Excerpt:
Anomalous Events (Another Abnormally Normal Tuesday) – Chapter 004
After a long, damp night that involved far more mud than strictly necessary, all my body wanted was heat, carbohydrates, and for no one to mention pocket dimensions for at least twelve hours. Luckily, Alma knew a place.
El Rincón del Bife was exactly what its name promised: it smelled of grilled meat, smoke, and a floor just greasy enough to be comforting. Perfect. We collapsed onto a table in the back—Rafu wearing an expression that, for once, wasn’t absolute disgust; Alma ordering a bottle of red wine without even glancing at the menu; and me dreaming of a pile of fries the size of a car tire.
We were basking in that comfortable silence shared only by people who’ve spent far too much time together, when the bell over the door chimed again.
And he walked in.
It was as if someone had programmed an algorithm to generate an “average human.” Ironed clothes, rigid posture, and a smile that looked stapled onto his face. He sat at a nearby table with robotic precision, examined the menu as though deciphering alien code (the irony wrote itself), and then looked straight at us.
“Oh no,” Alma muttered, taking a long drink of wine.
“What?” I asked, following her gaze.
“Him. That’s Placeholder.”
“Placeholder? Like filler text?”
“Something like that,” Rafu grumbled, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “He’s a… recurring client.”
The man—Placeholder—approached our table with measured steps.
“Greetings, colleague units. Is your nutrient consumption cycle proceeding satisfactorily?”
I blinked.
“Uh… yes. Thanks. Who are you?”
“My operational designation in this sector is Juan Placeholder,” he said, pausing as if waiting for applause.
Rafu couldn’t help himself.
“‘Placeholder’? And your first name is ‘Juan’? Couldn’t you pick something even more generic? Like ‘User One’ or ‘Unnamed Human’?”
Juan frowned—an expression that felt calculated rather than natural.
“‘Juan’ was selected from a list of statistically high-frequency human designations. It is optimal for social integration.”
“Right, because nothing screams ‘I’m normal’ like introducing yourself as ‘Juan Placeholder,’” I said, unable to stop myself. “Don’t you think it’s a bit… obvious?”
He seemed to process the question.
“Obviousness is sometimes the best camouflage. A calculated risk.” Then he glanced at our plate of fries. “I also desire units of that format. What is the command sequence required to acquire them?”
Alma sighed, exasperated.
“You have to call the waiter, Placeholder. Raise your hand. Say, ‘Sir, fries please.’”
“Ah! Direct vocal interaction. Understood.” He nodded solemnly and turned, walking toward the waiter with the determination of a soldier heading into battle.
“What… what is that?” I whispered.
“That,” Alma said, “is a headache shaped like a man.”
“He smells like static and burnt plastic,” Rafu added gleefully. “And he’s so lost it’s pitiful. Last time, he tried to pay for his coffee with an integrated circuit that looked like it came off a spaceship. Alma nearly strangled him.”
We watched Juan Placeholder tell the waiter, in a loud, monotone voice:
“Service unit, I request one portion of solanum tuberosum fried units. With maximum urgency!”
The waiter—a man with the face of someone who had seen absolutely everything—just nodded and walked away.
Placeholder returned to his table, satisfied, and sat perfectly still, as motionless as a statue.
We finished eating, paid, and got up to leave. As we passed his table, Juan looked at us.
“It was highly satisfactory to encounter you! I hope our next data exchange is equally efficient!”
“Yes, yes,” Alma muttered, pushing us toward the door.
Just as we stepped into the cold night, I cast a final glance back. And for a fraction of a second—less than a blink—Juan Placeholder’s silhouette flickered. Like a bad TV signal. And beneath that perfectly normal façade, I saw something else entirely—something angular, and in a color my brain refused to process.
I froze on the sidewalk.
“Did… did you see that?”
Rafu nodded, still wearing that hyena grin.
“Yeah. You can see the wiring. Happens whenever he gets excited.”
Alma lit a cigarette, completely unfazed.
“Come on. I’m tired...
... "
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