The Rising Dawn, # 1— "Normies and the Rising Dawn

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On the plane of Terra, much, if not the overwhelming majority of its inhabitants, did not have extraordinary abilities— if it were so, then the gifted ones would not be special to begin with. But as awareness of those who had Gifts, which were blanketedly called Outliers, spread among humanity, there was an outcry among the general mob to repress them by various means. The Outliers were pressed into mandatory indoctrination against their own selves, pressed out of prestigious and leadership roles, and pressed out of social gatherings and from having their own families.

This was done informally, without legislation. Institutions would push them out without explanation, or for fabricated violations. Synagogues would excommunicate Outliers while harboring hypocrites and hedonists. Their rejection and exclusion from public spaces and gatherings happened outside the law, and the medical system would drug them and police their thoughts in the name of Mental Health.

The Gifted came in many shapes and sizes. One was Ratcatcher, his Normy name being Jonathan Stokes. He had the power to pacify entire groups of people and bring a temporary atmosphere of love, warmth, and understanding. The true cause of the various afflictions were infernal spirits, and Stokes had the ability to draw them out by the most beautiful singing you had ever heard. However, the infernal entities had to have somewhere to go, and so Rat(catcher) would capture them in various relics, such as porcelain dolls or old, clunky telephones. From there, he needed to bring it somewhere to be safely disposed of.

His relics were usually what drew people to shun him, often unconsciously hating him even as love filled the air.

Famously, he had been hired to restore the spirit of a public school with epidemic bullying and rival gangs, where the faculty had lost all control. After a concert of Stokes’s singing, he had trapped the infernal spirits into an old radio, and the children had an entirely different outlook on life. Incidentally, Stokes expected payment. But since no formal agreement had been made, the staff unilaterally decided his services were a charity.

“Suit yourselves,” said Stokes, “Add them to my growing list of bastard children.”

The consensus of the faculty was that such a rude person obviously already owed a debt to society.

Yet within weeks of healing the young adults, all of them as one man began imitating the mannerisms, accent, deportment, garb, songs, and the hobby of singing in the exact fashion of the Ratcatcher. The parents and particularly the teachers, who swam in unofficially adopted children, did everything in their power to stop the children from imitating Jonathan Stokes, but to no avail. In increasing increments, it became such that the Ratcatcher never left, being the Patron for the whole community, and every time their faces were seen, it was a reminder that they never paid the Piper.

Because of this, Ratcatcher’s nickname was, among other things, the Pied Piper, even though he did not usually sport motley.

If you unplugged from the internet long enough, one could hear tales of the Ratcatcher, and so they did. And so with time, his fellows in the underground found him, impoverished as usual, a short-order cook at a local restaurant called Chowdies. He would live for cigarette breaks and toking delightfully dank marijuana, practicing his singing whenever closing time arrived, along with his morning shower, which was located in the same building as Chowdies. Hot showers, an old pin-up calender, cigarettes and skunkalicious weed were the lifeblood of his existence for over three years.

The portals required to find Stokes needed ingredients, and one of those was the blood of Stokes, which could be obtained by any children that could convey his distinct characteristics. He had many children, and upon drawing the blood of one of his confirmed bastards and some astrological calculations, the growing Citizens of the Dawn found Stokes.

Before we close this particular Passage, it behooves us to show you the essence of this exchange:

“You’re battling the forces of Yog Sothoth, are ya?” Stokes being a fan of HP Lovecraft. The one called Wraith said, “We don’t know what that means. But by the sound of it, yes.” “And you want me to be your Little Drummer Boy?” “You’re worth more than that,” said Jeremic Fury, a telekinetic psyker. “You deserve everything. Come with us to headquarters, and you’ll meet people like you.” “My pin-up calendar will miss me,” said John, taking a drag off his cigarette. He exhaled, then said, “Missus August and I have a long history.”

Wraith and Jeremic looked at each other. Then, the psyker pointed at a spoon, moved it without touching it, then likewise hurled it at Rat in front of his eyes.

“Ow. F@#k.” “We have no time for games. There are certain words that attract Low Men. The other kind of people.” “Show me a cold 500 dollars, and I’ll go.”

Wraith shook her head, exasperated. She was, however, a millionaire. She opened a purse located on her person, and procured five Benjamin Franklins.

“Wow. Apparently you know what it’s all about.” Jeremic breathed a single, “Hah.” “Happy now? Let’s go!”

And they went.