Moe Touch

The man before me pressed something in his ear, probably an earpiece. He paused for a few short seconds, his eyes flickering as he exchanged whatever information was necessary. His mouth moved. Words were spoken. But. For some reason, the words blurred in my ears, like I was trying to tune in to a radio station that was just out of reach.

When he turned back to me, his expression was slightly softer, though the seriousness still lingered. “We started on the wrong foot, so let me do my introductions. My name is Caspar, and I work for the Department of Paranormal Oversight, or DPO for short.”

The moment he introduced himself, something in my mind shifted. There was a flicker in my vision, and I began registering him more clearly. It was a weird sensation, almost like I’d been looking at a blurred photo all this time and suddenly it had come into focus. I massaged my eyes, trying to shake off the strange feeling, and looked at him again.

“What just happened?” I asked, trying to piece it all together.

He leaned back slightly, as if my question had surprised him. “I am an Esper,” he said, but the tone of his voice suggested there was more to it. “However, the more official term is ‘Stranger,’ and what you just experienced was my Stranger Ability. It seems that I no longer have to dance around the red tape with you. Congratulations.”

“Esper? Stranger? Is this some kind of superhero thing?” I asked, my mind racing with the implications. “And what do you mean by ‘dance around the red tape’?”

Caspar gave me a knowing look, as if he was expecting my confusion. “Think of me as someone who can alter perceptions and realities on a small scale. My ability allows me to manipulate how you see and remember things. I had to keep you in the dark while I assessed the situation, but now you’re aware—mostly.”

“Mostly?” I repeated, feeling a new wave of dread wash over me. “What am I not aware of?”

He held up a hand, his expression serious again. “Let’s focus on what’s important. You’ve been exposed to cryptid activity, and now your memories of the event may be a liability. If you don’t grasp the bigger picture, you could become a target—not just for cryptids, but for others who wish to exploit that knowledge.”

I swallowed hard, processing what he said. “So, you’re saying I could be hunted? By cryptids? Or worse, by other people?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his gaze steady. “This is not a game, Mr. Bright. Listen, test results have shown you’ve become a Stranger… the people who just called me—” he tapped on his ear, referring to his conversation seconds ago, “had done a second test and learned you’ve awakened your Stranger potential. We still have no idea what your specific Stranger Ability will be. There’s something peculiar about your testing, and that’s why I’ve been treating you like a mundane. However, now that you’ve been assessed as a Stranger, I can stop with the workaround. I’ll have you join the DPO in no time. As a fellow Stranger, I advise you to cooperate.”

“What?” My voice came out a little squeakier than I intended. “I just got hit by a truck—sorry, a truck-cryptid—and now you’re telling me I’ve got some kind of special power? Do you expect me to just accept that?”

I forced myself to calm down. Everything was happening too fast, like I was caught in a whirlwind I couldn’t escape. The man before me, Caspar, wore a black suit that made him look like one of those agents you’d see in spy shows. He had short hair and a demeanor that screamed authority, not to mention the fact that he couldn’t be over thirty. There was a confidence about him that made me uneasy; it was as if he had danced with power and knew all its steps.

I had no idea what to do, but I couldn’t shake the bad feeling creeping up my spine, not just from him but from this whole place. “Do I even have a choice?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“No. It’s either you get registered or die.”

“Registered?” Wow, so tyrannical~

“Merely sophistry,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Choosing to get registered means consenting to the DPO’s laws. It’s like citizenship. Most Strangers live their lives as mundanes, but people like me, who are stronger and more talented, get enlisted. You will only be temporarily enlisted to help with investigations. If you prove your worth, the DPO might even enlist you permanently in its ranks.”

The thought of being registered felt more like being branded than anything else. “Why would I want to be enlisted?” I blurted out, flabbergasted.

The absurdity of it all left me dizzy.

One minute I was a nobody with dreams of writing the next great sci-fi novel, and the next, I was being told I could be part of some secret government agency investigating… whatever the heck a truck-cryptid was.

Caspar paused, his expression shifting slightly, like he was trying to gauge my reaction. “You think I wanted this?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. “I was thrust into it just like you. But it’s better to be a part of something than to sit on the sidelines waiting for danger to knock on your door.”

I frowned, considering his words. “But isn’t that a bit melodramatic? I mean, can’t I just live my life and ignore all this? It’s not like I asked for these powers or whatever they are.”

He shook his head, a slight smile flickering across his face, as if he found my naivety amusing. “Just by knowing their existence, they will come looking for you. That’s the kind of existence you’re dealing with. Do you know how many Strangers die every year? Millions. Possibly tens of millions. Sometimes in a bad year, it’s in the billions. Most of them are unaware of cryptids and live their lives as mundanes.”

He leaned in closer, his tone turning serious. “A Stranger is divided into levels: Level 0 are mundanes who possess dormant Stranger potential. They make up 70% of the population. Most cryptids feed on them. The other 30% are lucky to be utterly mortal. Level 1s are Level 0s who have survived a cryptid encounter—like what we used to believe you were. Level 2s are Strangers who manage to manifest their Extrasensory Perception and perceive the paranormal… just like you.”

My heart raced as I listened. I could feel the weight of his words, the danger of this hidden world pressing down on me. Caspar continued. “In general, cryptids have a peculiar gravitation to Level 1s and especially Level 2s. They delight in feeding from them, particularly Level 2s. The higher levels require higher clearance, so I will stop with Level 2. Do you understand now the scale of what you’re dealing with?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off.

“Answer me this: do you want to stay a Level 2, Mr. Bright? Most Level 2s die in the most miserable ways, and they are only alive because the DPO allows them to. Let me change the question. Do you want to live, Robin?”

The gravity of his words sunk in deeper than I could have imagined. Living as a Level 2 felt like standing on a tightrope above a chasm filled with hungry cryptids, ready to devour anyone who slipped. “Well, I’d prefer to live,” I admitted, trying to keep my voice steady. “But what’s the alternative? What do I have to do to move up in levels?”

I atleast understood that levels had to do something with power.

“Commit to your training and learn to control your ability,” he replied, his tone softening just a bit. “Level 3 is where you begin to gain the skills needed to protect yourself. It’s about knowledge and mastery over your potential. You’ll learn to harness your powers, so you’re no longer prey.”

I let out a nervous laugh, though it felt more like a reflex than genuine amusement. “So, basically, I have to become a superhero to survive?”

“Something like that,” he said, nodding approvingly. “The world you’re entering requires strength, both mental and physical. You’ll need to prepare for anything that comes your way.”

“I refuse.”

“What?”

“You heard me right.”

“I won’t take no for an answer.”

“I’ve always been a pessimist.” I provided, “I don’t believe in win-win situations. Heck, I don’t expect to live past 40. Not living another day from now? Works just fine… Death is only sad if there’s someone to mourn for you. Besides, it’s the principle of the matter… No way I will consent to whatever this DPO is or whatever you’re selling.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely taken aback. “You’d rather die? You could be helping save thousands of lives by hunting this cryptid. You’ll practically be doing yourself a favor if you cooperate. Even if you don’t manage to manifest your Stranger Ability, the Department will at least put in the minimum effort to protect you.”

I rolled my eyes, feeling like a petulant child. “Fair enough. I’ll cooperate, but not because I want to be saved. Call it pride or foolishness, but I prefer being an exposed Level 2 for the cryptids to feast on rather than join this painfully obvious bureaucracy.”

Caspar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know, Robin, I admire your spirit, but you need to understand that this isn’t just about you anymore. There are consequences to your choices that extend beyond your own life.”

“Great. The consequences speech. Classic. Been there. Done that. Never worked.” I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms defiantly. “Look, if I’m going to die, I’d rather do it on my terms—writing my next bestseller while sipping coffee from a paper cup in the convenience store, not hunting some monster in the shadows for a government I don’t trust.”

“That’s good enough,” Caspar huffed, disappointment etched across his face, before storming out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him, echoing in the silence that followed.

I glanced at my untouched cup of water, still sitting there like a lonely sentinel. I wasn’t exactly big on trust. I might come off as joking and indifferent, but I had always stuck to my beliefs. It was one of the few things I could rely on in a world that felt increasingly absurd.

“Who knew my biggest worry would go from bad reviews to becoming a cryptid snack?” I muttered to myself.

There was a time I sincerely believed cryptids were real. When I was eight years old, I—

My eyes widened in surprise as the fragmented memory slipped away, like water through my fingers. I stood up abruptly, only to feel the cold cuffs biting into my wrists, dragging me back down to reality. I sank into my chair, hyperventilating. “Fucking hell…” My childhood was missing.

How could I forget something so significant? Was it the truck? Had I lost part of my memory in that moment of impact? Or was it something Caspar had done, a side effect of this Stranger business? Panic swirled in my mind like a maelstrom, each thought crashing into the next. Should I tell anyone? No, I couldn’t trust anyone—not yet.

The memory was like a shadow, elusive and taunting. There was a gap where my past should be, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever had happened to me was intricately tied to the cryptid world Caspar was dragging me into. The very idea that my memories could be tampered with—or erased—was chilling.

I glanced around the room, as if it would provide answers. The sterile walls felt like they were closing in, and the air was thick with tension. “Panic attack,” I muttered to myself, the words barely a whisper. “Don’t attack me now…. Calm down, me. Calm down.”

There had to be something here—something about the DPO or even the truck that hit me.

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal?

As if.

Caspar returned and unlocked my cuff. “Follow.”

I trailed after him, glancing around as we walked. The hallway felt like a bizarre cross between a hospital and a corporate office, with the same sterile white walls and flickering fluorescent lamps. It was unsettlingly normal, considering I was about to dive deeper into a world of cryptids and supernatural beings.

“Where are we going?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Testing facility,” he replied, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact.

“I thought I’d already been tested. Confirmed Stranger, you said,” I protested, the confusion knotting my stomach.

“This is a different test,” he clarified, not breaking stride.

“Different how?” I pressed, my curiosity piqued despite the unease curling in my gut.

“Stranger Type.”

“Great. What’s that supposed to mean?”

He turned a corner, leading me into a large room filled with various equipment that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie. Screens flickered with indecipherable data, and strange machines hummed softly, their purpose entirely unknown to me.

“It means we’re going to assess the nature of your existence,” Caspar explained, his demeanor shifting slightly. “Every Stranger has a unique ability that defines their potential. We need to determine yours.”

I stared at the array of devices. “And if my ‘unique ability’ is just some lame parlor trick? Hopefully, it is useless enough that you’d lose interest on me.”

Caspar chuckled lightly, but his expression was serious. “Trust me, even the most mundane abilities can be incredibly useful in our line of work. Just because you’re not shooting lasers from your fingertips doesn’t mean you won’t be valuable.”

“Laser fingers? Wow, now that’s a superpower I’d want.” I tried to lighten the mood, but the weight of the situation was starting to press down on me.

As we approached a center station, he gestured for me to take a seat in a chair that resembled a cross between a dentist's chair and a high-tech throne. “Strap in,” he instructed, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone.

“Am I going to get shocked or something?” I asked, eyeing the wires and sensors that lined the armrests.

“Only if you don’t cooperate,” he replied with a smirk. “Just relax. This will help us understand what you’re working with.”

With a reluctant sigh, I sat down and fastened the straps around my arms and legs. “What’s first?”

Caspar tapped a few buttons on a nearby console, and the screens lit up with graphs and strange symbols. “First, we’ll measure your basic energy readings. This will help us establish a baseline for your Stranger Type.”

“Sounds like a fancy way to say ‘let’s see if you’re a weirdo.’”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, his focus now on the monitor as he prepared the equipment. The room filled with a low humming sound, and I felt a tingling sensation starting in my fingertips.

“Just breathe normally,” he instructed. “This won’t hurt.”

“Surely, you can do a better explanation about the Stranger Type,” I complained, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“There are different Stranger archetypes, namely: Believer, Deceiver, Conjurer, Traveler, Sorcerer, and Researcher. Depending on your type, the Department might choose to retain you regardless of what you think,” Caspar explained, his tone devoid of any humor.

Before I could respond, the straps around me suddenly tightened, constricting my movements.

“Brace yourself,” he said, his voice echoing as he walked out of the room.

“What the—?” I started, but before I could finish, everything went dark.

A cuboid of some sort surrounded me, the walls closing in like the universe had decided to play a cruel joke. I felt suffocated. The pressure built around my chest, an oppressive force that felt all too real. Panic surged through me as I fought to draw in breath, but the air felt thick and heavy, each inhale a struggle.

“Caspar!” I shouted, but the sound was swallowed by the darkness, leaving me in a disorienting silence.

After what felt like an eternity of swirling sensations—pain, pressure, and disorientation—I blinked and found myself back in the interrogation room where I first met Caspar.

“What the hell?” I gasped, my hands instinctively flying to my throat as I tried to shake off the lingering sensation of constriction.

There was an odd sense of wrongness in the air as if I had been yanked from one reality to another.

Caspar leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing. “What were you doing on January 21, 2002, at 6:46 in the morning?”

A shiver of déjà vu washed over me, sending a cold trickle down my spine. I hesitated, my thoughts racing as I tried to piece together the fragments of my jumbled memories.

“Uh… trying to make it to work?” I finally managed, my voice shaky and uncertain. “But I think you have the wrong guy. I mean, I don’t even know what day it is today!”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “This is not a joke, Mr.—”

We had talked about this before, hadn’t we? The weight of recognition hung in the air like a thick fog.

Motherfucker~!

“Mr. Bright. That’s my name,” I replied, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.

It dawned on me that one of two things had happened: I had traveled back in time, or the testing had erased my memories. I wanted to believe in the former, that I was somehow caught in a bizarre twist of fate, but the latter felt more believable given the circumstances. As I played along, I altered my choice of words, hoping to uncover the truth lurking beneath the surface.

The conversation dragged on, and the more we talked, the more I realized the differences between this moment and the last. Every time I spoke, Caspar chose different wording, paraphrasing my responses, and adjusting his actions. It reinforced the idea that my memory had been wiped out, that whatever had happened to me in that dark box had altered more than just my immediate surroundings.

I decided to confront Caspar, my voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside me. “How many times have you wiped out my memories?”

Before I could even process his reaction, he blurred—one moment standing there, the next, I was subdued, my face slamming against the desk.

“Code Red! Subject has grown resistant to the memory wipe! Console, do you copy?” His voice was laced with panic, and it sent a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through me.

I struggled against the grip holding me down, my heart racing as the reality of my situation sank in. This wasn’t just a game anymore; I was in the middle of something far more dangerous than I had ever anticipated. I could feel the cool surface of the desk pressing against my cheek, the taste of fear in my mouth mingling with a determination I hadn’t expected to find.

“Caspar!” I shouted, struggling to break free. “You can’t just keep doing this to me! I deserve to know what’s happening!”

He didn’t respond immediately, and I could sense the tension in the room building. The air felt thick, charged with an energy I couldn’t identify. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “You can’t erase me like I’m some kind of file on a computer. I’m not just a subject—I’m a person!”

“Robin, please!” he finally said, his tone dropping to a more urgent whisper. “You don’t understand what’s at stake here. This is bigger than you or me. We’re dealing with forces beyond our comprehension.”

“What forces? What do you mean?” I shot back, my frustration boiling over. “You keep throwing around these vague terms and expecting me to just roll with it! This isn’t a freaking movie, Caspar!”

“Then let me explain,” he said, his grip loosening slightly as he stepped back. “But you need to listen. There are rules we have to follow, and if you resist, it could compromise everything. You don’t want to find out what happens when the DPO loses control.”

“Control?” I laughed bitterly, the sound escaping me like a gasp of air. “You’ve got it all wrong. I never asked to be a part of this twisted circus! I just wanted to live my life, write my stories, and not get caught up in some cryptid nightmare!”

His eyes softened for a moment, and I caught a glimpse of the man behind the suit—the one who had to make impossible choices in a world I was just beginning to grasp. “I know it seems that way. But this is the world we live in now. You’ve seen too much. You’ve become part of a bigger narrative. The only way to protect you is to keep you close.”