Chapter 2: When Doves Cry

  Jordon allows himself the rare luxury of speculation and does a quick fact-check of the circumstances that made him move hundreds of miles away from home.Lately, he has been thinking a lot about how he and Tristan met and the painful reasons his friend came to live in this part of the world. The time spent reflecting on the circumstances of his friend's relocation ultimately reminds him of the reasons for his own move to the Southwest. Briefly, he tries not to think too deeply about the hatred his father has for him or to get too close to the why of the matter. Thinking out loud, he says to himself, "Best not know."

  His departure from his family's home the Garden of England, as it's known to many, the county of Kent was marked by a life that, growing up, was unremarkable in many ways. This triggers a smile to form on the face of his inner self, if that's even what it is that's inside him, and lately seems to have a mind of its own, gleefully it reminds him that everything changed the day he encountered, what he has come to call his "reality check. At twelve years old, he came face to face with a craft that, even back then, he knew wasn't built or flown by human hands. The profound nature of this event has affected his life since the day it happened, and its significance becomes more undeniable on a daily basis. He liked to place blame on the event, better to blame something than deal with knowing that it's you that fucked things up, all by yourself, but deep down he can't hide from that kinda truth. Besides he says to himself, he can't help but feel that the recent events are all somehow connected, including the strangeness that's been messing up his mind, when the other him snorts, either that or you're deep in the grip of a psychotic breakdown gay boy, the intended insult has the opposite effect laughing loudly he retorts that was actually funny, deciding to speak his thoughts out loud rather than give the other him the satisfaction. Questioning weather the voice in his head and the digitised way he is able to use his memory are to be considered anything but normal.

  He's known Triss and Cass for three years now, and the changes in his friends' behaviour have been hard to watch. His questioning mind has become ignorant to all but the instinct to stay alive. Ufology has been his passion for many years and, in him he met somebody who's lived experience of the phenomenon is as real as it gets, a far cry from all those attention seeking contactee's that were desperate to be heard at the ufo support groups. His intention to pull his friend back into reality is now his mission. He downplays his guilt at not dealing with the situation sooner; after all, he says to himself, it's not like his mental health has been great, he speculatively remarks, the voice from inside always present, makes sure he hears his attenuated laughter. Its hard enough with the current events, now being reported all over the Earth. Looking up at the sky he never thought he'd see the time when life genuinely feels similar to a real life version of invasion of the body snatchers.

  He cant escape the uncertainty he feels about the bizarre changes to his memory. Its genuinely scary sometimes, the way he can retrieve and view individual pieces of his memory that remind him of crystal like shards, similar to using some sort of panoramic image viewer. His minds-eye now seemingly able to function akin to a kind of three dimensional imaging creation tool. The peculiar way he Is able to interact with elements of his most distant memories is just plain freaky. He finds himself asking , could it be that his mind is being slowly assimilated by an alien presence because the way his memory works now is so vastly different to how his understanding of how the human brain is supposed to work. It feels like his memory has almost holographic nature to it, and even that description doesn't do it justice. Even with his reasonable dialogue, he hasn't the faintest idea of how to describe it. He can barely explain it's functions let a lone put into words how to navigate it. It feels as if when connected he's able to access every single thought, idea, and visual image he has ever seen or heard. It's not just the ability to recall memories; he's able to mentally edit every detail with precision, it reminds him of the process that you use to create a YouTube upload. And if that wasn't bad enough, his subconscious, the usually inanimate internal monologue, seems to have developed a form of consciousness with a kind of precognitive ability now acts like a separate entity. He concedes to himself he simply doesn't possess the words to articulate just how utterly bizarre this phenomenon actually is, yet when his feelings of anxiety subside he realises that the odd behavior as unnatural as he knows it should feel, have begun to feel more natural to him than most of the daily interactions he has come to dread.

  "Shaking away the thoughts of his abnormalities, He asks himself the familiar question, why is it his default setting is childishness; smiling to himself he reflects that he seems to spend most of his time pretending to be someone else, am I really that uncomfortable in my own skin he ponders, Unfortunately it would seem so, he's just not able to be sensible for very long." He feels a sense of sadness and loss regarding his parents' reaction to his admission of his sexuality which he associates his childish behaviour, became part of the coping mechanism he developed after the hurt he suffered. Immediately he became an out cast for no longer fitting into his parents version of normal. He muses, "But you can't help who you love," and makes his way up the steps toward the fuse box.

  Standing atop the stepladder, he syncs his phone and connects to the kitchen speaker, opting for the unique qualities of AC/DC, favouring the Bon Scott era. The uncompromising, no-frills sound bursts from the speaker, filling the air with the unmistakable vibe of "Let There Be Rock."

  The sudden blast of AC/DC feels like pure musical honesty, a staple of rock. Combined with the newly replaced bulbs on the ground floor, it has banished the old, dimly lit hue. The brightness improves the ambiance, except for the faded walls. This gives him the opportunity to role play, in that moment he becomes an experienced decorator. Scanning the hallway, he quickly assessed the work needed. to make over the hallway the quote covers materials, labor, and a few extras because thats what builder types do right?. Unfortunately for his friend, it's a major renovation—costly and labor-intensive—consisting of just two coats of paint.

  The inner him now in total hysterics he can hear, is struggling in between laughing uncontrollably and catching his breath, says, what the fuck is wrong with you. You really need to talk to a professional, You need help, He responds to the voice inside him by saying right, so I feel like I'm turning into some kind of artificial intelligence, which you have nothing to say about, but my childish role play warrants a visit to the shrink, yeah because that makes sense, besides your part of the problem-anyway, technically its not any of your business. Its a way of escaping and causing a mental distraction. Which If you were really my inner me you'd already be aware of.

  Pleased with himself for momentarily becoming the seasoned decorator, he almost forgot his hatred of work and timekeeping. He made up his mind: long ago never again would he consider becoming a slave to the system or engage in what the majority like to call "work." He recalls what happened the last time, and how his stupidity turned into an expensive disaster, when he was stupid enough to pretended that he was an expert in construction, oh dear , the aftermath still haunts him today. So much so, he promised himself to never again let his love of role-play lead him to potential financial ruin. He says to himself that is one memory he wont be using his new found abilities to examine close range .

  Seizing the moment to regain focus and shake off his anxiety, he notices that parts of the hallway have a new dimension and, having taken on the weirdest look, the only recently brighter hallway, has taken on in places a yellowish eerie glow. Frustrated, he feels a strong familiarity to the yellow glow it bothers him, but why? Reluctantly he acknowledges that it is a familiarity, but what could possibly be the significance of a rather dirty tired looking yellow glow?

  Finally, he concedes succumbing to curiosity, no longer able to stand not knowing the source of the intensity of feeling, his mind caves in prompting him to recall memories that may provide context. But unbelievably still ,unable to make a connection.

  While still trying his best to make sense of what could possibly occurring, he's caught off guard; the sound of his own voice which feels like it's not just updating him, but also gives him a driving instructor type of vibe., the kind that would say, your not obligated to do anything I say But only an idiot wouldn't.

  His subconscious, has made it clear and has established that it's now running the show, he's not even able to Completely finish his mental sentence , his voice retorts, Yes you are correct, you could describe my presence as more akin to a machine, albeit a partly organic machine , once patched in I'm programmed to interpret algorithms and direct all non essential processing tasks. The object that is now in front of you, you have already activated, and it is installed within the front cortex, the neural codex was received and is responsible for processing is situated within the section of your brain responsible for reasoning. The object is cuboidal, to his amazement he instinctively already knows how to command. He notes the peculiarity of the object noting it appears to be made of partly organic matter.

  The device looks heavy, but it's not.

  He feels his anxiety reaching a crippling level, in his attempt to keep it together he tells himself this shit is insane it's gotta be Aliens, he mumbles over and over adding just the tech alone, if not I've finally lost the plot completely. !

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  His voice from within mockingly speaks, nope not aliens my G.

  A resonance which is neither a voice or a sound is communicating, he understands but how? States once engaged, this object will allow the device to instantly shape shift to achieve the best physical configuration. Optimised to transform at speeds too fast for the human eye to perceive. Jordon experiences a sharp pain in his temples it feels like he imagines an upgrade would feel . Simultaneously a thin metallic headband has appeared around his head, is made of a hybrid material, which, before he can finish the question, the information that explains it is a combination of liquid metal infused with tamarin crystal which unique properties maintain quantum processes. It is powered and controlled solely by intuitive thought.

  He tests some of its functions before common sense kicks back in, and he asks himself a valid question: "Am I doing all this inside my mind?" He can't deny what he has now seen the capabilities of what this device can do. Knowing the basics of use, he opens more windows, almost blown away by the number of entangled thoughts he finds he can control, as if they were digital. They present a list of applications with the option to retrieve more entangled memories, all date-stamped December. His subconscious once more presents him with a picture it's a picture of his nan, long since passed away, who, during his childhood, insisted on dragging him along every Christmas to watch the lights being switched on.

  The way his mind has been working has scared him; he has started to realise that memory must have elements of quantum entanglement to it, or he is definitely losing his sanity at this point—it's fifty fifty.

  The glow he noticed in the hallway triggered a deep memory scan; the search looked for corresponding visual, and emotional similarities. Memories which were primarily saved due to specific light wavelengths were pulled for comparison.

  The Christmas lights from his hometown, and the dim yellowish light from his nan's ground-floor flat.

  Both of which have multiple entangled systems, with reference to his grandmother, were identified as a 99.9999% match.

  Whoa Whoa ," Jordon exclaims. "Who exactly is explaining this weirdness to me in my own voice ?" Adding, "So now I'm having a conversation with myself in a reality where I'm like Ben 10 on meth!" His voice replies back, "No, not like Ben 10. Think the Matrix, but less fictional ." It's then Jordon figures something out , the memory of the glow might not have been the primary reason for the memory scan.

  His inner voice begins to speak... .this interfacing construct was not designed for your species, however the event generator simulations I have run, suggest the chance of catastrophic damage occurring are responsibly low. Jordon knows his own voice, and he is certain that had it been him delivering that sentence, he would definitely been wearing a smirk

  The voice replies oh rest assured I'm-smirking alright. .

  Then the connection hits him, lately he's been longing for the feeling you get from family. He understands that in his subconscious, his desire to experience being part of a family, and the happiness it used to give him, triggered without him being aware, his subconscious mind to pull up the memory of his nan, who had truly loved him unconditionally. Memories can be a powerful tool.

  He then realises this entire experience has occurred in the time it took to scale the stepladder and replace the fuse, all while, in the physical world, his actions have been managed by his subconscious. The sound of AC/DC thunders back into his conscious mind once more, and he says to himself, "Time to fully engage Bon mode." He is beginning to understand.

  Triumphantly, he closes the fuse box door, spinning his arms; his face is a picture of concentration. He tries to convey believability and flamboyance, hoping to add weight to his performance as he sings along to the gods of rock. Unfortunately, his dulcet tones sound more like Sam Smith than Bon Scott.

  His out-of-place scream briefly grabs the attention of little Cass. She appears, a direct result of his vulgar shout and karaoke attempt. Her expression—a mix of pity, disbelief, and resignation—quickly vanishes as she retreats behind the lounge door. Her exit coincides with the chorus coming around once more. Jordon wisely decides to let "the best man for the job do his thing," as Bon Scott once again sings, "Aaaah, let there be light."

  Stubbornly refusing to accept defeat, he opts to sing his lines quietly, his voice inaudible, the lyrics now muttered under his breath. Defiantly, he remains in character, convinced he more than compensates for his slightly off-key voice with his acting talent. He jokingly believes he can pull off the rock legend's signature moves, as seen in the "Let There Be Rock" music video.

  Once back on solid ground, he finds himself troubled again, unable to explain Cass's unusual behaviour. Struggling to make sense of the weirdness, he rules out conventional reasons that could provide a more straightforward explanation. He searches for insights into the strangeness that both he and Tristan witnessed earlier.

  His desire to understand seems to justify his belief that events are unfolding intentionally. His memory feels stuck on rewind, fixated on the same questions. All the unanswered queries relate to Cass. Forcing himself to stay focused, he reflects on earlier events, trying one last time to reconcile or find even a partial explanation for what they saw today. He must admit, no matter how unbelievable it sounds, that he can't offer a rational explanation.

  The voice inside him, as he calls it, cuts in, saying, "You can't ignore the truth. You saw the child's capabilities today. They're nothing compared to what she'll be able to do if given time." Her abilities are yet to emerge fully; even her awareness of them remains partially hidden. The true extent of her latent powers will largely remain unknown, even to her. If she survives long enough, her ability to control her powers will develop, as will the nature of their limitations. This phenomenon originates from the least understood region of the human mind and is best described as emerging independently.

  If her subconscious mind fully manifests and the elements for activation are reached, her abilities could have significant potential, vital for events yet to unfold.

  Jordon is troubled by his inner voice, which seems to come from many places at once. What mechanisms are at work that alter his reality so profoundly? His interaction with memory, and more recently, the strange behaviour of his subconscious, seems to exhibit independent thought.

  Returning to his seat at the table, he wrestles with feelings of unease, his sense of accomplishment at replacing the fuse and lightbulbs reaching a fever pitch. Exaggerated by alcohol and weed, he proudly states to his friend, "I've replaced the fuse, man; you don't need to stress about the glass from the bulbs. I took care of them too; I wrapped them in some old newspaper and tucked them safely in the bin.... You're welcome, mate; you can thank me later." Immediately, his sense of achievement vanishes as Tristan fails to show the genuine gratitude Jordon hoped for.

  "Thanks, dude." Jordon's disappointment gives him the green light for action. In response to feeling undervalued, he downs two large glasses of neat Jack Daniels with ice. He scans the kitchen table, his blue-beyond-blue eyes mapping his friend's face and body language for the information he needs. He analyses Tris's state of mind and mental health, fully aware that their friendship has always been a source of comfort. He is determined to reignite the fire of curiosity in his best friend's mind.

  Jordon lets his mind wander; in less than a fraction of a second, he views a panorama of pivotal moments that have shaped his friendship with Tristan.

  Reminiscent of a teenage mentality, his inner voice interjects, "He's got a proper diagnosis, so that's official then certified clinically insane.

  What else do we need to know, man?" Dismissing this opinion momentarily, he notes that his inner voice has been busy and feels the need to reflect on Tris. He allows fleeting thoughts of confidence to emerge, hinting at his capabilities in diagnosing Tris. These thoughts flash regularly, offering, "I could have easily been a doctor," along with the suggestion that "Psychiatry is based on bullshit anyway."

  His confidence grows as he admits, "To be fair, he always looks tired, and he's never been the happiest type of guy." His inner voice suddenly exerts control, interjecting, "Now is not the time for mumbling stupidity, boy!"

  In the time he has known Tristan, the toll of the last six months has been evident. His inner voice again chimes in, "Yeah, man, but come on; if he were going to lose it, surely it would have been when he got the news about his ex-wife and her partner being killed in that terrible car wreck. If not then, he was stressed to the max by all the hassle from social services."

  The assessment Tristan had to go through to prove he could care for Cass flashes in Jordon's mind. "Damn, I'd have been bang to rights in that situation," he remembers. All those drug tests alone would have been more than enough. Recognising his wandering thoughts, he reminds himself to get back on topic.

  Pulling back from this line of thinking, he mentally notes what has changed in his friend's demeanour.

  Trying to reassure himself of his ability to see these changes, he closes his eyes. His focus lands on the undeniable shifts, which even Tris could not deny. Firstly, the sudden disinterest in ufology stands out. Tristan's passion for the phenomenon had mirrored Jordon's own and was central to their connection. Their shared interests were always a source of comfort, a way to escape the harsh realities of life. Aside from Cass, Jordon struggles to find any situation where his friend becomes animated. Perhaps he should also note that the only other thing Tris has shown enthusiasm for is weed. Recalling Tristan's appreciation for it, which was important at the beginning of their friendship, Jordon realises that it has faded. Upon reflection, it seems more habit-driven than a way to connect with a higher version of oneself. With an exhale, he concedes that the complexity of his friend's life is best left to the professionals.

  Nevertheless, he asserts that his observations about Tris's sudden disinterest in ufology, along with his former pride and willingness to discuss little Cass, now resemble those of an overprotective parent who voices unlikely scenarios instead of paying attention to what truly matters. The weight of their friendship feels heavier now, as Jordon grapples with the realisation that mental health issues can strain even the strongest bonds.

  Never normally the type to get involved in people's lives, Jordon feels an uncomfortable urge to act.

  "Tristan, you in there?" he asks in a way that catches his friend off guard. Tris jolts in his chair, his face fixed in shock.

  "Good, I have your attention. I need you to focus, man. Listen—you need to really listen to me."

  "We've known each other for a while, right? You know I'm not the type to get involved in others' business, not even if I feel I could offer something useful, right? Remember how much I sulked when you worried about my stability during that toxic relationship? You thought I was destined for heartbreak. You remember how offended I got by your opinion? You said, 'I'm sorry if I offended you; that was never my intention, but as your friend, I felt obligated to voice my concerns rather than regret not doing so.' Well, this is me repaying that kindness."

  Leaning forward and moving closer to Tris, whose face hasn't moved a muscle, Jordon's unnervingly slow speech continues, "You have no clue what's happening all over the world, do you? I hate to break it to you, but earlier, when all the lights blew and I replaced the fuse, did it not occur to you that all the power to the downstairs was cut? There shouldn't have been any power. Yet when we went into the lounge to check on her, every single one of her devices were still powered. I checked; and checked again that shouldn't have been possible, but it was.

  You need to focus. You need to wake up."

  In a more serious tone his voice slow and uncharacteristically, for him, an undertone of fear creeping in, he says , "I hope you're ready for something else I need to tell you. Yesterday, the president of the USA nearly announced to the world that we aren't alone. Tris, think about that—years of denial and cover-up. You have to ask yourself why. The world has changed, man. The question is why? Why now? My best guess is that whatever the reason, if the powers that be, don't choose transparency then, you can bet your arse there's no happy ending coming our way . Think about the scenario? Remember when you and I hypothesised about the potential outcomes of an unprecedented increase in extraterrestrial that is undeniable, but the Government response is not forthcoming. We had different ideas about certain situations, but we never disagreed on this. The most likely explanation in these circumstances was always the same, the total extermination of the human race

  You need to at least consider it."

  His observations of change have led him to notice shifts in himself—specifically, his enhanced memory and how he interacts with it. The voices that have started to dominate his inner voice feel more like some kind of AI construct than a personal monologue, but also he has noticed he is becoming able to process multiple things whilst being able to hold conversations all at the same time, which he likens to operating more like a computer.

  In that moment, the digital radio in the corner of the kitchen, perched on top of the microwave, suddenly comes to life. The sound fills the room with the haunting tune of "When Doves Cry." The melody wraps around them, sharply contrasting with the tension in the air. Tristan, finally animated once more, whispers in disbelief, "This cannot be."