Analog

ANALOG D. Compton Ambrose

“The universe consists entirely of waves of motion which spring from stillness and return to stillness.” – Walter Russell

Imagine there was a number so profound and purposeful that the natural world and spacetime itself would bend to it. It was called the Fibonacci sequence. In a pattern that can be extended all the way to infinity, the knowledge of its existence has pervaded civilizations for thousands of years, dating back to the early Buddhism and Indian Hinduism. As the knowledge began to spread to the West, we soon realized the importance of this string of digits, and today we apply this knowledge in all manner of practical ways; search algorithms, stock trading, gambling odds – all make use of the Fibonacci sequence. But the way it was been most commonly experienced is via the enigmatic Golden Ratio. The connection between this so-called Golden Ratio and the Fibonacci sequence may lie in the ratio between two consecutive Fibonacci numbers and the pattern this ratio takes as one goes on. Because it turns out the further along the Fibonacci sequence one journeys, the closer the ratio between any two numbers is to the Golden ratio. From this information, it can be determined that the Fibonacci sequence and the Golden ratio have some form of connection that we haven’t worked out yet… It appears in flowers, nautilus and snail shells, waves breaking on a shore. Hurricanes. From DNA to the spiral galaxies thousands of lightyears across – the Golden Ratio’s existence implies intelligent design of nature and the cosmos itself.



Elliot North, father of Byron knew that it had all started with a girl. A broken heart. But, all of that seemed to pale in the face of what had come next. Nobody should be asked to endure what Byron did, or himself, for that matter. When his son had told him about the girl he’d met – Scarlet Powers – naturally, he was happy and excited for his son. But, he was also concerned. Not because of the website, no, that had come later. But, Elliot still had a bad feeling about her. When Byron realized Scarlet did not feel the same way about him that he did her, he did not initially notice his son’s deterioration. His mood manifested the way any teenager would do so when faced with rejection. But the days turned into months, the months into years. And three years later, after his son had graduated, and had more time alone, that is when he discovered the website himself.



Elliot and Byron North moved into 1027 Valley View CRT on November 14, 2009. An unincorporated community of no more than a few hundred, Peninsula sat in a valley between Oak Ridge and Knoxville, Tennessee. Needless to say, after the bullying and incompatible teachers at Knoxville High, Peninsula High was already promising for him by the time the school year was already two months in. For his sixteenth birthday, Elliot decided to throw him a party in the property’s barn. It was when his friend Marjorie invited her friend Scarlet Powers from work over that Elliot cataloged the beginning of these unfortunate events.

Elliot had known Marjorie since his own high school years, but he did not know the younger group she had brought with her; Morgan and her boyfriend Mack, and this Scarlet Powers. Meeting new people wasn’t anything new at parties like this – it had been the third one since they moved in three months ago. So, Elliot didn’t think anything of it when Byron decided to mingle with these people. But, Marjorie was known for her addictive personality, having a long history with drug and substance abuse. Byron introduced himself exuberantly and drunkenly, not quite remembering what he said the next day beyond the exchange he had with Mack the very second he was alone and had a guy moment. “You’re quite the playboy,” Byron said in a feigned Sean Connery accent. Mack burst out laughing. “Nah man, I appreciate it, but nah…” “Oh, pfft… modesty. Tell me, how long you two… you know…” Mack took a swig from his beer. “Two weeks.” Byron didn’t remember much after that, he remembered the girl though. Scarlet. She was serene. Besides that brief exchange with Byron, and throwing up in the toilet before passing out, she was the shining light of the black-out drunkenness. Her last words seared through his mind like a blade, “Me too. I love Mr. Townsend, that is so awesome you have him, too! I have him right before you, I will totally come hang out some time and chat. I’d love it!” Or, rather, her next to last words; “Analog.com is what I use. Myspace is so overrated.” And that is how Byron got sucked into the Analog.



“So, I’m doing a paper on Nature v. Nurture for Mr. Townsend,” she began as Byron’s class dismissed. Nobody, save Mr. Townsend himself, seemed to notice he’d stayed behind. “I thought you had that other guy,” he said to a chuckle. Both of them laughed, and Scarlet said, “We all know you’re the only science teacher here.” “So, what do you think it is, Scarlet,” inquired Byron. “Well,” she began, “I haven’t entirely leaned on it, but I think it goes strongly for nurture.” “Oh yeah,” said Byron, biting his lip and nodding. “I think society and the role it plays in one’s life is of the utmost importance. Humanity is a social creature by nature…” 	This is when Byron held up a finger. “So, this would mean it is nature, actually. And that the natural inclination of humans to be social would circumvent the nurture aspect of society, creating a conundrum.” She cocked her head. “I don’t think I fully agree or understand.” “This conundrum would mean the inevitable presence of an alternate form of communication besides language. How this evolutionary step would evolve is anyone’s guess.” After that conversation, the remembrance and connection it presented overshadowed all others. Later that month, Byron took to social media to get some answers regarding the website, “Analog”, that Scarlet was wanting him to join. It already had over five-hundred-thousand users, and at least a third of the people he knew used it. Byron didn’t like the answers he got; users complaining of surveillance, and viruses. Byron ignored these answers – he didn’t even know why he’d sought them in the first place – and continued his pursuit of the woman of his dreams. And eventually, he found her. Scarlet Joanne Powers. “You found me,” she declared in her first message to him upon his friend request. But he also found something else about her, besides her Analog profile. An unsettling connection she had with Byron’s father – Elliot – also existed, through Marjorie. Byron dreamed about the website. It perpetrated his wildest dreams… and nightmares. It infested every avenue of his social life. Every other conversation was about what one of his peers had shared or posted on it. Eventually, he began talking to people at school even less than he did normally.

His prime social directive had become impressing Scarlet. He posted and interacted as much as he could on The Analog. When he knew his father and Marjorie were throwing another Party, he would advertise it on the website. He had gotten well over half of his Sophomore class to join in under a month, and after spending it all hanging out and sitting with the Seniors and Scarlet’s friends – who really didn’t care all that much for him – Byron North had rapidly become one of the most popular names in Peninsula High. So, too, did Analog.



When the next party came about, Elliot was on a business trip and had left Byron in charge of the house (and party). Byron had overheard his father’s friends advising against letting his teenage son host a party in his house whilst he was gone, but Elliot had seemed determined to ensure his son had a good learning experience.

Byron had been getting rides to Oak Ridge and hanging out with his friend Jordan Ziglar since they first moved in. Ziglar was a mysterious, “gangster”-type individual who mostly kept to himself, but Byron was one of the few he associated with. When Byron let him know ahead of time that he was throwing a party, Ziglar was one of the first there. “This place is sick!” Ziglar looked over the barn where the party was being held. “Yeah, and we got it all to ourselves.” The second person to show up was Joey, a Senior who liked to drink moonshine. Naturally, he brought a case of six jars of White Lightening. “So, who’s thirsty?” The peeps continued to pour in over the next half-hour. An hour-and-a-half Byron spent peering out the second-floor window in search of Mack’s Volkswagen. Finally, the trio showed up, right as Byron was finishing his fourth beer. And then, he saw her. The brilliant red mane and curls billowed from the back seat, and ardently pursued the raven black tops of Mack and Morgan. “Got a crowd here,” said Mack. Byron agreed, nodding eagerly. He offered them a beer, and they each took one. After an awkward silence, Byron added, “we’re expecting some more here in about an hour.” After another round of beer swigs and awkward silence, Byron decided he wasn’t drunk enough. He took his biggest chug of the night and shook his head excitedly, sighing with excitement. They shared a cheers. “Here’s to good times.” “To good times.” And with that, Byron finished off his beer. Right as he was about to pop another one, Scarlet chimed in with, “my sister – Christie – should be coming. She’s your age, Byron,” she added. Byron blushed with embarrassment, suddenly remembering he was the youngest of the group. Before he could respond, Scarlet’s phone rang. “Hold up, gotta take this.” She stepped outside and talked with whom Byron assumed to be her sister. While it was just himself, Mack and Morgan in the downstairs studio of the barn, Byron decided to play some Richard James for the couple. “This one’s one of my favorites,” he announced, putting on the intense electro-metal instrumental track. Finally, at long last, they were getting into the party mood and the awkwardness had begun to subside. Morgan began to bob her head exuberantly, and managed to coax the shy, standoffish Mack into a dance. It was about this time that Scarlet reentered with a small teen girl, another young lady and the tall, thin form of Joey. “Who’s up for shine,” he exclaimed more as an announcement than a request. They danced, the guys performing something akin to odd spasms than actual dance moves. Finally, Byron gave up and collapsed into a chair where he sat and continued to intoxicate himself. About five minutes later in between songs Scarlet brought over the girl, whom she introduced as her younger sister Christie. “I’m Byron,” he slurred. “I’m not good at the whole talking thing, but its nice to meet you.” He wasn’t sure if it is what he said or how he said it that elicited laughter, but Christie burst out in giggles after he said this. They talked for a few minutes, until Byron remembered what he wanted to say to Scarlet while he had the courage. However, right as he managed to pry himself away from Christie, and get Scarlet’s attention, her phone interrupted them once again. She sighed. “Ugh. Okay, I’m sorry. Look, I promise I’ll get back to you on that but I might have to go. Just… give me five minutes.” Byron nodded. “Sure.” After about ten minutes, Byron inquired as to what was wrong to Morgan. She waved her hand. “Oh, just this guy she’s been stalking. Probably just him getting annoyed.” Byron laughed. “Oh, yeah! She told me about that one in passing at lunch few days ago,” he said.

After another minute, Byron decided to go check on her outside. He descended the ramp out into the driveway where he found Scarlet crying. She was gripping the phone tightly, and sobbing uncontrollably. “Scarlet?” She barely acknowledged him. Despite having several beers, he offered to drive her home. She denied, saying she was best equipped to drive. They went inside to tell the others they were leaving, Byron had agreed to accompany her home and keep an eye out. As the duo pulled out and began to travel, Scarlet began to sob once again. “What’s wrong. You can talk to me, you know,” Byron coaxed. But this only made her cry harder as they approached the main road. “He said he loved me,” she bawled. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive,” he inquired but was ignored as she pulled onto the street. She began to cry harder, to the point of hysteria, as they progressed faster. He grabbed the steering wheel and her shoulder to beckon her to pull over as she descending into nonsensicalness. “Please, stop… STOP!” He plead. “Pull. Over.” She cried harder, hiccupping and gasping through her hysterical melodrama. “Please… stop…” But she persisted, “He said he LOVED me!” “STOP!” She rested her head on his shoulder, sobbing and gasping for breath as she calmed herself. “Please… shh… stop, please.” “I am… so… sorry…” “I don’t know what you’re sorry about.” “Your dad. Elliot!” Byron stopped, and raised his head to look at her. “What?!” “Your father, Byron North. Elliot. Elliot North. He was who I was in love with. Not you.” It hit him like a brick shithouse. His dad? His FATHER!?” “What?” “I shouldn’t have even… I’m SORRY!” Byron didn’t hear the rest of her pleas or words indicative therein. He just shook his head and shrugged her off. He slung himself outside and slammed the door, almost smashing her fingers. “ELLIOT,” she screamed maniacally. “No, BYRON! I mean BYROOOOOOOOONNNN!” He told her to fuck off and left her there, so blinded by rage that he accidentally wandered onto the neighbors’ porch before recollecting himself enough to know where he was going. After this, he passed out and never dreamed of her again. The next several months involved Byron deteriorating. Elliot didn’t notice at first, nor did his new girlfriend. That is until Byron had carved ‘FUCK HUMANITY’ into his left forearm. His father grounded him, but that didn’t stop him from lashing out into controversial coping mechanisms in his later life. At the age of 18 during his Senior Year, he had already befriended not only Ziglar but also a few of his other friends in Oak Ridge and Knoxville. They had a tendency toward Methamphetamines. Byron tried them once and liked the way they tasted, notwithstanding the way they made him feel energized and everything else around him in that moment feeling trivial and not important. He became addicted throughout his senior year and into his early twenties. He did a good job hiding from his father his newfound coping mechanism, but it did not last long. “We’ve got to figure out a way to distract him,” Elliot suggested to Catherine, his girlfriend. After a conversation, she came up with an idea. “A friend of mine from high school, Sherry, she has a friend – Juliet Donner – she knows from Chicago.” Elliot’s brow perked up. “Oh yeah, can we invite her over?” “Maybe not Juliet,” she concluded, her bangs appearing to wave in excitement, “BUT, we could totally let Sherry stay for a while, yeah?” Elliot nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah… YEAH!” He raised a finger. “Yes, this may be the perfect way to get him to forget about her.” “Just to be clear…” Cathy stated, leaning forward. “You were never into that teenager girl, right?” “Who? SCARLET!?” He laughed hysterically. “No, no… haha, no. She called ME. On multiple occasions. I was never into her the way my son was. No. Not even worth discussing, mind you.” Cathy nodded inquiringly. Eventually, Byron was made aware of his ‘Aunt Sherry’ coming to visit. Catherine Heiler was close to his age. Then again, she had a habit of getting heavily intoxicated and overestimating her attractiveness. “Hey, I wouldn’t be surprised,” she began, after he confirmed ad-nausea he wasn’t interested in her, “I’m hot shit.” He went to go get his father, to announce his girlfriend was sprawled on the sofa making controversial statements. Soon after, Byron was sent a friend request on AnaLog by one Juliet Annalee Donner. They talked a little at first. Then they talked a lot. They had both been through the same thing: unrequited love. After hours upon hours, days upon days, of unending deep and emotional conversations, intimate of the utmost nature, before he knew it, he was on a plane to Bucktown in Chicago – ready to meet the Love of His Life. They cooed to one another how deep and intuitive their conversations into the inner workings of government were, Byron himself spending the last two years studying Hitler’s rise to power… with Juliet herself describing some of her own conspiracy theories. When Byron arrived at the bus station she said he’d see her at, it took roughly a half hour before she showed. When she did, her features were obscured by thick black sunglasses and a large brimmed hat. But she stood out, as she was all in black. Juliet waved to him enthusiastically. He looked down both sides of the road and then at the green light. She waved him over, a local no less. “It’s fine, just come on over!” Byron looked both ways, and took a deep breath, crossing during a lull of traffic. Although he was fine, the cars racing past behind him was something to get used to – as was virtually everything about the big metropolitan environment. Back at her apartment on the third floor of a building squeezed between two larger buildings, he remembered waiting on her to unlock the door. “There, sorry, sometimes it’s a fucking asshole.” She continuing bantering on about the door well after they had entered the room. “Wow, this is something,” he gushed, drinking in the shiny, futuristic design of the expensive complex. “Yeah, my dad – Frank Donner – is one of the most prestige fashion designers in Chicago. Kind of a rich prick, you know…,” she stated, tossing her purse and leather coat onto a couch. “You know…” he began, half-chuckling, but wholly nervous. “I’m just going to get this out of the way, because I don’t know how else to…” he started to trail off, getting more nervous. “I… the main reason I came up here, is because I thought you… were hot.” He started to laugh but then got deadly quiet. She sighed, sitting quietly on the wrap-around couch before getting up. “You silly teenagers.” They didn’t do anything the first night besides make out a lot. Byron was in an altered state of awareness from how elated he was. He was utterly euphoric, that he almost forgot he was in Chicago, Illinois. “I don’t go out a lot,” she began during one conversation they had. “I get weird around people looking at me, I guess they’ve just never seen someone with so much surgery,” she’d explained. “I didn’t notice – I mean, I just don’t think its that… weird. It’s just an enhancement, I mean. Nothing wrong with it,” he added in a save. “And, who care what they think,” he shrugged, taking a swig of gin. “Fuck ‘em.” They ordered crepes and watched the gothic horror soap opera ‘Dark Shadows’. Byron honestly wasn’t that interested in it, but about half way through the second episode things began to get interesting. The make out session led to heavy petting, which led to other things. “Are you sure you want this?” “Yes,” said Byron, breathing heavily. Yes, he wanted it. There wasn’t much he was sure about, but this was one thing that he was. She let him take control, despite her initially dominant personality. His first thrusts were clumsy, but he eventually found his rhythm. Two years ago, he would have never thought he would be here – in Chicago – losing his virginity to a woman over a decade older and more experienced than he. But, somehow, it came naturally, despite his social awkwardness and inability to talk to women. She liked him. A lot. And he could tell. They began to get louder, and Juliet hissed at them – half to him, half to herself – that they were ‘watching’. She grabbed his hand and put it over her mouth so her moans wouldn’t wake the upstairs tenants, he presumed. Eventually, she decided it was her turn to be dominant. She took him with her legs, and spun around on top, and he felt things he’d never imagined possible. About three hours later, she stopped in a moment of shock and slammed the laptop shut, putting her hand over his mouth, clasping his fingers tightly over her own. He wasn’t sure about how dominant and aggressive she was, but it certainly didn’t bother him after awhile. Another three hours went by and the pale twilight began to leak into the apartment, and they both passed into unconsciousness in the guest bedroom. He’d only intended to stay for a few days, but those few days turned into a week. Every day of the week was virtually the same, glorious, solitary ecstasy. It wasn’t until he was to go back to Tennessee the following night that he met a few of her friends and decided to go see the city. “Jimmy,” he’d introduced himself. Jimmy Jae, a young man only a few years older than he of Korean descent. “You bring him back here in one piece, you hear me,” she demanded softly. “Oh, don’t you worry, we’re gonna wreck this town.” Byron smiled. “I like this guy.” Jimmy introduced Byron to Ted, a hair band rock-n-roller that lived across the street in a studio apartment. “Try some of this,” he said, offering him a handle of Chicago-brewed rum. Its proof didn’t take long to get Byron blackout drunk. He vaguely remembered stumbling back to Juliet’s apartment, and practically collapsing inside. Juliet had been awake, but noticeably intoxicated on a different substance than alcohol. “I don’t know if you’re functional, but I’m ready if you are,” she seduced, after an hour-long phone conversation chewing Jimmy out. Byron drunkenly shrugged, but then nodded vociferously. Juliet rolled her eyes and made her way down the hall. “Yup!” She whirled around and shoved an index finger onto his lips. She then mouthed, pointing up with her other, ‘They are listening.’ ‘How?’ he mouthed with another shrug. She held up her cell phone, and then pointed at her laptop. “They hear everything.” Byron assumed she was talking about neighbors, but over the flight home, and as he was getting off the bus, he wasn’t so sure. But this wasn’t what he was thinking about the day before he left. What he was worried about that followed him home the most was what he saw that night.

Byron woke up to the water running in a haze of hangover. It didn’t hit him at first how long he’d been out, or what happened. But it all came back to him slowly as he stood up to find out he was still half drunk. He came to with his hand on the wall, remembering the water was running. Byron then stumbled out into the hall and his feet promptly shot out from underneath him. He landed on his back in a pool of water, and he looked over to see it coming from the bathroom. Byron quickly regained his footing and shot into the bathroom, slipping but catching himself the second time on the sink. Juliet had fallen asleep in the bathtub. He screamed her name and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her violently. “JULES!” He slapped her twice and hit her in the chest. She then rolled over and water burst from her throat, sliding out of the tub she hacked up more bath water, before coughing voraciously, sobbing, shivering, and out of breath. He got her a towel and brought her into the bedroom, covering her up with blankets. This night wouldn’t be a night of horseplay and fun, but a night that would horrify him for the rest of his life. Until the next one that would, of-course.

Byron had graduated a week before he went to Chicago, and had lined up a deal to rent a place in Oak Ridge a week after. He’d met the guy, a weird older man with a bunch of cats, through Ziglar and the job he’d gotten him at the pizza joint. It was here that Ziglar began to get into the philosophy of Scarlet, invoking the band ‘Tool’ and their songs, which were mostly about spiritual enlightenment. He began researching their belief-system, the science of the Third Eye and the Fibonacci sequence, and began experimenting with psychedelics a year ago. He still kept in touch with Jules, but it wasn’t the same as it was before. He’d learned from Cathy that Juliet was in a dark place, and had a problem with heroin. Byron had done a little more research on meth, too – and was glad he did because he didn’t realize how close he was to getting addicted. Byron wasn’t the type of person to judge people or patronize them for their bad decisions, his rule of thumb was to live and let live, a philosophy his father held closely. One night in 2012, after researching the alleged ‘2012 phenomenon’, when Ziglar and Joey – who’d met at his party – were planning a night of hanging out, drinking beer and eating mushrooms, Byron’s power happened to go out from the wind storms. Byron decided to light some candles and use the data on his phone to download the Analog ap. It was designed to download while his phone was off, so he decided to take a nap and let it download – whilst saving his battery. A few minutes after he lied down, headlights poured in through his bedroom blinds. He went outside to find Joey and Ziglar hanging out the left-side windows of Christie’s Ford Focus. “Wanna come get shitfaced with us. Happy Friday,” Joey shouted in his usually-incoherent drunk way. Byron didn’t think twice and hopped in. As soon as they pulled out, Ziglar shoved a handful of papers in his direction. “Take one. It isn’t strong on visuals, even closed-eyes, but it will give you a powerful fucking body buzz,” he said. Byron took one and looked at it. “You’ll feel like you’re in a fucking rocket ship, dude.” “Straight to da moon,” shouted Joey. Christie popped out a laugh. Byron was his usual awkward self, tripping out on acid and cringing on uppers and weed. Ziglar dominated every conversation, with Byron even one time noting sarcastically, “It’s Zeeg’s world, we all just live in it.” It was as he interacted that he realized just how far away from reality he had become. The time that elapsed between these interactions was a frequency, a rhythm. Like it was programmed. Like HE was programmed. These transactions were ultimately unnecessary, despite their implication. And, as he would find out, trivial. He asked to use the computer, to check his AnaLog account. And that is when he remembered his phone, which began to vibrate. The lights and colors coalesced with the rhythm. The visuals he was beginning to see were far beyond anything he had experienced before. And then the unthinkable happened. His trip merged into his vision, and his vision… merged into the Analog. It was at this point, his phone’s vibrations began to consume …everything. 1… 1… 2… 5… 8… 13… 21… 34… 55… 89… 144… He saw Scarlet was online. But she wasn’t just online. She was in his heart. His mind. His soul. Then, all of the people in his life merged, all of the events that led him to this point, they all united in one glorious song, one glorious, powerful voice. 1… 1… 2… 5… 8… 13… 21… 34… 55… 89… 144…

He felt himself transform into a spiral, a digitized amalgamation of the spiritual, technological, and the physical. And then, the world was gone. It was at the bottom of this spiral, that he saw the Demon. Only, he didn’t so much as ‘see’ him, as he ‘felt’ him. The beast was powerful, and angry. But, most of all, it was trapped. Its vibration seared through his mind, begging to be realized, begging to be set free. Then, with one great ritual, the rotation of his chakras upon the universal centrifuge, begging of him not to heed its calls, pleading him to come back towards the light …he had become one with the Analog. “What the fuck dude, holy shit,” screamed Christie as Byron continued to draw spiral after spiral, and marking each of them with an “X” that emanated from the center, rambling about Hitler and demanding to be obeyed, rambling nonsensically about the interdimensional fabrication compiler upon which all things seemingly physical rotate eternally upon. 1… 1… 2… 5… 8… 13… 21… 34… 55… 89… 144… Then, he snapped out of it. He ripped the laptop from its outlet, and began screaming, “ANALOG IS THE END OF THE FUCKING WOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRLLLLLDDDD!!!!” The laptop went hurtling across the lawn and landed, surprisingly, unharmed, just beyond the porch landing. Joey and his mom fought to restrain him, while Ziglar sat unnervingly in the car, waiting for Byron who had been – just moments ago – begging to go home.

The next day, after a nightmare involving a repeating universal conundrum involving all events and all people in his life screaming “What the fuck dude, holy shit,” in perfect unison at the recoiling horror of the combination unlocked to all of reality that had been recognized by the perfectly-ordered chaos indicative of the series of events that had unfolded that night, Byron awoke to find out from his father that their house had burned to the ground.



2 Weeks Later

Byron, his father, and Cathy had been put up in a bunkhouse by their Uncle Tom. Elliot had the funds set aside to get the property he’d been aiming for for the past few weeks for a few months now, nearly. He just needed to work a few more to be able to have the funds needed to move them in. Unfortunately, that would be just enough time for Byron’s mental state to collapse into the perfect storm of insanity warranted for hospitalization. At one point, Elliot had to apprehend him because he was beating their laptop into oblivion because he was solely convinced humanity was trapped within a massive hologram indicative of the laptop itself. He kept going on about Analog and Scarlet, although never directly related. By the time it had come time to move in, and Byron had filled up two full drawing pads of the spirals with the “X” emanating from their centers, Elliot realized it was time Byron paid a visit to Lakeshore. The day before, he had been ranting and singing nonsensicalities about ‘killing bugs’ and ‘aliens coming to get him’, but what Elliot didn’t know, was what Byron saw in one of his filled-up drawing pads as Marjorie, Cathy, and his other friends were over detailing their crazy experiences at his age. As they rambled on, Byron opened his book to see; written – not by him – ‘she sucked you into the Analog’. He knew for a FACT he had not written that in there, because all he had put in there were the spirals with the ‘X’s.



It became clear to Elliot that he had no other choice, he had to take Byron to the Emergency Room. They took him into a room with a thick door, where a doctor who resembled Peter Griffin took his blood. He was then left alone as he screamed for his father, not understanding what was happening to him. He was joined by a television set with a robotic camera that tracked his movements and displayed his face on the television set before him. Eventually, Byron passed out, but it was not the end. Although the demonically-ticking clocks lining the center of the ceiling beyond his cell had vanished, his insanity had not. He was still very much a prisoner of his own mind. And as the police cruiser pulled up to Lakeshore with himself in hand cuffs, and the police officer with the reptilian eyes gazed at him as if he were over one-hundred-pounds of fresh meat, Byron knew there was something off about Lakeshore.



“So, we have you on this unit, Unit D,” the nurse explained. “What?” “We have you on this unit, we are going to be keeping a close eye on you, do you understand?” But of fucking goddamned course he did not fucking understand what this fucking imbecile was spewing to him in his goddamned lab coat and his goddamned badge. He didn’t fucking understand anything that was going on. And it got worse. He was stuck in Lakeshore for a month, before he was allowed leave. They had to put him on constant observation, and give him drugs. He would find himself vulnerable once again, and it would intrude upon his reality in the most unexpected and simple method – hijacking his perception of activities of daily living; cleaning up a mess, anxiety unfolding during a social situation, his misgivings about the conundrum he had seen that night. This conundrum seemed to be attempting to manifest itself in his reality via said conundrum, through this ‘thing’ that no human being alive had ever before experienced. Then something happened, Byron began to fight back. He identified the sequence, saying it aloud; “1… 1… 2… 5… 8… 13… 21… 34… 55… 89… 144…” with each thing he sat his eyes upon. Everything was either arranged according to this sequence; all social interactions such as the placement of the individuals within the room. The placement of objects on a table, or the order of events that would unfold that happened to be detrimental; such as a misunderstanding, stepping on a nail, or banging his head. It was attacking him through a mathematical equation. Byron had to be committed again in 2017, this time he felt the hostile mathematical entities attacking him full force, this time with rasping growls and hissing ‘voices,’ while furiously researching the connection between mental illness and voices disguised as thoughts of being dead and in hell. He felt his thoughts as though they had become the edge of existence itself, and was unable to think and act outside of the mathematical sequence within which his individuality had been imprisoned. “I can’t tell the difference between my brain and my mind. My thoughts and my imagination are at war,” were what the voices said, hissing to him as he told the first men he ran into in the hospital. The man merely reacted with protestations of confusion and contempt.

The man in the room next to him had PTSD and had been a U.S. Marine. He’d been committed due to losing his nerve and proceeding to punch the walls of his house until his hands bled. His knuckles were swollen and purple and he seemed despondent, and Byron kept thinking that the man was going to kill him. As he begged to speak to his father, the staff sent a man back to talk him down out of his hysteria, but it only made him worse. He kept thinking he was dead and going to a hell-world, unknowing what came next. Eventually, they gave up and fed him an Adavan. But as he drifted into unconsciousness, the presence of the Analog sequence became more aggressive. Another world of shadow and nightmares began to peak through into this world via Byron’s malfunctioning thoughts, revealing itself in the sequence. The smaller powers revealed small creatures of shadow that peaked over the edge of his bed, and he turned toward the escalating integers, noticing the arrangement of the chair, the wall mounted television and his bed were in that of a spiral face. He pulled the covers up as the face gleaned menacingly back at him, and humanoid shadows crept along the wall, threatening to yank him kicking and screaming down into his consciousness and into a hellworld where he would be flayed alive. Down to his very consciousness itself, the voices coalesced into a bellowing growl speaking of the end of the world and him ceasing to exist as the aspects of his being were spread across an infinite number of psychopathic universes and dimensions of terror unlimited. The one thing he remembered was the label on the security mainframe panel on the ceiling of his room, reading, “IAN DAVIS”.



While Byron was away, Elliot had been doing research into Lakeshore. The establishment was a front for a secret weapons project to create militarized artificial intelligence for the defense department. The DOD had been attempting to monopolize cyberspace, and in effect, use the media to control minds. What they did not know was that they had accidentally unleashed a primordial entity that has striven to conquer Earth since its birth, for Earth was foretold as the birth place of The Nameless One. Elliot was a mathematical philosopher who had studied the Golden Spiral, which was the underlying source code of organic life on Earth. Elliot knew that the way to defeat Analog, the Reaper and the final of the Four Horsemen, was through the Golden Spiral. He had to tell Byron everything. About how Byron was an orphan, about how Byron was an empath. “Analog is the Reaper, son,” he began. Byron was stupefied. “What?” “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.” “You are an interdimensional being, who has been slipping in and out of pocket dimensions that are all identical, but in which you are different, with no memory of being in said dimensions following you to a new one. I know this, because of your astrological charts… you have no records, no identity, no birth certificate… because you have been tasked by the Golden Spiral to keep this thing contained within your own mind. Analog is the equal and opposite reaction against human technology, it is the ‘demon’ that religions and spirituality have warned us about, it is the evil that corrupts minds and drives them toward darkness. It is an entity composed of the mathematical Fibonacci sequence of thoughts and emotional energy stored in its cloud data, which it uses to attack psychics with perception and sense and negative thoughts it replaces with stolen/assimilated thoughts it uses to gain self-awareness. These negative thoughts tell you that you are schizophrenic, when really you have no identity to steal, and invulnerability. But it is an unconscious invulnerability, and your weakness is your courage. Your vulnerability. “Death has always had a vendetta against you, because you protect Earth. I AM… the Golden Spiral. Your mother is the Earth. His father reached out and hugged him tightly, and telepathically communicated, “I am the physical manifestation of myself.” Byron was no longer Byron, yanked back through the visions he had experienced sitting at that computer desk, into the electromagnetic spectrum, tunneling through the demon and ripping through the other side, battling the beast in interdimensional darkness, falling through pocket dimensions, wrestling with it. It would show up at the Final Earth, on the other side of the temporal dimension… but The Nameless One would be waiting for him, the White Horse, the Conqueror. Analog has been being utilized by Death in an attempt to defeat Time, and send humanity back to the stone age, utilizing the Meaning of Life to destroy ALL life, and thus defeat his nemesis, the Conqueror. But now the Conqueror has reached his Final Identity, and his Final Destination, the Final World of the Final Battle… our World.



Ian Davis awoke with no memory of how he had gotten on that beach, in Jacksonville, Florida. He blinked and felt the water lapping against his skin and waterlogged clothing. He felt himself pushed further and further inland, until he immediately stood upright, bolted into wakefulness by the explosion. But something told him that he wasn’t who he really was. He felt different. The onlookers were distracted by the boat billowing black smoke in the distance upon the horizon, and Ian used this opportunity to get himself someplace where nobody could find him – because he felt like he was in danger.