NORMIE [Chapter 1]
The first chapter of NORMIE, a novel by C.S.M.
Welcome to NORMIE, a dystopian novel by C.S.M.
Subscribe for FREE to get access to all 9 chapters (sent weekly):
NORMIE is the story of Jack Campbell, an office worker who discovers a secret that makes him question everything about the past.
Determined to share the truth, Jack must fight against those in power who seek to silence him.
Paid subscribers get access to exclusive additional content:
Official soundtrack 🎧
Prequel comic 💥
Weekly behind-the-scenes ✍️
Click here to unlock additional content.
Listen to the NORMIE Theme:
Here is Chapter 1:
JACK CAMPBELL tried to steady his breathing as the crowded metro station became silent.
What had been a normal morning only moments ago was now something different.
Commuters steered out of their typical routes, maneuvering to the far edges of the raised platform. Empty tracks lined both ends of the space, running into the shadowed tunnels linking the station to the railway network beneath the city.
The crowd appeared to be moving away from a particular spot. Jack scanned ahead until he saw a clearing, a single open space on the grimy concrete floor. Within the emptiness was a single figure.
Jack, along with the rest of the crowd, studied the figure whose sudden appearance had caused the public reaction. More specifically, the outfit. But it wasn’t the dark hoodie or joggers that caught the attention of everyone on the station platform.
It was the mask.
Long ears curling out from the top.
Latex painted pink around the eyeholes.
A disinterested expression etched into the face.
The bizarre mask resembled a white rabbit. It was the kind of mask found in the discount section of a costume shop. Wrapping completely around the head, it concealed the identity of whoever was underneath.
The unknown figure stood alone in the clearing. Behind the mask, gray eyes scanned the faces of the encircling crowd. Murmurs swept across the platform as the White Rabbit stepped further and strolled across the space. Jack stood in silence as the figure finally paused with emphasis, taking a final sweep of the watching faces.
The White Rabbit, shadow cast back by the station’s overhead lights, was standing directly underneath the sprawling banner hanging from the high ceiling.
The banner had been up since last week. Jack first noticed it during a morning commute after a particularly late night at the office. He’d returned home under moonlight and woken up only hours later to the city rebranded. Never Forget graphics were wrapped across the sides of buses and displayed on buildings. Three crosswalks between his apartment and the metro station were repainted.
Today marked the five year anniversary of the November seventh event. Jack straightened the collar of his button-down shirt. It seemed like the memorials started earlier every year.
The White Rabbit finished its sweep of the crowd and stood motionless, facing in Jack’s direction but looking toward the escalators beyond. Frigid air wafted down the gliding steps from the street level entrance above. Commuters entering the station congregated at the bottom of the escalators, packing around the turnstiles and surveying the scene.
The previously silent station now had a steady hum of voices. The collective sound raised dramatically as the White Rabbit began to remove something from the front pocket of its hoodie. Individual shouts pierced across the platform as a metallic object was raised in the air, light reflecting off the silver end.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
The White Rabbit shook the object back and forth. Faster and faster until there was barely a gap between the hollow rattles. Then the figure dropped to the floor. Crimson paint sprayed from the can in its grip, splashing onto the concrete.
The shouts from the crowd died as the collective atmosphere changed from terror to fascination.
The White Rabbit moved back and forth with purpose. Spray paint shot out in thick lines, accompanied by a shrill hiss from the can. The commuters spoke in hushed tones and watched the dull platform be used as a canvas.
Jack felt a wave of calm wash over him. Graffiti, of course. Not something you saw everyday, but not inherently dangerous. He glanced at the station scheduled on a screen above the platform. Only a couple more minutes until his train would arrive and he could get on with his commute to the office. Back to normal.
He glanced downward and found his hands twisted around his backpack straps. The knuckles showed bright white. Releasing his grip, the Concord Industries logo was revealed on the front of a strap, the logo faint and the fabric worn.
Just another perk of working at Concord. Protect the world, get a backpack.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Only a couple more minutes until the train and then eight to ten hours of fluorescent lights, spreadsheets, and his email inbox.
It had been years now of the same routine. The same outfit every morning: button-down shirt and khakis. Brown hair combed to the side. The last few weeks of increasingly cold weather had brought some much needed variety. He now had to wear a coat.
Ahead, the White Rabbit continued the artistic display. Its shadow danced across the platform as its movement became larger and covered more of the space. Whatever the end product was supposed to be, Jack couldn’t tell. A giant oval shape had formed from the paint and now a portion of the center was being filled in with deep red.
Jack’s stomach popped and gurgled. The clamor brought on by the White Rabbit’s appearance had temporarily suppressed the hangover building since he woke up. That familiar feeling of nausea swept down from the top of his head and through the rest of his body in rhythmic pulses. His face burned behind the eyes.
How many drinks did he have last night? Five? Six? He usually lost track around the fourth. Not much of an issue if it’d been the weekend, but it hadn’t been. Just another evening after work numbing himself with cheap bourbon in his shoebox apartment. Not exactly the dream life for a twenty-nine year old bachelor living in the nation’s capital.
The Concord Industries logo glared up at him from his backpack strap, taunting him as it often did. Jack was a bean counter, a cog in the machine that Mr. Concord had built to great success.
Fluorescent lights. Cubicle walls. Spreadsheets.
And for what?
A final hiss from the spray paint can snapped Jack out of his trance. The White Rabbit stepped back from its work, seeming to admire the creation. Everyone clamored to get a better look at the finished graffiti.
A bright red symbol, almost glowing in the dim of the station, sprawled across the floor:
It was an eye with two rabbit ears protruding from it.
Jack tilted his head, studying the symbol. It looked familiar. But where had he seen it? The station was quiet again, as if the entire crowd was lost in similar thought.
Beside him, a raspy voice spoke. “We’re in for a show today.”
Jack turned to the speaker. The old man met his gaze, a smile forming on his lined face. Wispy strands of white hair poked under the hat placed squarely on his head. It wasn’t the type of hat often seen in public anymore. The front was severely faded, but the embroidered flag was barely visible. It was the old flag. The red, white, and blue.
The new flags were displayed proudly around the station, and everywhere else in the city. They were deep blue with a single white star in the center. The new flags were just one of the changes made five years ago. Everything changed after November seventh.
Washington D.C. became the People’s District.
The White House became the People’s House.
The United States of America became UNITED AMERICA.
“Don’t move! Stay right there.”
At the far end of of the station opposite Jack, a mirage of blue formed from the gathered crowd. A District police officer stepped forward and into the graffiti-tagged clearing. His body was covered by his tactical uniform, the helmet’s jet black visor concealing any hint of an expression.
The White Rabbit shifted toward the officer, seeming to taunt him in the slowness of the motion. The officer stalked closer, examining the prey. The strange outfits accompanied by the mysterious symbol gave the scene an unreal feeling. It was like something reserved for a screen, not real life.
But then the officer bolted forward.
The White Rabbit didn’t run immediately, instead moving with a sort of grace, examining the onlookers before finally heading toward the station exit.
Jack was positioned at the front of the encircling crowd, with the escalators leading to the street far behind him. The White Rabbit was moving in his direction, the officer pursuing in full force. The cluster alongside Jack shuffled indecisively as the two neared. A small gap was formed, allowing the White Rabbit to glide through, maneuvering smoothly past individuals as it went.
The police officer didn’t have the same tactfulness. He barreled into the crowd, knocking over those too slow to avoid contact. Jack staggered backward but remained on his feet. The old man beside him stumbled down onto the platform floor.
Jack reached down and helped the man up, ensuring he was safely standing again.
“Thank you, son,” the man said, turning to the station exit. “Now let’s hope he got away.”
Jack followed the old man’s gaze to the escalators behind. The White Rabbit reached the top of the moving steps, now far ahead of the pursuing police officer, and disappeared onto the street beyond.
“I think he’ll be fine,” the man said. “Think he’ll be fine.”
Jack nodded, unable to form any words.
The old man smiled softly and repositioned his hat. His gaze dropped back to the floor and the expression faded. Jack turned to see a number of others staring at the same spot on the floor. It wasn’t the graffiti symbol they were looking at, but a small object on the bare concrete only a few feet away.
The thumb drive was encased in black plastic. There was a red symbol painted on the casing. It was unmistakable. The same symbol that had just been painted on the platform. An eye with two rabbit ears.
Whoever was under that mask must have dropped it.
The small group of onlookers stared back and forth from the thumb drive to each other. One by one they feigned interest elsewhere in the station and moved on, fleeing into the crowd. Finally only Jack and the old man remained.
“Well,” the man laughed. “You have a good day, now.”
He marched further across the platform, admiring the graffiti as he went, and merged with the crowd.
Jack couldn’t help but stare at the thumb drive. What was on it? He surveyed the platform. A sense of normalcy had resumed, the commuters lining along the tracks while sneaking glances at the graffiti symbol. A notice flashed on the screen above. Jack’s train was arriving.
Taking a final look at the thumb drive, Jack joined a cluster of people near the tracks. A swelling rush bellowed from the shadowed tunnel at the end of the platform. The silver train appeared as a blur of tinted windows before finally resting alongside the waiting commuters. The sides were wrapped in Never Forget 11/7 graphics.
The train doors opened. Jack glanced back at the thumb drive as passengers exited and space was made for new travelers. He joined the funnel and stepped into the closest car.
Through the open doors he could see the arriving passengers inspect the graffiti symbol as they crossed the platform. As they neared the exit, each feigned interest in something unrelated and continued on their way.
The thumb drive was still on the floor ahead.
Jack heard tapping and realized his fingers were drumming against his backpack straps. The thumb drive was alluring. With only a few steps he could grab it and return to the train. He’d soon be at his office computer and could see what was on it.
No, no, no. I can’t take it. What if someone sees?
Through the gaps in his fingers, the Concord Industries logo taunted him yet again. Mr. Concord himself was grinning at him in his mind’s eye, tapping the face of a sparkling watch on his wrist. Jack twisted his gaze away from the drive, but was met with the Never Forget 11/7 banner hanging above the station.
A chime sounded from the train’s speaker system, followed by a robotic feminine voice: “Doors closing soon. Please step inside the car.”
In one swift movement, Jack’s hands fell to his sides and he bolted out the train doors.
He shuffled across the platform and grabbed the drive. With it secured in his grip, he shoved his fist deep into his coat pocket while reboarding the train.
The doors closed immediately behind him.
Shuddering toward the shadowed tunnel, the train pulled out of the station.
UP NEXT —> Chapter 2: The Drive
Make sure you’re subscribed (for free):
And consider upgrading your subscription to receive exclusive additional content:
Official soundtrack 🎧
Prequel comic book 💥
Weekly behind-the-scenes ✍️
Click here to unlock additional content.
If you enjoyed this chapter:
Like this post (helps with the algorithm)
Comment your thoughts
Share with friends and family
Pure enjoyment Pure Suspense!
Very cool beginning! And I really vibe with the theme song as well. Keep up the great work, I'll definitely be reading the rest.
PS: I'm still decently new to Substack, and have yet to add a recommendation for anyone's newsletter, but I'm definitely going to add yours to my list right now. Indie writers helping indie writers..., it's so punk rock. 😎