Case Files URDD-99A

Case Files URDD-99A The following letters were found beneath a dumpster in the city of [CENSORED]. Details suggest that the creator of the written documents, [CENSORED] suffered from severe paranoid schizophrenia and drug addiction. Sensitive information, names, and locations have been censored. To whom this letter may find, Once, I was an agent of the Global Order Defense, an organization known as G.O.D. While the existence of G.O.D. has been diluted to common myth, I assure you the organization is real. My entire life is a testament to their pragmatic secrecy. There was no mother or father to witness my birth. Within a laboratory, I was created through a series of genetic modifications. I have no memory of the laboratory, and no memory of the people who played a hand in my creation. Such is the origin of every agent of G.O.D. The memories of childhood and adolescence that I possess were embedded by cognitive scientists. My real childhood likely entailed years of intensive mental and physical training. G.O.D. considers my ignorance a gift. Any trace of information that could lead to them has been erased. Every agent of G.O.D. is an outsider, a vagabond, never to meet the men and women they will eventually die for. There is no life outside of G.O.D. - no grocery shopping, no dates at the movie theater. The organization contains anomalies across the world - Deplorable occurrences, the very idea of which would shatter the fragile minds of society. I’ve contained many of what are known as ‘paranormal hauntings’. Ghosts, spirits, poltergeists are simply a manifestation of the human mind. Subconsciously, the human mind possesses frequencies that can adjust the matter of objects, causing them to slightly move, or create false noises. On occasion, a commoner has come to realize this potential, and wield its power. I have neutralized three such individuals throughout my career. G.O.D. allows subtle hints of anomalous knowledge to trickle through their firewalls, as common acknowledgment of phenomena often breeds doubt. This is referred to as the Kruger Phenomenon, where surface level knowledge of the obscure is more likely to be treated as fantasy. To the wandering eye, I am nothing more than a homeless criminal. G.O.D. would have me appear no other way. Any deviation from this image would have me assassinated. If I am discovered amidst case work by surface police, I am written off as an insane beggar, a miscreant of society. Any intel scraped from me by the surface government is written off as the inane ramblings of a madman. I am no one - the shambling panhandler you pass on your way to get coffee, the scum sulking in a dark alleyway. The only person I ever talk to is a man I have never met before. We communicate once a week through a burner cellphone I replace after each call. I only know him as ‘The Boss’. A subtle misnomer, as he is far from the peak of G.O.D.’s hierarchy, as is the shadowy manager he reports to. When I become too old or sick to perform my duties, I will be assassinated. A young death is the only fate for agents of G.O.D. We lead a life of nullified emotions, treading icily through the battlefield called civilization. As I crouched next to a dumpster, shrouding my head from rain with a soggy newspaper, my cellphone rang. A droll, dreadful ringtone. An incoming call from the only person who had my number. I opened my phone, and spoke to The Boss. He talked quickly, brusquely. Conveying as much information as possible with little words and little time. A new anomaly had surfaced, a strange man he called ‘Mors Ipsa’. Through direct intonation, The Boss expounded the case details. A week beforehand, three mass murders occurred in the same city, on the same day. Each murderer was a normal civilian displaying no motive. Initially investigated by the surface government, G.O.D. intervened when all reasoning defied explanation. The first string of murders was committed by [CENSORED], at the [CENSORED] cafe. A father of four children with a loving wife, he walked into the kitchen of the cafe, obtaining a large butcher knife. After savagely killing the entire kitchen staff, the man proceeded to stab multiple customers. He exited the building in a blood stained polo shirt, tucked into his khaki pants. Surface police attempted to reason with him, receiving only growls and grunts in response. The man foamed at the mouth, his eyes crazed with bloodlust. He was shot dead as he lunged for the surface officers. His body twitched violently as it fell to the ground. The other two mass murders were uncannily similar - one taking place at an arcade, and the other taking place in a residential neighborhood. [CENSORED], a teenage boy, aged fourteen, stabbed eight civilians in an arcade. There was no apparent motive or incitement to cause the stabbing. He exhibited similar characteristics, foaming at the mouth, roaring and growling like an animal before he was shot dead. In the third case, [CENSORED], who had recently given birth to a young girl, strangled five of her neighbors with a string of wire. All three subjects exhibited rabid symptoms, and all three were neutralized by surface police. The lack of apparent motive was perplexing. No murderer showed signs of distress. Nor did they have any criminal record whatsoever. Each had a loving family and a positive future. Surface police discovered one crucial similarity between the three incidents. Detectives observed security footage from the cafe, the arcade, and one of the residential homes. Right before the murders were committed, literally one minute beforehand, all three murderers spoke with a strange man. The man possessed a disheveled, drug-crazed appearance. His white hair, wild and wiry, was thoroughly primal. He had a large, tangled beard, extending down to his thick chest hairs. He walked with a hunch, his hands held outward. His fingers continuously twitched, groping for something, fiddling as if he were playing an invisible piano. He constantly licked his lips, his eyes darting in disparate directions. A black, tattered robe covered his body, like he was a demagogue of death. Each case provided similar footage. The murderers were walking calmly down the sidewalk. They were not nervous or angry as someone would be moments before committing such crimes. Appearing from a shadowed corner, Mors Ipsa approached them. Immediately, each suspect was revulsed, the way a civilian may be when confronted by a beggar. Nonetheless, they continued to walk, unwilling to let him block their path. At the moment of intersection, Mors Ipsa grabbed the suspect’s shoulder and pulled their ear to his lips. From the footage, it appeared that he was whispering something into the suspect's ear, whispering something insane. At first, the suspect appeared frightened, struggling to free themselves from his grasp. Then their eyes grow empty. They cease their struggle. Their shoulders relax, and their arms are slowly lowered to their side. A look of intense horror coupled with emptiness falls upon their face. Mors Ipsa releases the suspect, and continues to walk down the sidewalk. Not sparing a second for thought, the suspect then heads straight to the site of the murders, where they perform unspeakable acts. The Boss suspected that Mors Ipsa was capable of mind control. G.O.D. was no stranger to the manipulation of the human mind. It was a discipline well contained in our laboratories. A power we had ample means of controlling, containing, and preventing. When dealing with potential mind control, our agents wore an engineered helmet. The apparatus nullified brainwaves that could repurpose the mind’s state. It appeared as an innocuous red visor. G.O.D. personnel captured a surface level officer and subjected him to their own mind control. The officer was given the directive to capture Mors Ipsa at all costs, and was equipped with a red visor. G.O.D. had been tracking Mors Ipsa ever since the incidents. The impending operation was simple. Capture the subject, understand his power, and then neutralize him. With this directive in mind, the puppet officer set out to arrest Mors Ipsa. Mors Ipsa hobbled meagerly down a deserted sidewalk. The officer forcefully detained him, restraining his hands with manacles, throwing him into the back of the patrol car. The officer proceeded to re-enter the vehicle and begin the suspect’s transportation. Less than one minute into the drive, the brakes squealed. The officer exited the car promptly and fired his pistol at passing pedestrians. Mors Ipsa casually stepped out of the car and continued his stride down the sidewalk. Bullets flew, and a blood-red foam poured from the puppet officer’s mouth. His red visor had a secondary function - It allowed G.O.D. to re-purpose his will at any time. Yet, when readjustment was attempted, the officer’s will resisted everything but the urge to murder and slaughter. For hours, the lost puppet ran wild, shooting everyone he laid eyes on. Once again, surface police put a swift end to the murderer’s life. It was at this point that G.O.D. declared an unpredictable, undocumented anomaly had surfaced. The easy solution would have been to neutralize Mors Ipsa. To have a sniper kill him from a safe distance. But G.O.D. only saw an opportunity, a new species to be documented. Mors Ipsa had to be captured; to be studied. Saving lives was the job of the surface police, the surface government. Understanding and domination was the directive of G.O.D., the true government that ruled the world. G.O.D. requisitioned a team of four trained agents. They had spent their lives in isolation, their minds subjected to extreme duress, living under controlled circumstances. They were tasked with capturing Mors Ipsa at any cost. A ten mile radius surrounding Mors Ipsa’s current location was sealed and evacuated. G.O.D. broadcast engineered radio waves throughout the containment area, subliminally influencing every citizen to vacate the area on their own terms. As The Boss predicted, Mors Ipsa was the only human unaffected by these radio waves - as he continued to hobble and mumble down the sidewalk. The team of specialized agents emerged from a discreet manhole. They wore skin tight black suits, resistant to all forms of physical-matter manipulation. Redundantly, they wore the red visor helmets. Small cameras were attached to their heads, their chests, and their shoulders. Experimental variables were implemented upon each agent. Agent A had his eyes extracted, rendering him blind. Agent B had their ears blocked. Not a single sound wave could be heard. Agent C had been rendered completely numb in every physical sense - sight, touch, hearing, smell, taste. They had trained all their life to recognize subconscious signals and directives, forgoing traditional sensation for a deeper understanding of the world. Agent D was left unaltered. The four agents closed in on Mors Ipsa, approaching him from each direction with their weapons raised. Within mere seconds, Mors Ipsa took control, whispering to the squadron. Agent A began to fire on Agent B. Agent B, whose suit reflected the bullets, foamed at the mouth like a wild dog. They dropped to their knees, writhing in pure insanity, ripping flesh from their own cheeks. Agent D joined the anarchy, returning the blaring gunfire. Impervious to each other’s bullets, Agent A, B, and D then fled in separate directions. Only Agent C remained of a sound directive. He tackled Mors Ipsa, putting him in handcuffs. A helicopter extracted Agent C and his prisoner, transporting them to a G.O.D. facility in the middle of the ocean. G.O.D. was able to neutralize the three rogue agents before they could cause any harm to the general public. The operation was a success. It had only cost three, expendable lives. Mors Ipsa lay under G.O.D. surveillance. Extensive experiments were performed upon him. First, a team of personnel observed the footage obtained from the extraction squad. From a secure room, a team of twenty experts viewed the videos carefully. Precautionary measures were taken, depriving each individual of different combinations of the physical senses. By the end of the viewing, they had strangled each other in a morbid brawl of mayhem. G.O.D. authorities confessed that this was the expected outcome. Deep within the facility, scientists were forming a hypothesis that could rationalize the abilities of Mors Ipsa. Mors Ipsa was contained in a windowless room. Cameras observed every centimeter of the cell. But he could not be monitored without falling under his influence. Mors Ipsa would look into the cameras and utter his whispers, causing whoever surveilled him to succumb to violence. One experiment concluded G.O.D. 's theory of Mors Ipsa’s power. Myriad animals were inserted into the containment cell, each of a different genus, species, and family. When confronted with more intelligent animals, such as chimpanzees, dolphins, or certain breeds of dogs and cats, Mors Ipsa’s influence was profound. The animals exhibited rabid symptoms, becoming violent, thrashing their bodies against the floors and walls until they induced their own death. Less intelligent animals were less convinced, becoming only mildly irritated by the whispers. Insects and fish were not affected at all. And so, in a secret room, in an undisclosed location, G.O.D. officials deduced the exact power of Mors Ipsa. The theory explained how will is an entity separate from the physical brain. Will is a faculty of consciousness, of higher intellectualization. Artificial brain manipulation, done through radio waves and physical alteration, affects the wordly capabilities of cognition. Therefore, it was undeniable that Mors Ipsa spoke directly to the source of consciousness - to the will. Mors Ipsa possessed what they called, ‘The Black Philosophy’. This philosophy was not a new idea - its existence had been theorized decades before it saw first light. Philosophy was debatably an art that influences the consciousness and understanding of humans. The Black Philosophy weaponizes the perfect combination of words, facial expressions, and intonations that directly convert a human’s will to pure violence. What surprised the researchers is the brevity with which Mors Ipsa could convey the philosophy. Previous theories suggested that The Black Philosophy would be conveyed through entire books and speeches. Yet, with a couple whispers and bodily twitches, Mors Ipsa was converting his targets in a matter of seconds. G.O.D. wanted to know where and how the ancient philosophy was obtained. But Mors Ipsa was a phantom, a ghost with no recorded history or background. A team of agents deprived of all physical senses obtained DNA samples from every area of the madman’s body. G.O.D. possesses ‘The Library of Life’, the largest compilation of human DNA unknown to mankind. It contains samples of every human from the first colonial settlers, to the bipedal primates predating society. There were no remote matches to Mors Ipsa within the library. No potential relatives and no traceable heritage. It was as if the man spawned from nothing. Like he entered the world through a portal of oblivion. G.O.D. questioned why Mors Ipsa did not fall victim to his own philosophy. He heard his own message countless times through his own ears. But rather than fall victim to the violent urges, he became a prophet of The Black Philosophy. Readings of his vitals proved Mors Ipsa to possess a body not altogether human. His heart beat was slow, and at times his heart stopped completely. Yet the man walked onward, his lips still mumbling, his fingers still groping for an instrument that was… not there. The most intelligent minds of G.O.D. could not rationalize the man’s physiology, nor the existence borne thereof. The Boss now explained the purpose of our call. My final mission was at hand. It was time for me to face Mors Ipsa. Disposable death was an inevitability for every agent of G.O.D., and no real breakthrough was expected to come of the confrontation. I would just be another test subject with one subtle variable adjusted. All for the purpose of their ‘experimentation’ and ‘research’. From my creation, this was the only life conceivable. A meaningless death for no reason other than the understanding of obscure powers. Mors Ipsa was possibly the greatest adversary of mankind. Left uncontained, his philosophy could bring about the apocalypse. In comparison, I was an ant; insignificant. Yet, within me lingered a great destiny of unfulfilled purpose. All my life I questioned myself and my birth. I was nothing but a mouse running on a wheel. The Boss ended our phone call. Within that second, I was blindfolded, gagged, and abducted. My mind was numbed, and a dreamlike state of unconsciousness fell upon me. I awoke to glaring white lights and reflective white walls. Memories of a controlled birth returned to me. Real experiences seeped to the surface, the boy who was like an android. I was injected with chemicals, equipped with strange headgear, and force-fed medication. They never explained what would differentiate me from the thousands who had fallen to Mors Ipsa. All of it was routine of G.O.D. - I was just another guinea pig. But as they wheeled me into the containment cell, I felt something cold and heavy at my hip. A new circumstance inserted into the experiment. My heart raced, and my hands trembled as a blindfold was ripped from my face. I sat in a chair amidst a windowless, doorless cell. An immaculate table stood before me, reflecting the aggressive surgery lights. Across the table was Mors Ipsa, twitching, muttering. From such a proximity, I could see his rugose skin squirming, as though armies of insects crawled beneath it. As he took note of my presence, his muddled pupils synced, staring directly at me. I could feel him entering my skull like irreversible knowledge. Between a millisecond’s time, the man’s mouth twitched, jerking in a million different directions. The tongue flicked about, and whispers protruded from his pit of a mouth. He spoke in languages I could not comprehend, my inherent dialect hidden beneath layers of atavistic symbolism. As I felt his horns ripping at me from within, tearing my soul apart, I pulled the gun from my waist and shot Mors Ipsa in the head. Blood stained his white hair, and his body fell to the ground with a thud. G.O.D. personnel flooded the room. I could hear their footsteps as Mors Ipsa tread upon my will. My understanding of the world was shattered by a glimpse of every possible ending to every possible outcome. His words had been a key. Within every consciousness was an ornate, black box. The opal key, perfectly crafted by the Black Philosophy, slid into the lock with ease. And from within flowed images of impossible shapes and un-replicable colors. Masked doctors and scientists wheeled me down the bright, white hallway on a stretcher. Questions were fired from every angle. But their language was indecipherable; how could I understand them when they spoke in such simple sounds? Everything unfolded on a four dimensional screen from a movie theater in outer space. The next hours were spent in a dream. I was watching a horrible movie, my eyes as the projector. This film was a continuous black screen, with no static and no movement whatsoever. For the first time since my controlled creation, I was devoid of thought. My mind could conceive nothing; I was in a state no different from death. Yet, the physical sensation of a smile gracing my lips was undeniable. In brief flashes, nanoseconds in length, I witnessed the entire history of humanity. The scenes flashed slowly at first, increasing to the rapidity of a seizure. This interpretation of mankind’s genesis emphasized millennia of suffering and slaughter. It seemed that there was little else to our race beside violence. The modicum of what we call ‘enjoyment’ is only attained after murder and war. Bombs barraged homes, spears gutted the stomachs of innocent individuals. Nuclear war erased entire continents from existence. My own ideas had been encoded in favor of structure and society since birth. Peace, love, happiness - a poor man’s trifle. The continuation of the human race - null and void! Expansion into outer space - useless, useless, useless. The true hurdle separating gods from men is the ability to overcome expectations. Man is a creature that had pounded and beat from the day it crawled out of the tidepools. What if extraterrestrials were never found because they realized that extermination is the greatest sympathy? The ideas of education, work, marriage, procreation, all of these implanted at youth by whom and why? Imagine a life where destruction was taught, encouraged since the ages of bronze and iron. Imagine a world without suffering, the only kind of which involves no life of any kind. My eyes jutted open, my pupils dilated. I was in a dark room, laying on a hospital bed. A group of G.O.D. doctors entered my room. They did not turn on the lights. All my senses were restricted save for sight. Each limb was held taut in a straight jacket. My mouth was gagged and covered. My ears were plugged. The doctors shone flashlights in my eyes, injecting me with more futile chemicals. A man recorded useless nothingness on his clip board. They wore goggles, face masks, and were covered in white garments. One man at the foot of my bed leaned toward me. He said that he had ‘questions’ for me. That he wanted to remove the coverings from my mouth. Beneath the gag, I smiled. Because I in turn - had questions for him. Questions about the purpose of his life, about the basis of his knowledge. He removed my mouth coverings and the straight jacket. Within one second, I expounded The Black Philosophy. My face contorted to the structure of a devil. My eyes swept the crowd, piercing each pair of goggles, a million movements per second. My actions conquered time and mathematics, shaping space and rhythm to my ideology. The men stood up promptly. Three of them grabbed each other by the throat, falling to the ground, attempting to strangle one another. The other two exited the room with blank, undead expressions. Moments later, gunshots burst throughout the hallways. Detached from the beating heart in my chest, I entered the hall, my body a limitation of worldly matter. Rifle barrels aimed at me from multiple directions. Booming voices, quivering with command, implored me to surrender. An overwhelming portion of me sought no resistance to death. Existence was meaningless, and death was a bridge to higher meaning. But I could only act in accordance with oblivion, in the greater will of destruction. To the soldiers aiming at me, I expounded The Black Philosophy. Bodies fell to the floor as I walked past. At the end of the hall lay what they called ‘The Broadcast room’. It possessed a grid of connections to every television network, radio station, and internet connection across the world. From that very room, G.O.D. influenced the decisions of humanity through brain waves emitted at undetectable frequencies. As I approached the room, a devious idea was born. It is within this room that I write this letter. All around me, shadowy silhouettes stare at me through thousands of screens. They say nothing, tell me nothing. Watching as I prepare to enlighten the whole of mankind. I can only wonder whether this will finally end the suffering, the pain. But what if… what if G.O.D. was not the highest power? Just like The Boss was but a mere cricket in the food chain? What if Mors Ipsa, powerful and malevolent, was but an experiment himself? Implemented by a government, a god far crueler than we could ever imagine? I will admit to a remote contemplation of the phenomenon known as ‘humanity’. The genuine compassion for the well being of others. Mors Ipsa had more compassion for the human race than anyone else. Since I’ve come to know him, and the universe’s philosophy, I see compassion in a different light. To erase suffering through destruction is the greatest gift one can give the world. Should life continue - should the universe intervene in humanity’s salvation, then perhaps one may find this letter. And to the man, woman, or miscreant who does so, I expound- The Black Philosophy. [This section has been removed for the safety of the viewer - Code URDD44A] ************************************************************************************ In conjunction with the recovered letter, the following note was found beneath the same dumpster. It is unknown whether the letter was written by the same [CENSORED], or by an entirely different person. Once again, all mentions of the events and organizations within are highly controversial and bear no truth beyond fiction. To whomever may recover this letter, The world has plunged into chaos. First, there were the words on the television, that face on the screen. I only heard the first syllable, saw the first twitch of a depraved eyeball until my television lost power. On Main Street, the businesses have been set ablaze. The civilians of society slaughter each other in immense numbers. They jump from the windows of their apartments. All the while, I can feel my own will disintegrating, snapping under the weight of my new worldview. What was that? A massive quake has just shaken the earth. Just a moment ago, I could feel electromagnetic waves ripple through the sky. Tingling the cells of my brain, tickling what I can only describe as… my will? Wait, what has happened outside? The roars have ceased, the endless firing of automatic weapons is no more. On Main Street… they are all just standing there - every person. Their heads are pointed at the ground, their eyes are blank! Are they even breathing? Why have I been unaffected? What is this malicious worm burrowing in my mind? All of a sudden, everyone has come back to their senses. They are all just wandering the streets, resuming their lives. Businessmen are doing business. Hotdog vendors are continuing to sell hotdogs. Each and every one of them ignorant of the flaming buildings, the blood on the ground. Has it always been like this? Has the entire world been an illusion all along? What secret governments have just altered the world? And why… why have I been unaffected by all of it? Why have the people diverged from chaos into mindless robots, continuing to maintain society as they did only minutes ago? Was it because… I only heard that first word? Saw that face for one split second? It could not be… I feel something eating away at me, unlocking something in my head… A box? And from it flows… What are these symbols, this dialect? Something telling me to kill… and kill… and kill again… Suddenly all purpose is meaningless. Everything is but a dead end in the grand scheme of space and time. I cannot think… I cannot tell.. Quickly, I must end myself, before I repeat what my mind tells me to do… what my mind wants me to tell others! End of case files. Code: URDD99ZZ