Incidents and Interviews

There are cracks in the world.

Not the large chasms, like the Grand Canyon or a hundred other destinations that grab the attention of tourists, as a magnet attracts its opposite.

But subtle cracks, like the cracks caused by years of pouring scalding hot tea into cold fine china, the slight lines that are tightly pressed together. Signs of great aging. And the world is greatly old.

And sometimes, something opens those cracks for just a moment. And sometimes, something slips through.

October, 1959. Haneda Airport. John Allen Zegrus stepped off a plane the same as everyone else aboard. A man of 36 years, he looked no different from any other traveller. He packed an average amount, was of average height, and his disposition was well, average. A man you wouldn’t even look twice at in a coffee shop, hotel lounge, or airport bar.

A man who Did Not Exist.

Zegrus bore a passport from a country that does not exist, he’d bought his ticket from an airline that did not exist, and his luggage bore markings from an airport that did not exist.

No-one knew how he got on board. There were no recordings back then, no security cameras.

The press went wild about the situation, he was dubbed the “mystery man” in tabloids across Japan. According to reports, he was able to give factual information at a level so detailed that it would have taken years to prepare. And the conspiracies began to float around. Was he a foreign agent? A security test? Did he just get confused?

Was he even real?

When Zegrus was deported, rather than the story reaching a climax or a dissatisfying ending, the newspapers instead moved on to the next big news. The world moved on. And the name of Zegrus, the country of Taured, and the strange events that had followed those few days he stepped foot in Japan came to a satisfying end.

Of course, he wouldn’t be forgotten. In dark corners and weird magazines, the story would be repeated, again and again, aspects changed. Truth and fantasy mixing together until you get a story that could be just as imaginary as the country of his birth.

* * *

Lucian brushes his pure silver hair out of his face and stares at the report on his desk, the room is cold and dark, and matches his disposition. A young and beautiful man, as he’d be the first to say with a wry smirk and a cocky stride. Lucian was, in many ways, also someone who did not exist. But unlike the man from Taured, his origin was not a mystery- he’d simply erased it.

Wearing a clean light blue shirt, black tie, black pants, black shoes, black fingerless gloves, and a black jacket, he was almost the very image of a G-Man. A Government Agent. It’s a look that catches the eye as much as his perfect features and startling greens that stare intently at everything, checking for any exploitable weakness.

He takes a sip from the mug of airport coffee next to him and moves some images from the bland manilla envelope in front of him into a similarly nondescript folder to his side, before placing one gently on top of the other. He leans back in his chair, checks the clock in the room, and calls out.

“Send in the next.”

* * *

8:34 AM, 20XX, Haneda Airport, Tokyo.

An unexpected flight almost causes a collision at Runway C, breaking national headlines and soon spreading internationally. The story had everything that could be expected- action, mystery, and a subtle biting of fear of sky travel that lives in the hearts of a few too many people. People had gathered at the windows to stare and point, some had dragged children away from them to get them to safety while others had taken out phones and been taking photos, videos, and livestreaming.

Livestreams.

If there was one thing that had made Lucian’s job hellish, one invention he could remove, one idea he could erase from history, it would be livestreaming. It’s so much harder to make things go away when anyone with a phone and a paid internet subscription could broadcast it across the world to a crowd of unnamed faces in an instant. Comments Sections had made tracking down some of those people far easier, but you could only go so far.

“Passengers from Flight 196, please follow the green arrows and head to Waiting Room C.” A cool, calm, voice calls out over the intercom. It repeats in a couple of other languages. The herd of people from the unsolicited plane followed the orders obediently, some were rattled, a couple seemed annoyed.

And one seemed very confused. A girl struggling against the large crowd of people as they moved further inward. She struggles through the sea of people like a fish swimming upstream against a horde of others, until she finds an airport service worker standing near the side.

“Um, excuse me, I don’t think this is-”
“Continue to follow the arrows, please.” The bored service worker says, polite yet clearly dismissive.
“Um, no, that’s not, uh-”
“Don’t worry, it’s standard procedure.” The dismissal and the awkward silence causes the girl to sheepishly follow orders. It’s hard to go against a calm authority figure when you’ve struggled with following your own heart your whole life.

So, despite her misgivings and confusion, the girl follows the large crowd of people towards the meeting room.

* * *

“Next.” Lucian calls out, barely looking up from his paperwork. A middle aged man walks into the appropriated interview room, beer gut and sweatstains.
“Name, age, country of residence.”
“Johan Eigel, 46, Taured.” Lucian purses his lips at the response. That’s another.
“Occupation?”
“Travelling salesman.” Lucian nods, writing the name down and gesturing to the door.
“Thank you for your time, send in the next.”

“Mary Vaulent. 29. Taured. Office Worker. Is this normal procedure?”
“It’s all standard. Next.”

“Veronica May. 23. Taured.”
“And why are you here?”
“I wanted to give birth in my husband’s home country.”
“And your husband is Japanese? Next.”

“Sebastian Ericks. 20. Taured. Student.”
“What’s your purpose in coming to Japan?”
“College exchange program.”
“Mm. Next.”

“Anna Krisp. 68. Taured. Retired. Is this going to take a while?”
“As long as it needs to. Next.”
“It’s just, I have a wedding to get to in Okinawa-”
“I’m sure we’re being as fast as we can. Next.”

“What’s going on? Is there a problem?”
“Just standard procedure.”
“Kinasaki Miyu. 19. Japan.” The girl nervously looks at the young man, who leans forward in his chair. Eyes probing her for weakness or lies.
“Well, Miss Kinasaki. Now we have a problem.”