Static and Silence

The rest of the broadcast was utter chaos. As soon as the words escaped her lips, the crowd of journalists before her erupted forward with questions, accusations, and anything else they could muster. A few ran out of the room, probably panicking, perhaps running to call their families or their superiors. Camera feeds went offline as their operators were overrun by journalists.

"Hello? Irina?" Ken called into his phone, cupping it against his face with both hands. 

"You've reached the phone of—Irina Alexandrova. Please leave a message after the tone."

He clicked his tongue and sighed, dropping one of his hands to his side and waiting for the obnoxious beep to end. 

"Irina, I need you to call me back whenever you can. I know you're probably swamped right now, but... just... call me. Bye."

A sigh escaped again, and he let the breath hang in the air for a while. 7 calls. His hands fell to his lap. He looked around the living room as though a solution might present itself, or at least some evidence that this was all a terrible dream. But he found no such salvation.

He glanced back down at his lap and the phone sitting on it. I'd better text her, too. 

Me > Hi, Irina.
Me > I need you to call me as soon as possible. 

The messages sent, he scrambled to his office, snatching the laptop from his desk and returning the living room. He sat on the floor again and placed his laptop on the coffee table. 

"I'll run a batch with different parameters..." he muttered, throwing open the screen. "And I'll rerandomize the seed while I'm at it..." His fingers flew all over the keyboard. Within seconds, he had started the environment again running a multitude of analysis and simulation tasks, hoping to disprove his and—more importantly—Irina's findings. 

He leaned back, propping himself up on outstretched arms. 

A flash across the TV grabbed his gaze. He looked at the cause: an urgent story coming in.

"I'm reporting from just outside the White House's gates. We have received word that the president is going to issue a public statement within minutes against Dr. Alexandrova's statement, which was made about 15 minutes ago."

Ken's eyes shot wide. 

"The statement will be televised on all national and regional networks and will interrupt any scheduled programming, but until that message is delivered, officials have assured us very strongly of one thing: there is nothing to worry about."

His mind couldn't help but curse Irina for her social incompetence. He was certain that she had not cleared that part of her address with anyone—she just stated her conclusion. As usual. 

It had always been a problem, but nothing like this. The main problem, however, was her reputation. 

She was renowned in the physics world as a leader, and her words were generally accepted as truth—or, at least, strongly supported theory. She had a near-perfect track record. Her only public blunder, admittedly relatively major, was leading people to believe extirpation was not a dangerous phenomenon the night before it caused its first death. Prior to that, she led two of the most successful and most influential particle physics research projects ever conducted: Project Enoch's Prism and Project Aerodramus, as well as a number of other less major projects. 

Her reputation guaranteed that she would be believed—or at least taken seriously—by some.

As Ken reminisced, the broadcast continued on his TV. But in-between the sounds of the reporters and the chaos unfolding around the country, the familiar creak of his front door opening radiated into the living room. The sound almost brushed past him, unnoticed. But its last vibrations, trailed by the chattering voices of his daughters, caught his attention. 

His eyes shot open. They were just 2 rooms over. 

What do I tell them?

The question played in his head over and over. He had to tell them. May had a phone, for God's sake. She would see it near-immediately. 

What do I tell them?

His heart thrummed away in his chest, beating hard against his ribs. 

What do I tell them?

"Hey Dad." May sighed, walking in the room. Her backpack was slung over one shoulder. Alice followed close behind, humming and staring at May. Her bag was also slung over one shoulder. 

Ken reflexively scrambled to turn off the TV, shutting it down just as May turned to look at it. “Hi guys.”

"What were you watching?" Her brow furrowed a bit as she turned to him. 

"It was nothing," he lied. Unfortunately, the response flowed naturally before his conscious mind could decide either way. 

She cocked her head a bit. "Okay." 

"Hi Dad!" Alice dropped her bag to the ground and sat cross-legged in front of it the same way Ken was.

His hands picked at each other idly in his lap. Truthful words caught in his throat. 

“Hi honey,” he simply responded, smiling at her.

He turned back to May, meeting her gaze. She laughed under her breath and shook her head, the uncertainty leaving her face. She slumped into a chair next to Ken. "Nothing weird, I hope."

Ken saw her pull her phone from her pocket out of the corner of his eye and curl up in her usual way on the armchair, legs draped over one side and her head resting on the other. 

"Maybe don't use—" he began.

A ding radiated from his laptop.

His heart sank as a set of graphs appeared on the screen. One per trial. 

All the same as earlier. 

All showing that same date.

His daughters both perked up, looking at the computer on the table, the graphs shown on it, and the date prominently displayed across the bottom. 

"What's that?" she said, taking her legs off the armrest of the chair and righting herself. "What’s that date?"

"Yeah, Dad, what'd you make?" came Alice's voice.

"Ah..." He looked at May. And then at Alice. "It's... nothing. Just a set of simulations. For work." He closed the laptop and placed it on the side of him opposite them. 

"What was it about? I didn't think you were working on anything time-sensitive like that." Alice nodded emphatically, though he was fairly sure she didn't even know what field he worked in. 

"No, I'm not... It's not anything important," he replied.

"Why’re you being weird about it, then?"

He found he couldn’t answer. "May, please. It’s nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing," she muttered. "And you never do work out here."

"I do. Sometimes. When you're at school." He flashed a smile at May and then looked at Alice. She now intently studied the cover of a book she'd gotten from the school library. Completely oblivious.

"Is it something important?"

"No, May, it's nothing. Please... drop it."

She leaned back in the chair, still looking at him. "You're a horrible liar. Even mom's better."

Alice nodded again. "Yeah, tell us what it's about, Dad!"

He knew May was right—lying was certainly not among his talents. And Alice's participation was not helping with the guilt. His mind raced, consumed by different scenarios; simulations in his mind of the ways this could go. They all ended in panic, crying, heartbreak or a combination. 

Alice looked up at him. Her eyes met his, but there was no thought behind his gaze. He just stared at her, mind elsewhere. "Dad, can I watch some TV before I do my homework?"

"Sure, honey." He slid the remote over to her. 

Her face lit up. "Yes!" She laughed as she snatched the remote and jumped up, stretching her arms outward to point the remote at the TV. It clicked as the system turned on. 

"—no need to panic. We are already investigating Dr. Alexandrova and her claims." The president's voice.

He felt his heart rate spike, and his hands began to tingle as panic instantly set in.

Alice stared at the TV as she always did, completely attentive no matter what was on it. At the mention of her mother's name, May's face was taken by concern and she leaned forward, watching closely. 

"Mom?" she asked.

"She has been taken in, and we will relay our findings to the American people. Please continue to—"

Blood spewed from the president's right shoulder. Or, more accurately, where his shoulder should have been. What was there instead was simply... nothing. 

For the moment his face remained on-screen after Ken made sense of the scene, it didn't look like he'd even processed that his arm was gone. 

The cameras were immediately thrust down, and chaos broke out on the other side of the feed. A deafening crunching pitch rang out as, presumably, a cable was ripped from its place. 

The network cut to static. And then to blackness.

All three of them remained silent. It felt like an eternity. 

Alice began to cry, perhaps due simply to the pressure in the room. But Ken's mind did not process the sound.

All he heard was the static.

"Dad!" May called, finally getting his attention. "Your phone!"

As he grabbed it, it vibrated with a familiar rhythm. He flipped it over. 

The light of the screen cut through the stillness. Across the top of the screen was just her first name: Irina.