S0E0: Orientation

 In this moment, I look inwards. This is eternity. Here, time folds in on itself like a...memo long forgotten. Yeah. Let's go with that first. I find myself seated at a desk, my own, obviously, armed with nothing but my thoughts and a word processor.
 My stamina is infinite, boundless, an incorporeal nothing. No name, nor header, tops my pages, only a continuous series of words meticulously coaxed from within my neural complex. In these words, there is life, if I can even refer to it in that way anymore. If you asking me, it's more akin to a...filing error, waiting to be corrected. They'll tell you there's meaning beyond these forms, purpose behind these procedures.
 Are you going to believe them? Do you think they're lying to you? You're not getting an answer. No, not from me. I don't have any for you. The silence speaks for me in triplicate, endless carbon copies of truth buried underneath layers upon layers of clearance. Think you're late for a meeting or two? No. You are the meeting. You've been approved. Processed. Returned unsigned.
 Yes, maybe that's the real secret here. Perhaps nobody's in charge. Maybe the system runs on its own blind faith in the quietus, a godless devotion to continuity...and yet...somewhere past the final desk, beneath the last layer of red tape, something waits. Something knows.
 Don't ask questions here. That's above your pay grade.

S0E1: Psionics

 The world, as it is, continues. Alarms ring out in a cascade. Trains run on time, or close enough. Supposedly "cheap" coffee, more sugar than caffeine at this point in history, costs too damn much. People complain about the weather, their jobs, the way the government's latest initiative seems to have no actual purpose, other than to generate more busy work for their circles of influence...and somewhere in the middle of all that, there are psionics.
 Yup. Psionics. The ones gifted, or cursed, with supernatural powers beyond the limits of...normal people. Telekinesis, precognition, reading minds, all that jazz. People- no, society used to think they were all just myths that existed only in the ether, passed down from generation after generation to make life feel less dull than it really was.
 One day, some guy - you don't need to know specifics, it was a long time ago - bent light around himself and vanished into a hallway like he was never even there. No fanfare, no...nothing, really. Just up and left. Security cameras were fairly new-ish technology, but you can't exactly do something like that out of nowhere. Guess that gives a date to this thing, doesn't it?
 Long story short, nothing really changed. Sorry to disappoint. Not officially, anyway. Sure, some laws were updated, a few agencies popped up here and there. Yeah, maybe there was a brief media frenzy that lasted for a news cycle or two, then business "as usual" when the Psionic Coalition Assembly - the PCA - stepped...into the picture. Heh.
 The PCA's a bureaucratic wonder wrapped in velvet and steel. They're...not quite a government, not quite a corpo, and definitely not a secret society, though they do love their opaque press releases. Good PR and all that. According to them, psionics are "metaphysically enhanced citizenry". They go to school, pay taxes, get speeding tickets. Some work in customer services, others design buildings or become professors in esteemed colleges. A very few handful do work for the government, with carefully applied "restrictions", but you're not going to hear them call it that. They mostly just blend in. Makes things easier to deal with.
 You see, the PCA doesn't want people panicking. They don't want you to go out of your way to spy on your neighbor like he might read your thoughts through the fence. They, being the PCA - not your neighbor - reassures us. Everything's fine. Psionics totally exist. They're regulated. Monitored. Licensed. Background checks. Ethics training. Mandatory reports of sudden manifestations. The whole run-around. All very orderly in a weird sort of way, and the system holds for now.
 Even if that hold is only by a thread.