Static Reflections: Book 1 of The M... - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Solomon Gordon had already been awake for about five minutes. For some reason, his mind was racing as he soaked in the memories of the other Solomon Gordons, talking to all types of people, walking through hallways, one of them eating a hearty meal, another crying silently on his bed. His eyes darted back and forth under the blank blindfold tightly wrapped around his head and he exhaled soft breaths onto the pillow his cheek was pressed against.
The man was only wearing boxers and the blindfold, resting atop his bed in his special residence, which would be identical to all the other Solomons. His mind was an infinite conduit for memories that weren't his body's but were his. They were Solomon Gordon's memories.
It wasn't a hive-mind situation, even though it could feel that way at times. The other Solomons couldn't control his body and he couldn't control theirs. They could send messages to each other, but they sparingly did unless it was for business purposes only.
Solomon was many, but Solomon was alone.
This particular Solomon had just woken up for the day, as it was almost his turn to switch places with one of the Doubles already on the field.
That was how things were in the Mortal Guard for him and the others. They were on a shift system where if one Solomon was sleeping, the other was wide awake, helping run the Disaster Sect: The Mortal Guard's emergency clean-up crew and disaster prevention. Their job was to make sure that no mortal ever found out about the Other Side—the world of the supernatural. If the Disaster Sect failed, it could mean utter chaos for the Earth.
Solomon sat up, his vision pitch dark until he brought his hands up, using his claws to work the knot of his blindfold, fiddling with it for a few moments before pulling it from his head and tossing it on his dresser for the next night. The man sighed, rubbing his face. "Okay."
He got up, walked across the dark blue carpeted floor into the bathroom, urinated groggily, and stepped in front of the mirror, where he had a good look at himself.
Standing before him was a forty-six-year-old black-footed ferret male with bags under his eyes. His round ears sat atop his small head and he observed the way his dark mask spilled from the top of his head and seemingly ran down his face, clashing with the white fur that covered the rest of it. He blinked and furrowed his brows, looking closer at his cheek.
Solomon brought his black finger up carefully, touching the tear that had darkened his white fur. He hadn't even realized it had fallen, but he knew that was lingering emotion from the Solomon that was crying on his bed just a few rooms over. Now, Solomon could feel every other Solomon wipe their black and white faces.
The Disaster Sect Leader bit his lip, staring in the mirror and letting his intrusive thoughts win over.
He allowed himself to wonder if he was the original or just another copy that would pass when the original did, which he found unfair. Even though none of them knew if they were the original, what they did know was that he was still alive, at least. Solomon considered walking out of the room down the hall to the crying Solomon's room and trying to form some sort of friendship with himself. He understood the pain.
They were all feeling it.
'No, I'm fine,' he heard in his head. 'It'll pass.'
'Okay,' he answered the voice telepathically, nodding. "Okay."
Then, his mind wandered again and he thought of Raquelle. He imagined her golden fur, her soft blue eyes, her ridiculous laugh, and lying in their bed with its creme-colored sheets side-by-side as she complained about his snoring. He could never quite figure out how to curb it. He pictured their hands together, fingers laced and silver bands bonding them together in a sacred promise.
Then, he drew Flora's face in his mind, smiling with one of her fangs missing, holding it up and buzzing about a guaranteed visit from the tooth fairy. He thought of sitting in the stuffy middle school gym, in tan metal chairs haphazardly strewn about the place, and watching her sing her heart out on the poor man's stage there. But the image that released another salty tear from his eye socket was watching her fly down the street on her white and pink bike, just having got the hang of it a few seconds before. She grew further and further away until she was just a speck in the distance.
Things were never perfect, but life was good. Now, lost in a constant flood of memories, Solomon didn't fully understand who Solomon Gordon was anymore.
As he was washing his dark furry hands, his Guard Mobile began ringing from the other room, and he rushed to pick it up, putting the phone to his ear. "Solomon."
"Good evening, Mr. Gordon," the voice on the other line stated. It was no doubt a Catastrophe Sect representative, relaying information from the Higher Guardians. They were the only animal Sect Leaders like him could take orders from. "We have an emergency at the Moony Center in downtown Austin and need you to get on it immediately. There are already mortal police stationed there, but the situation's already grown out of hand. There is a large Disaster Sect group wrangling the mortals, but the situation has gotten too out of control for a Sect Leader not to get involved."
"What happened?" Solomon asked, picking up his black pants from the floor and trying to pull them on with one hand. "What am I dealing with? AH!"
"Are you alright?" the woman on the other side answered.
"Y-yes. Just, uh, fell while trying to put my pants on. So?"
"Seems like one of our Doubles in the mortal realm reported a public murder. The band Water on Fire was set to perform in about an hour, but the band's keyboardist murdered their manager Astrid just behind the stage. A few animals, including your target, witnessed this murder first-hand and caused a huge freakout. Apparently, one of them ran on stage during the opener and told the entire crowd there had been a murder. We were able to send a group there quickly, but Downtown Austin is a mess right now."
"Goodness," Solomon said, pulling his trousers up his hips. "What do you mean target?" Frustrated with trying to finagle his way into his clothing, the walking mammal set his Guard Mobile on speaker, putting it on top of the dark brown dresser next to the candle that burned bright in the middle of it, filling the room with a soft apple cinnamon scent that calmed him. It had been Raquelle's favorite, though Solomon originally hated it.
"You, specifically, are going for an extraction," the woman told him. "Your target, Nicholas Flynn, is being monitored backstage. He's currently knocked out cold, so don't waste any time. Use your Transmission Set and go to the coordinates we'll send you. Pay no mind to any other versions of yourself that may be there; we're dispatching a few. Get Nicholas Flynn and bring him back here for interrogation in the Trauma Sect."
"Alright, I'll get on that immediately," Solomon said to her. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Good luck, we're counting on you," she told him, and there was a soft click as the other communication device hung up.
By that point, Solomon had gotten both of his arms through the sleeves of his black jacket, pulling it over his white button-up. The Guard Garb of other Mortal Guard members had jackets that dropped past their knees like trenchcoats. Because Solomon was a Sect Leader, his jacket only went down to his waist and hung just slightly loose off of his lightly muscular body. The man finished his outfit cuisine with a garnish of a black tie and a pair of boots made to defy gravity.
The final touch was the gray armband that depicted he was a part of the Disaster Sect. The shield insignia upon it was a small pile of stone rubble, which he always found a silly symbol to represent the Sect he ran. The first two letters of the organization sat on either side of the shield, proudly displaying just who Solomon worked for.
Solomon stood between his bed and his dresser with the candle on it, but now he looked about the room, seeing the empty space right in front of the door to the hallway and the dark blue desk pushed against the wall, another candle burning on top of it. The other Solomons didn't have a desk like this-- they would have their own personal items they chose.
The black-footed ferret shifted his gaze to the left of the desk, seeing an expanse of smooth white wall, no posters or pictures upon it. If only Solomon had had pictures of his family, then he might feel better. But there was no possible way for that to happen because he chose a life where he would never see them again.
No, he chose the life of all mortals over a few.
But if he wasn't the original Solomon, then he hadn't chosen that, hadn't he? He didn't get to have a choice. No matter what, only one of them made the decision for the rest of them. So, Solomon chose a small part of himself to believe in the fact that he was the man that came from his mother's womb forty-six years ago. The same woman that had been in the Mortal Guard's Identity Sect before he had been drafted there. She had known the cost of making copies of people.
At one point.
She would never be aware of what her son had become because her memories had been altered the moment she left with not a speck left in her brain to even comprehend the fact that Gravity Boots and magic could be real. Solomon didn't even know if she was still alive, but he constantly reminded himself that the Mortal Guard would at least inform him so he could grieve properly. But what happened when all of the Solomons were grieving at once?
Even further to the left of the blank wall was a polished mahogany bookcase that stood tall against the wall, holding four shelves with books of all shapes and hues, organized by color, then further compartmentalized in alphabetical order. Despite not being used recently, there wasn't a trace of dust on any of its flat surfaces because dust didn't exist in the Mortal Guard's pocket dimension, Prostasia.
As the Sect Leader reflected on which book he last left on he felt a rumble in his stomach, and he cursed himself for not being able to eat before going on what could always potentially be a long mission. There was no telling when you were part of the Mortal Guard.
Solomon blew air out of his lips, wrapping the belt that held his holster around his waist and traveling to the metal door. He pulled a little white keycard out of his jacket pocket and scanned it against a small black box next to the doorframe. The metal door slid open and he walked out into the metal hallway, glancing left and right, as a translucent gun materialized in his holster and a curved blade appeared in the sheath strapped to his back.
The hallway in which he lived was peculiar because it was just that, a hallway. It was a long corridor with no more than twenty metal doors just the same as his, each with chrome numbers bolted to the wall above so each of the Solomons with a corresponding keycard would know which room was there. Solomon wasn't quite sure where in Prostasia the building was located, but he had a hunch it was underground somewhere.
On the other side of the hallway was simply a flat metal wall that was only occasionally interrupted by spiral lightbulbs in cages, one of them flickering unceremoniously nearby. Solomon wondered which Sub-Sect fixed those types of things as he pulled out his Transmission Set, a rounded rectangular box that almost looked like it could hold three engagement rings. The man flipped open the top and saw the blood-red cushion inside, holding what seemed like a simple padlock on the left, and a silver key on the right.
The key's crown curved into the letter 'S', and Solomon pulled both items out, closing the box and returning it to his pocket. After checking out the coordinates that were sent to him in the Case Info app on his Guard Mobile, the ferret flicked the wheel on the bottom of the padlock, inputting in the numbers of the coordinates as the code.
Solomon had a perfect spot right in front of his door, between two lightbulbs. He raised the padlock in his hand, pointing the flat side with the small circle toward the wall. The Sect Leader took his special key and slid it into the lock. Just before he could turn it, a bright blue square of light formed on the wall beside him. Within a moment, an exhausted Solomon stepped out, dressed just as he was.
Without even thinking, Solomon smiled and waved. "Oh, hey there! I--"
"Save it," the clone said to him. "Best not to make friends."
"Right . . ."
"Good luck." And that was that. The portal closed behind the other animal and he scanned his keycard on the wall on the other side, opening the door to his room. With not even a word, he stepped inside and the door shut behind him.
Solomon sighed, then twisted his key quickly, a tiny ball of light shooting forward and then growing into a large rectangular square on the wall. Wasting no more time, Solomon approached it and peeked inside, swallowing.
He could already hear the chatter and panicked noises from below, as well as the scuffling of feet. Doors were opening and closing, and there was a whiff of sweat that drifted into Solomon's pink nose. In his vision, he saw that his head was poking out of a ceiling, a grid of metal beams and wires spanning across it.
Solomon pulled his head out of the square of light and sighed, stepping back. "Here we go." The Sect Leader rushed forward and, just before he reached the portal, bent his legs and leaped, performing a quick front flip through the magical opening. He stuck his feet out at just the right time and his boots connected with the ceiling, his gravity flipping to the opposite of what it was before.
The portal closed behind him almost immediately, and Solomon knelt down, looking up and spotting a catwalk below. Peering through the spaces on the hard surface, the ferret could make out that he was high above a concert venue that had all of its lights on. There were rows of short ears, pointed ears, and long ears that he could see filling every seat in the space. The fluffy ears were attached to panicking walking mammals, members of the Mortal Guard's Disaster Sect, in their full-body gray suits, walking back and forth amongst them.
In the general audience area, there were spread-out groups of animals, standing and sitting on the floor, each monitored by a Guard Member. Solomon blinked as he witnessed a tiger man trying to pick a fight with one of them, pushing against his chest and only getting a calm look in return. The entire building was filled with loud animal voices bouncing off of the walls and into the ferret's ear, the smell of sweat stronger. Solomon wouldn't be able to feel it due to his TempRes clothing, but it was hot and stuffy inside.
He walked forward, lining himself up with a catwalk before flipping from the ceiling and landing on the catwalk below. "Shit!" Before he knew it, he gasped as he lost balance and slipped, rolling off of the grating and off of edge but not before catching himself with his left hand, the muscles in his arms tensing as he hung down. His claws scraped against the metal surface as he held on right.
"Up there!" someone yelled, and Solomon looked down, seeing hundreds of eyes upon him, observing his every move. There was more panic from the crowd. Good one! Way to capture all the attention to yourself, idiot. The ferret gathered all of his strength and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small blue pill which he crushed between his thumb and forefinger.
"LOOK OUT BELOW!" he called, sending a telepathic message to any of the Solomons nearby to pull people away. Solomon hadn't wanted to take up even more space in the place, but there was no other choice. He was losing strength in his left arm, and climbing up would be too hard with the way the guard rails were situated. He couldn't use his Gravity Boots either, because the grating would disrupt the micro orientators. This was the only viable option.
Solomon let loose the crushed pill from his hand, and it was already expanding as it fell, hitting the floor and slowly but surely expanding into a large squishy substance for him to fall into. The animals below were pulling people aside to make sure the expanding foam didn't touch them. Gods forbid anyone suffocated here because of him.
"Alright," he grunted, grabbing onto the edge of the catwalk with his free hand, growling at the pain in his left arm. He swung his legs forward and then let go, hearing screams as he plummeted to the earth. The Sect Leader was caught by the expanding cushion below and he received no pain in any part of his body besides his aching arm. Moving quickly, the walking mammal weaseled his way out and back onto the hard floor, being met with tons of gaze, even ones from Mortal Guard members.
"Mr. Gordon!" someone nearby called, and he turned to see an okapi man with a panicked face, waving to him. He gestured to a group of animals corralled into a circle shape nearby. "What should we do with this group?"
"Do with us?!" a squirrel woman gasped. "What are you going to do?! Was there really a murder?!" Other animals in the group gave their own insinuations of fear.
Solomon rubbed his forehead with his left hand, which groaned with fire. "Nothing violent, ma'am. This is all for your own good. Just follow cooperation and you can go home in no time."
"So?" the okapi pressed.
"I'm not the Solomon giving orders here," Solomon retorted. "I'm only here for an extraction. Can you point me to the backstage doors?" The okapi turned toward the instrument-infested stage and pointed to the right of it, a door open with yellow light pouring through. Solomon nodded and began making his way toward his goal. "Thank you. I'll send a message to a Solomon nearby to assist."
With that, he rushed past crowds of people and vaulted onto the shape, yelping as his arm fought against him. He was quickly down the stairs and through the door in no time, walking down a small tiled hallway that had green walls on both sides. There were signs with arrows marking the way to the main stage, but Solomon was moving in the opposite direction.
He turned left at a corner and stopped, seeing the crumpled body of a hyena on the floor, completely unaware of the events around him. On either side of him, chairs lined the walls and two animals were waiting in them. An arctic vixen and a chubby calico cat. The feline sported two red horns between his triangular ears and a shining metal collar that wrapped around his neck.
"Ohhh, Sol!" the calico beamed, standing up. "The hottest piece of ferret ass has arrived!"
"Incubus," the man answered with a head tilt in his direction. "Hi, Elias. Uma."
"We're glad you're here," Elias smiled toothily. "We've had to knock this one out again and again, like, thirteen times."
"Seriously?"
"It was more like three," Uma commented, standing out of her chair and looking down at the hyena. "Nicholas Flynn, right?"
"Yeah." Solomon came forward, kneeling. He took in the golden fur and dark spots and noticed how the animal's suit was almost identical to his. "Why didn't you just bring him to Trauma Sect yourselves? What did they call me here for?"
"It's a big deal," Elias said, arms crossed and tail swishing behind the seat. "Shake him a bit and see what he says. He's like a hot toy!"
"Choosing to ignore that," Solomon stated, pushing on Nick's shoulder lightly, then harder. "Hey, kid. You there?"
"Mm . . . Boris . . . Absalom . . ." the animal groaned, twisting his face in fear but remaining unconscious.
Solomon froze in his tracks. "He knows about . . . ? This is more serious than I thought."
"You're the only one that has the magic to see if we need to take him out here and now," Uma said. "He might be possessed."
"Y-yes," Solomon nodded, looking past Nick's legs to the puddle of blood that was on the floor nearby. "The victim was killed there?"
"Yes. The body's been taken care of already," Uma explained.
"Good," Solomon exhaled. "And Boris?"
"He fled the scene," Elias frowned. "With the aid of Absalom, no doubt. He took the bassist with him. There are already creature hunters on the hunt."
"Gods." Solomon hovered his hand over Nick's chest and closed his eyes. There was only blackness. No demonic images came to mind, which filled him with relief. "He's clean. We can let him into Prostasia, but be careful. Take him to Dante, I'm sure they want to know what happened immediately."
"Yes, sir!" the other animals saluted, and before Solomon knew it, Nick's body had been carried across the tile floor into a golden portal that belonged to Uma's transmission set.
Now, the Sect Leader sat in one of the chairs, glancing at the pile of blood once more. His mission was accomplished but he felt a feeling like a meteor crash into the pit of his stomach. He had heard of the name Absalom before, read about him in scripture done by the Scribe Sect, and learned about the calamitous ruin he could bring about, but he never suspected in his lifetime that he would have to deal with him.
It was an ancient demon, long thought to be dormant, so Solomon was sure it was just one of those things that you know could happen, but don't figure would ever happen to you. Now, as he sat there staring at Astrid's life essence, drowning out the noises from the crowd outside, the ferret felt a sickness wash over him. He could feel something on the horizon like the smoke before a nuclear bomb's loud boom filled the ears and overwhelmed the senses, bright white light covering everything in its radius before a wave of fire engulfed everything and everyone in it, leaving nothing but shadows behind.
It was a disaster the Disaster Sect would never be able to handle.