What is will? What is desire? These are the questions that build the foundation of persistence, and—in many cases—the dreams, goals, and obsessions that shape reality. They are the fuels that keep the world turning, driving people to act when they don't want to, or when they can't, all in pursuit of a purpose.
However, the universe seeks balance in all its aspects, from the cold scales of Themis—bearer of justice and order—to the warmest emotions and feelings. And where there is excess, there is chaos.
**
The day was marked by a gray sky; leaves rustled amidst what little nature remained, the soil emanating the scent of petrichor. Momentarily, the rain began to fall in a torrential rhythm, soaking not just the environment, but a young man as well.
Around eighteen years old, the individual possessed lustrous brown hair that cascaded like waves over his head. Dressed in casual civilian clothes—sweatpants and a light jacket—his body was lean and of average height. He wasn't unattractive; however, it was evident that he didn't care about, or simply didn't have time for, his appearance. His eyes were like jade stones, intensely green but shifting toward yellow on sunny days. Beneath them lay deep dark circles that resembled the utter emptiness of a black hole. It was obvious he was not well.
As he made his way to the subway station, he glanced at the city around him. Immense skyscrapers covered the horizon like ancient colossi from fantasy tales. There were few houses in the city center; whenever he saw one, he was certain that wealthy families lived there, given that the population had grown exponentially by billions. The vast majority lived in buildings, as they were more viable and the primary means to contain the sprawling expansion.
He liked to stop and look at the electronics store windows while walking back, and today was no different. The young man discovered interesting new technologies emerging, though his income was nonexistent at the moment, consequently barring him from any luxury. Even while detouring from his route to public transport, his eyes shined at the new technology from SuperTech—currently the largest augmented reality gaming company. However, right next to it, in the same window, a TV was broadcasting the news with the following headline:
"50 people disappeared last night; victims include 30 teenagers and 20 adults..."
The young man listened to the news only in passing, as announcements like these were already recurrent in his daily life and across the planet. People simply vanished, leaving practically no trace. The only evidence found by the armed forces—though uncertain—was the state of psychological anxiety of the missing persons, previously reported by friends and family. Thus, the population remained relatively indifferent, relying on the opinion that as long as they were at peace with themselves and life, nothing would harm them.
Resuming his walk to the transport, while observing the city again, his vision was permeated by a tangle of strange effects which he couldn't identify—except for the static of a dead channel. And in the back of his eyes, a silhouette of a person could be identified—or so he had discovered—far away from him. It watched him from a distance at every moment of his life. Its body was covered in clothes abnormal for the times he lived in, appearing to be a set of rags worn by time, and its face was blurred by some unknown force that prevented identification. It was also difficult to distinguish its gender, as it always stayed at a specific distance, always in his peripheral vision. The young man no longer feared its appearances; he even found comfort in it, like a normal piece of furniture in his house, though he never fully understood it. He didn't care, but it seemed the people who saw him did.
Arriving at the subway, the attendant asked the young man for his ID card to deduct credits for the fare. On it, the name read: Renoir Hollow.
The middle-aged attendant frowned and exclaimed with a slight tone of concern: "Different name, Renoir. And that surname... Do you really have something to do with the Hollow Family? The family?"
Renoir responded with an impartial, calm tone, as if accustomed to such situations: "Definitely not. Just a random surname my family had. And, you can call me Ren; things are simpler that way."
The attendant traced a discreet smile and returned the card to Ren. He took it and headed toward his line, intending to catch the earliest subway to get home and rest, away from people or the trivialities of mundane life.
As soon as he reached the platform, Ren spotted the silhouette again. However, it was visibly disturbed, as if its static were under high voltage, vibrating with painful intensity—it seemed almost at its limit. He deduced that this always happened whenever his surname was mentioned. It wasn't inconvenient, as his parents were full of mysteries, and he was immensely grateful to himself for severing his "ties" to the past. Furthermore, the young man noticed that this situation repeated whenever strong "feelings" blossomed near him, though he didn't quite understand it due to his aloof nature.
**
His apartment was located in a transition area, the "limbo" of the city. It was where people resided who weren't poor—meaning they lacked nothing essential—but didn't have enough money to climb the social ladder either. Ren liked it; it was a state where he remained stationary in his progression of material goods. He merely survived, and that was more than enough in his monotonous view. His building wasn't luxurious; it was simply normal. It wasn't very tall, having only five floors with apartments that fit a family of at most three people. The rooms were tight, the bathroom and kitchen small, but this availability of space sufficed for Ren.
As soon as he arrived, he savored some delicious instant noodles and played on his computer. The money his parents had given him before leaving was almost at its end. However, while it hadn't run out yet, leisure continued to take over his daily life, even if he was home alone—or almost alone, as the silhouette was always with him.
It was already late at night when Ren finally diverted his gaze from the screen toward the window. The rain hadn't ceased and continued to blow sharply, like a forced frequency. Realizing this, he turned off the computer and fell into bed, passing out instantly. His day hadn't necessarily been tiring, but whenever the silhouette's static grew stronger, Ren's own mind entered a slight collapse that ended up affecting him with fatigue, pulsating migraines, and occasional nosebleeds.
Despite this, that day was different.
Sleep came like a blow, but it brought no rest. This time, the problems didn't bring just mental fatigue, but also a decline in his defenses.
He didn't dream; he observed.
A low hum collided with his ear, wrapping around a sensation inside his pulsating body, as if his bones and organs were vibrating in an unearthly way, accompanied by a feeling of belonging to that vibration.
Enveloped in this, the gigantic skyscrapers, the peculiar houses, and the fascinating store appeared in his vision, but there was something fundamentally wrong. With every nervous pulsation of his body, the specters of what he was looking at oscillated. The ancient constructions rapidly decayed into old ruins. The oscillation became faster, violent, and in an instant, they were no longer memories; the focus narrowed to his room. In front of his bed, the silhouette that once kept its distance was now immersed in agony. And a small thread, of what appeared to be a wave, was emanating from the center of its blurred body. It was at the breaking point of its exhaustion, and its suffering was the spectrum itself.
Losing track of things, Ren didn't know how long he stared at the silhouette in torment; it could have been hours, months, or even years. Still, in an instant, he began to feel the small black thread, which seemed to sprout from the silhouette's very darkness, directing itself to his chest and transmitting its pain to him.
The world around him began to distort. His small room soon took on singular proportions, losing its color, shape, and smell, finally becoming an infinity of what resembled television static. Furthermore, his senses were invaded by a whirlwind of feelings and emotions—and he felt they didn't come from within him, but rather, from somewhere else. Screaming in despair, he tried to call for someone, even knowing no one would hear. No one had ever cared about him, anyway. His entire life had been nothing more than a long and tedious interval, surrounded by people who never heard him nor tried to understand him. He lived a gray canvas pretending not to care, but now it was being invaded by a chaos he had always felt but never wanted to face.
His scream was sucked into the vacuum before leaving his throat. And suddenly, everything went black.
Ren began to fall.
And fall very deep, into a place where his boredom would become chaos, and apathy would be impossible.
Renoir Hollow was swallowed by the spectrum while something echoed in his skull:
"Welcome to the Dissonant Land, child."