VESSEL - Extinction Countdown 959: Mad Ravings, Strange Shadows

Old Pi, born Pi Rui, was a respected university professor of chemical engineering before his dissociative disorder diagnosis.

Erratic as he seemed, his academic prowess ran deep. Yet, it couldn’t stop the label: dissociative identity disorder (DID).

DID spans a range of conditions. Each “persona” is stable, fully formed, with its own thoughts and memories.

These personas vary widely—different genders, ages, races, even species. They take turns controlling behavior, often aware of each other, a state called “co-consciousness.”

With strong co-consciousness, personas might hold internal “meetings” or external ones—to outsiders, just muttering to himself. If unaware of each other, “time slips” occur: the primary persona, not always dominant, regains control, finding hours or days gone, with no memory.

In severe cases, the primary persona can “sleep” for decades. Often, one persona knows all. If cooperative, it offers doctors valuable insights.

Modern medicine suggests many “possession” cases are likely DID.

Little Ninth, A-Ben, and Black Dog were among Old Pi’s personas.

Per Old Pi, Little Ninth was a winged oddity, roaming thirty kilometers. A-Ben, a diviner, surfaced every few years. Black Dog, a literal dog—blind, legs broken, scarred.

Old Pi couldn’t count his personas. Doctors estimated ten; he claimed twelve.

Each wielded unrelated skills, baffling the asylum’s best doctors.

One, Saeed, claimed to be an Akkadian born in 593 BCE—a date deduced by other personas. At sixteen, he joined Nabû-apal-usur’s army for the First Spirit War.

Talk is cheap, but Saeed wrote standard Sumerian-Akkadian cuneiform—a skill no chemistry professor could master.

Stranger still, Saeed saw angels in the war, unleashing divine punishment, slaughtering countless souls—including his.

Yet, when Saeed awoke, he became one of Old Pi’s personas.

Tales from an asylum patient? Most scoffed. But Ye Shisan now believed most of it.

Old Wang, clutching Ye Shisan’s hand, rambled endlessly. The big man across, grew restless: “Old Wang, enough! Visiting hours are nearly up. Shisan’s gotta go.”

Ye Shisan grinned: “I just sat down, and you’re kicking me out? Hiding something?”

The big man forced an awkward smile: “Hiding? What could we hide?”

Old Wang’s eyes widened, gripping tighter: “I forgot—Old Pi left a message for you the day before he died…”

A loud thud—The big man slammed the side table: “Old Wang! Shut it! Shisan’s leaving!”

Old Wang flinched, diving under his blanket, trembling: “Old Pi! Not me! Not me… Don’t come for me!”

The big man, panicked, buried his head in a pillow, arms crossed, teeth chattering: “Old Pi! I see nothing! Nothing!”

Their outburst woke the ward. A nurse stormed in.

Asylum nurses were burly—under a hundred fifty pounds, you wouldn’t last. A robust nurse charged in, waving a syringe thick as a child’s arm: “Who’s acting up? Want a shot?! …Wait, a visitor this late? Out, out, visiting’s over!”

Both patients spiraling caught Ye Shisan off guard. He stood, but as he faced Stout Nurse, she staggered back three steps: “You… Ye Shisan?”

“You know me?”

Ye Shisan drew a blank.

“I started after you left, but I heard stories. Restraints couldn’t hold you—one hand, you’d calm the crazies. That big riot? Without you, the place might’ve burned.”

The nurse prattled on. Ye Shisan sensed a stall and pressed: “Where’s Old Pi?”

She froze, eyes dodging: “Old Pi? Who’s that?”

“Pi Rui, bed 313, old professor.”

“Maybe… he switched wards?”

“Where? I’ll say hi—visiting’s almost done.”

“I don’t know… I don’t handle transfers.”

She jolted, leaping toward Ye Shisan, as if jabbed in the back.

The corridor lights went out, then flickered back on.

A scream echoed from the fire escape—You Long’er, unmistakable.

Ye Shisan ignored it, his face grim: “Old Pi says, keep lying, and it won’t just be a poke.”

The nurse’s legs buckled, collapsing with a thud: “Ye Shisan… you see him?!”