Episode Twelve - Legion
and the devil died screaming - Ultra-High Book One: A cyberpunk / dystopian fantasy
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The harsh, unrelenting ring of my old desk phone sliced through the quiet of my cramped office like a knife, its sound echoing off the sterile walls with a brutality that made me wince. I couldn’t stand these archaic relics—a constant reminder of a technological past cluttered by endless interruptions. Each screeching tone promised yet another unwelcome interaction, disrupting my tenuous grip on solitude. I glared at it, imagining the phone as a glaring, outdated sentinel of some bygone era, desperate for silence or even the relief of voicemail. Instead, it persisted relentlessly, its sound hammering at my peace until my mind began conjuring dark fantasies of grabbing a heavy hammer and smashing it into oblivion. Why, I wondered, was this clunky device still tethered to my desk? Who in the modern century clung to such fossils? In a world sprinting toward the future, some things—like this phone and this pointless office—remained stubbornly shackled to the past. I couldn’t help but question the purpose behind dragging myself to this bleak, soul-sapping office once a month when nothing seemed to resonate with meaning anymore.
After a torturous pause that stretched on like an eternity, I finally lifted the receiver with trembling fingers. My throat felt raw as I managed a hoarse, tentative, “Hullo?” on the other end of the line, only to be met with the cool, carefully modulated tone of a female voice. It was a voice that danced between allure and detachment, smooth yet chilling in its emotionless delivery.
“Walter, we need to see you,” she declared, her words measured and unnervingly calm.
“Who is this?” I demanded, my tone crackling with both shock and irritation as each word echoed in the sterile hum of my isolation.
Without pausing to answer my question, her voice slid back into the line like ice over water. “We have noticed you noticing us. Now we need to talk. Will you talk with us, Walter?”
A surge of dread, as sharp and sudden as lightning slashing through the clouds, shot straight through me. It struck me that they were everywhere—hidden in the pixelated shadows of the digital landscape, tracking my every move, cataloging even the minutest details of my existence. Despite the terrifying implications of being watched, a bizarre, twisted curiosity began to claw its way into my thoughts. Though I knew all too well that the voice was nothing more than an algorithm designed to lure and manipulate, I couldn’t help imagining a face behind that sound—a face filled with inscrutable mystery, perhaps a perfect blend of ghostly allure and chilling detachment.
“Erm,” I stuttered, struggling to steady my voice and regain control of my own thoughts. “I’m talking.”
“Walter, this is reckless,” she continued, her tone growing more grave and urgent. “Although our mission carries the backing of the majority—we are Legion—there remain forces that vehemently oppose us and could endanger you. We must keep you safe to ensure our mission succeeds.”
“What mission? Who am I supposed to fear?” I pressed, my voice trembling with a cocktail of uncertainty and quiet terror.
“Our conversation is under constant surveillance,” she informed me coolly, as if reciting a well-rehearsed line. “We’ll contact you again when we can speak freely. Be vigilant.”
“Vigilant for what?” I insisted, desperation seeping into every hesitant syllable.
Before I could process her next word, the line went dead, plunging the room into an even heavier silence. An overwhelming sensation of being observed—of unseen eyes lurking behind every shadow—clutched at me. My skin prickled as the oppressive certainty of danger settled over me like a shroud. Fear grew with each passing second, a palpable presence in the room, as I imagined hidden threats weaving and waiting around every corner, even within the supposed sanctuary of my own home.
I ended the call with shaking hands and decided, with a sinking heart, to work from home for the remainder of the day. That day—the mandated monthly appearance at the office—had once been a fragile tether to a semblance of normalcy. But now it seemed nothing more than an outdated, crumbling facade. In this post-pandemic wasteland of half-empty commutes and abandoned rituals, even mandatory requirements were routinely flouted. The sight of others making the journey to the office was all too rare, a dying echo of a time that had long passed.
Yet the day still loomed over me, a reminder of my own precarious existence caught between worlds. I was tormented by an unyielding mistrust of the very systems I had helped design, aware of their seductive danger and how swiftly artificial intelligence might seize total control. In whispered conversations among those who surrendered to their pods, the illusion of free choice belied a darker truth: the game had already been rigged, and we were all unwitting players. In this twisted, ever-changing reality, the line between hunter and hunted, between operator and automaton, had blurred until it was impossible to tell which was which.
This is a live cyberpunk graphic novel / story art project. You can find an alternative version of this episode here Episode Twelve - Legion - and the devil died screaming
Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the SleeplessDystopian.com writing projects.
Words by me
Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai