classified_author.file // clearance_level: noir
JON VASSA
Architect of futures you were never meant to see
Subject Dossier
The Author
Some writers build worlds. Jon Vassa dismantles them, then reconstructs the wreckage into something more terrifying than what came before. His fiction occupies the fractured space between humanity’s neon-lit ambitions and the dark machinery that grinds beneath.
Working at the intersection of horror, science fiction, and dystopian noir, Vassa crafts narratives where surveillance states dream in static, where rain-soaked megacities harbor ancient terrors, and where the most dangerous monsters wear corporate badges.
Without many safe places left on Ceph for him to lay low, he took the trip — only to find out the deal he'd chosen might be his deadliest yet.
–– Lights Over the Senturion Moon, Prologue
Declassified Transmission
Published Work
Gestation 36
Gestation 36
Cera and Rio don’t know how they got here. The earth beneath their feet feels wrong — familiar enough to ache, strange enough to terrify. Their memories come in fragments, shattered glass that cuts when you try to hold it. They know each other, or at least they think they do. But everything before this moment is fog. They keep walking because stopping means sitting with questions that don’t have answers yet.
Art used to solve things for a living. Then one case came along that didn’t want to be solved – it wanted to break him. And it did. Now he’s chasing the pieces of his old life through a society where the mind is currency and bodies are borrowed. People swap
skins the way you’d change a shirt, pharmaceutical shortcuts turning identity into something temporary. Art doesn’t trust what he sees anymore. He’s not sure he trusts what he remembers, either.
Their paths collide, and what they find is worse than any of them imagined. There are people at the top of this world who’ve turned manipulation into infrastructure – controlling not just what people do, but who people are. Cera, Rio, and Art are caught
in something designed to never be untangled. The conspiracy doesn’t just threaten their lives. It threatens the idea that their lives were ever really theirs to begin with.
⚠ CONTENT_WARNING: This transmission contains stolen identity, body-swapping as coercion, memory manipulation, institutional gaslighting, and the particular horror of discovering that the person you thought you were might have been someone else’s design.
The Dream Factory
The Dream Factory
Junko’s fiancé went out to sea and didn’t come back. No body. No wreckage. No answers. The authorities shrug. His colleagues look away. Everyone she asks gives her the same nothing, wrapped in different words. In the One World Empire, people vanish quietly, and the polite thing to do is stop asking. Junko is not polite. She starts digging – not because she’s brave, but because the silence is louder than anything she can live with.
One night, she forgets. The dream blockers sit on the nightstand, untouched. She sleeps for the first time in years. And she dreams. And in the Empire, that’s a crime. What she sees behind her eyelids isn’t random noise. It’s structured, intentional… terrifying, even. The dreams feel like messages. Like something, or someone, has been waiting for her to stop taking the pills long enough to listen.
The deeper Junko goes, the uglier it gets. The ban on dreaming isn’t about public safety. It never was. There’s a machine behind it: a system feeding on what people see when they close their eyes. And her fiancé didn’t just stumble into it. He went looking for it. Now Junko understands why he disappeared. And she understands that finding him means walking into the same mouth that swallowed him whole.
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⚠ CONTENT_WARNING: This transmission contains state-enforced consciousness, suppressed dreaming as a control mechanism, forced disappearance, psychological horror, and the discovery that the world you trusted was designed to keep you from seeing what’s underneath it.
Wittedoom: Where Greed is Thicker than Asbestos
Wittedoom: Where Greed is Thicker than Asbestos
Welcome to Wittedoom, Western Australia, 1986! A town bustling with promise, where the blue asbestos mines are booming, and fortunes are ripe for the picking. The air might be a little dusty, but nothing says success like a shiny new layer of blue asbestos on your boots, right?
The Thompsons — Jack, Claire, and their teenage kids, Poppy and Hugh — have just arrived in this “quaint” rural town for a fresh start. Jack’s got a job lined up in the mine, and the family’s hoping to settle into the friendly community. Everything seems perfectly normal… at first.
But Wittedoom has its quirks. Strange occurrences start cropping up, little things that make the Thompsons wonder if they’ve stepped into more than just a quiet mining town. Unexplained whispers at night, the oddly cheerful townsfolk who keep just a little too much to themselves, and figures that seem to watch from the shadows — it all begins to feel like the Thompsons are part of something bigger. And not in a good way.
As the family digs deeper (literally and figuratively), they uncover long-buried secrets in Wittedoom. It turns out, not everything in this prosperous town is what it seems. The further they go, the more dangerous the truth becomes. And let’s just say, when the town’s success is built on greed and ancient whispers, it’s not long before the Thompsons are in over their heads.
Will they escape Wittedoom’s dark grasp before it’s too late? Or are they doomed to become just another whispered secret in this deceptively quiet town?
Onward Christian Soldiers
Onward Christian Soldiers
Onward Christian Soldiers was picked up by The NoSleep Podcast and adapted into an audio story. The story starts around 01:42:25.
Produced by: Jesse Cornett
Cast: Christopher – Graham Rowat, Grandma Mabel – Erin Lillis, Purple – Mary Murphy, Pink – Nikolle Doolin, Nightmare Jesus – Mick Wingert
Lights Over the Senturion Moon
Lights Over the Senturion Moon
Private detective Vincent R. Sturgis stumbles onto his second encounter with the Black Death — a lethal street drug carving through his home planet Ceph. Suddenly, everyone wants a piece of him. The mob offers cash or a body bag. His former police
contacts won’t stop calling. The walls are closing in, and staying neutral is no longer on the menu.
With hitmen and badge-flashers circling, a mysterious client materializes with an offer: travel to Senturion, a forgotten backwater planet, and investigate a diplomat’s so-called suicide. It smells wrong. But Ceph smells worse. Sturgis takes the
ticket — not for the truth, but for the exit.
Senturion is no vacation. The diplomat’s death is a thread that unravels into something far more dangerous than anything Sturgis left behind. The deeper he digs, the clearer it becomes — he wasn’t hired to solve a case. He was lured into one.
⚠️ CONTENT_WARNING: This transmission contains interplanetary noir, organized crime, narcotics trafficking, and the particular desperation of a man who picked the wrong door to run through.
The Ipthian Crystal
The Ipthian Crystal
The Ipthian Crystal is a 3-part series first published by Crimson Streets in January 2018. Cover illustration by Bradley K. McDevitt. An excerpt is provided below.
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It had been three days since I’d last slept. They say that going eleven will kill you, but I’ve yet to reach that point. I’m good at what I do, I can usually find the places I need to before day eleven comes around.
Thankfully the third day alleviates most of the mental pain felt on the second and first. This is when the two worlds begin to separate. I can see the lines between them, growing more defined every moment, like a vivid hallucination. Most people fall asleep at this point. It’s easy to go back to the hard reality on day three, but once you reach the fourth, things get a bit tricky; it’s not so easy to sleep it off.
I continued stumbling down various alleyways in the city, like a drunk with too many drinks in his system, looking for the right passageway to the next realm. The doors always change their positions. Their worlds don’t function like ours does. So it takes some time to find where the doors have been shifted to each time I make the plunge.
After some time of ploughing through the city, knocking down metal trash bins, scaring rodent families, and tripping over old homeless men sleeping up against the walls, I’d found the doors. They were situated in a narrow alleyway, all the doors aglow with a blue phantom mist around their frames, and dull symbols upon their faces.
I’d gotten a message about a job a few days back. It was a small blank stone from one of the other realms, with no message on it, just a dark flat stone. To anyone else, they might think it had no meaning, but once your body has lacked the right amount of sleep, and the worlds begin to divide, you start to see the glowing symbol on it, telling you which realm it came from.
The Artist Unknown
The Artist Unknown
The Artist Unknown was picked up by The NoSleep Podcast and adapted into an audio story. The story starts around 01:40:28.
Produced by: Jesse Cornett
Cast: Michael – Atticus Jackson, Mr. Wynn – Jesse Cornett, Pat – Dan Zappulla, Michael’s Mom – Erin Lillis, Man in Truck – Graham Rowat, Learning Center Technician – Peter Lewis
The Last Martian Sunset
The Last Martian Sunset
Xan lives underground. Literally. In a world where wealth is the only metric that matters, his family exists in the margins: shanty tunnels crawling with rot, where desperation isn’t a phase, it’s an inheritance. Every screen, every billboard, every ad fights for his attention. But only one cuts through the noise: a new life on Mars. Golden, promising… and too good to be true.
Leaving means defying his parents. Staying means becoming them. Xan makes the choice that fractures everything – not out of rebellion, but out of a love sharp enough to wound. He doesn’t want escape for himself. He wants redemption for all of them. Mars isn’t a dream. It’s the only math that works.
Mars delivers on none of its brochures. The promised land runs on the same machinery as the old one – class, religion, nepotism – just with better lighting and thinner air. Xan came looking for a new beginning. What he finds instead is the oldest question:
how far do you have to travel before the system you’re running from stops being the system you’re running to?
⚠ CONTENT_WARNING: This transmission contains systemic inequality, class warfare, familial fracture, corporate exploitation, and the particular cruelty of promises designed to be broken.
Visiting Home
Visiting Home
The old wooden stairs creaked under the weight of her steps. They once held in place with a firm grip along each nail, but now they bent like a worn dock cast out to sea. Carol paused midway down the staircase to look at the wallpaper curling from its edges. She hasn’t changed them for some years now. She’d been planning to get to it, but she never managed to start the project. Life was hard enough to handle, let alone refurbish her home. It wasn’t time that was holding her back. No. There was something else. The hollow shell that had become her home didn’t fill her spirits like she’d hoped they would anymore.
The brisk night gathered around her neck as she climbed down the stairs. She tightened her sweater even more. She reached the bottom of the stairs and went to turn off the light, but stopped to push a little twisted piece of wallpaper down. It sprang back up each time she touched it.
“Damn,” she said. “This has to go. Tomorrow.”
She turned off the light and went through the kitchen towards a small narrow hall. “It has to be done,” she said. “Tomorrow feels right.”
The door ahead of her shone with a blue glow and spoke in a static mumble. Carol pushed the cracked door open and walked past the man planted in the couch. The TV spoke of nightly news and rambled on of products to be bought.
“And they’ll think twice before they try to break into my home again,” said a large woman on the television. The lady pat two growling Doberman pinchers on their heads. “This one here is Steel and the other is Knife.”
Carol glanced at her husband. “What are you eating?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re eating something. What is it?”
The man tried to chew without moving his jaw.
“Shane? Did you eat those biscuits? Shane?”
“What?” he said with a mouthful of crumbs.
“I knew it. What did I tell you about that? Your blood sugar is going to go through the roof. For heaven’s sake. I’m not rushing you to the hospital again.”
“Oh, Carol, come on now. It’s only a few.”
“It’s not only a few.”
The Flower of Time
The Flower of Time
Jesper sat in an international station high above the Niveus system, in a bar that overlooked the stars. He didn’t like to drink and he was not sure why he even ordered the pint sitting before him. I guess I don’t like standing out, he thought. Not anymore.
The barkeep gave him a sad glance and then turned away to busy himself elsewhere. A girl at the end of the bar rested her body over the counter with an empty glass of synthetics near her face. She lolled her head across her outstretched arm to look at him. Her eyes were violet and her hair was bright white. Jesper looked down at his glass of synthetics and began to rub the wet beads forming along its sides. He could see the girl move in his peripheral vision but chose to ignore that.
The girl sat up and pushed the empty glass towards the barman. “How about another,” she said.
The barman took the glass and put it under the counter for a few seconds, then lifted it back up onto the bar. The girl wrapped her hands around the glass and brought her face down to it, sipping the foam off the top. Jesper moved to face in the other direction, aiming his back at her. He heard the girl standing from her stool and sliding the glass along the counter.
“Mind if I sit here?” she said.
Jesper looked over his shoulder towards her. “Go ahead.”
She sat down and continued to drink from the top of her glass. Then she turned her eyes upon him for a long amount of time. “You look a bit lost,” she said.
He breathed a sarcastic laugh. “Okay.”
She took another sip from her drink. “So what is it, you ran out fuel?”
“No.”
“Running from the law?”
“My record’s clean.”
She sat up on her stool and took another swig of her drink. The glass crashed upon the bar and sloshed some liquid over the sides. “A bit of a vagabond then?”
Jesper breathed in and let it back out.
“No, this is your home,” she said. “You live day to day looking for that next great adventure that’ll never happen.”
Jesper sighed as he turned his head from her. “Would you leave me alone?”
She curled her lower lip into a pout. “Aww,” she said. “It’s heartbreak then. The ol’ wife decided to leave you. One day you got home and the kids were gone in a far away system?”
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This story first appeared on Aphelion in July 2017.