I'm at the hospital right now."
Dib swallowed, rising from his chair. He began to pace back and forth, his heart hammering in his chest.
"The... the hospital? Why? Has something happened to Dad—"
"Has something happened to Dad." Gaz repeated, letting out a short, humourless laugh. "No shit, Sherlock. It's bad. Really bad."
"Stop joking around. Are you going to tell me what happened or—"
"Car crash," she muttered.
There was no devastation in her tone. Only exhaustion.
"He... he literally lost his legs. Both of them. They were sliced in half or something. I don't know. They won't tell me anything."
And he let himself imagine it. In all of its jarring, grotesque glory.
His father—whose last words to him had been “I’m busy, son,” over the phone four months ago—bloodied and bruised and severed at the knees on the pavement. A respected scientist reduced to nothing but roadkill. So it goes.
Gaz’s voice droned on, turning into background noise beneath the pounding of his heartbeat.
“You have to come home. Drive. Take a train. I don’t care,” she pleaded, panic creeping into her voice. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
Dib opened his mouth. But no words came.
For he realised, too late, that he didn’t know either.
A FEW HOURS LATER — 11:00PM
Dib didn’t think he’d be visiting home this soon. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever go back. Not willingly, at least.
The life he’d planned for himself at eighteen had been… overtly hopeful. And perhaps a little ambitious. It was unrealistic, yes, but comforting all the same. Even now, he was sure that the possibility of that ideal life becoming a reality was the only thing that kept him sane these days.
It was textbook daydreaming, really: Dib had always yearned for the big city life—somewhere far from home, away from the suffocating confines of his rural town. When he finalised his departure two years ago, he knew what he wanted.
In the hustle and bustle of the city, he would carve out a name for himself—a respectable reputation that demanded attention wherever he stepped foot. The good kind, of course. And with the high-earnings that came with paranormal investigating, he would invest in a luxurious penthouse by the seaside, complete with a massive library within its walls to house his journals.
It was laughable. And quite childish, really. Dib was aware of that.
And still, he clung to that dream all the same.
But here he was now, driving well over the speed limit to meet a father who may or may not be limbless. Or on life support. Or both.
And what about Gaz?, he thought, gripping the wheel harder. His knuckles turned whiter the longer he lingered on it.
The roads were empty enough for Dib to press harder against the accelerator, his headlights flickering weakly across endless stretches of asphalt. Under normal circumstances, the radio static would have irritated him, but Dib knew better than to let something so trivial slow him down.
Not now.
He exhaled through his nose, shoulders relaxing slightly.
But only just.
He looked in his rearview mirror—
—and saw a figure near the roadside.
Tall, green.
Magenta-eyed.
“Shit!”
The car lurched violently sideways. Dib slammed against the door as the brakes screamed beneath him, his glasses slipping crookedly down his nose.
His breathing turned shallow instantly. Panicked.
Stupid. That was stupid.
For when he turned toward the mirror again—
—it had all-but vanished.
💬 Editor Note (1)
“Eyewitness testimony” is doing a LOT of work here. Please be specific or remove.