Threads of Concordance
Out for a run in Central ParkPattern recognition#
Alona laced up her running shoes and stepped into the brisk New York morning. The city was awakening with its usual symphony — horns blaring, coffee carts steaming, and footsteps echoing against the concrete jungle. For Alona, her daily run was a sanctuary, a moment of solitude amidst the chaos of Manhattan.
As she jogged through Central Park, a bizarre detail caught her attention. There was something odd with the shoes of a fellow runner passing by. They bore a design that seemed familiar, though she couldn't pinpoint why. It wasn't flashy or remarkable, just a subtle arrangement of lines that her mind seemed to recognise despite herself. Alona realized she had seen it before but thought nothing of it. But now, over a few days, the experience became conscious.
Her curiosity deepened as the sightings became more frequent. There was a subtle resemblance in the designs on many other runners' shoes. The patterns were far from identical, yet they shared a certain quality — something understated but persistent, like an advertisement seen so often that it seeps into the subconscious.
And it wasn't just the shoes. There was something peculiar about the runners. Alona couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she felt an unshakable sense that their movements, the timing of their appearances and crossings, even the rhythm of their strides — it all seemed to resonate in a certain way.
Determined to unravel the mystery, Alona started paying closer attention. She sketched her runs and kept notes about the locations where she encountered the patterned shoes. She also began to log subtle details — the times of day, the weather, even the routes they seemed to favour — but the overall sense kept eluding her. At times, unavoidably, she worried she might be going insane.
One day, her understanding expanded — quite literally — when she zoomed out on her running app. A heatmap of the various runners' paths appeared, forming a strangely compelling shape. It resembled a web or lattice — intricately interlocked, yet with a flowing, organic quality. But most strikingly, it appeared almost... deliberate. Incomplete, perhaps, yet far too structured to be mere coincidence.
At first, she dismissed it as a trick of the mind — a tendency to find patterns in randomness, like seeing shapes in clouds. But the longer she stared, the more distinct it became. A chill ran down her spine.
There was a pattern emerging from the fabric of her daily routine, one she had unknowingly woven alongside a multitude of strangers. Alona couldn't shake the feeling that she was becoming part of a puzzle — one that was quietly assembling itself with every step she took.
Route optimization#
One evening in the park, Alona frowned at her running app in frustration. A couple of the waypoints she had carefully mapped out the night before had subtly shifted — not much, but she was sure they were not her choice. With a sigh, she slowed to a walk, her fingers tapping the screen as she adjusted them back into place. That was when a voice interrupted her thoughts. “You can see them as well, right?”
Surprised, she turned to see a fellow jogger, a tall man with a quiet confidence. His running shoes marked by the same subtle patterns she'd been tracking.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," he continued. "My name is Marcus. I run here as well..." He smiled at his clumsy statement of the obvious.
"You've noticed it too, haven't you? The way it all... aligns?" Marcus angled his phone toward her, revealing the highlighted trail patterns on his app.
Though clearly different from hers, the stranger's pattern fit her own map in a way a large chunk of puzzle suddenly makes sense and you cannot believe you were overlooking it for such a long time. Alona felt her knees weakening. "What the hell...," she muttered, barely recognizing her own voice.
Marcus stared into her eyes. “It's a signal of some sort,” he said, his tone low and conspiratorial. “Perhaps a game — intricate, deliberate. But who or what...”
For a while, they studied the combined map together in silence. Alona wondered whether the adjusted waypoints had caused her trail to intersect with that of Marcus. And again, they noticed hints of an elusive symmetry. The details seemed to weave around a small area in a less-frequented corner of Central Park. On the satellite view, the spot appeared as a clearing in the midst of denser foliage but, curiously, none of the runners' trails passed directly through it.
Data normalization#
The following Sunday, Alona and Marcus agreed to go and visit the marked location together. It did not surprise them too much to find a small group of other joggers already there. Clutching their mobile phones, they were clearly united by curiosity, but their glances were baffled and a trifle alarmed. What did this all mean? Why were they meeting, and why here?
The centre of the clearing was grassy and unremarkable. It looked no different from many other spots in the park — except to them, it felt unlike any. The runners slowly became aware that they stood in an uneven circle around the centre, as if guided into position. No one dared to take a step in any direction. A sensation, both collective and deeply personal, gripped them. It felt like an inevitable conclusion started to press upon their minds.
The whole group fell eerily silent. At that moment, all of them had goosebumps.
System recalibration#
Over the following weeks, the joggers continued their own individual runs. No matter how creatively they varied their paths, an intricate tapestry kept emerging from their combined routes. It was becoming oddly attractive, almost beautiful.
The runners couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and unease at the same time, and their puzzled congregation in the clearing became a recurring event. The timing was arranged organically. Usually, one of them would send a text to a friend or an acquaintance, and the message spread. No one ever knew who had started it. The group kept growing. The runners were drawn to the clearing like moths to a flame.
One day, Alona received a message that would be the last one ever. It was mundane enough: "Sunday, 8 pm, the usual spot!"
That evening, she once again tied her running shoes and ran off into the summer sunset with a sense of trepidation.
The atmosphere at the spot was as tense and peculiar as ever — silent glances exchanged, a strange mixture of awe and suspicion shared.
And then, without any warning, it was over.
Editorial, The New York Times#
Ghosts of Central Park: The Disappearance No One is Investigating
By David Kellerman, Opinion Columnist
Six weeks have passed since the Central Park tunnel collapse — an incident that claimed multiple lives and left behind more questions than answers. Official reports remain scarce, and public interest — like it so often does in this city — has already begun to fade. Yet, something about this case refuses to add up.
The collapse, which occurred without prior warning, opened up a deep sinkhole, swallowing a compact section of the park and partially destroying nearby walkways. Emergency crews arrived swiftly, but no survivors were found. Several bodies have been recovered, but none have been positively identified.
Authorities insist this was an unfortunate infrastructure failure, the result of an aging, decommissioned tunnel finally giving way beneath the weight of time. But there had been warnings.But there had been warnings. Reports of structural instability surfaced years ago, with one even describing the underground labyrinth as "a timing device about to go off".
And then there's the mystery of cell phone records. The NYPD and city officials confirmed that no active mobile signals were recorded in the vicinity at the time of the collapse. Not one call. Not one GPS ping. Not a single automated emergency alert. The victims left no trace in the digital world.
Even stranger, no families have come forward seeking missing persons. No reports of friends or relatives asking questions. Unknown fingerprints, no matching dental records. No names. It is as if those who perished in that collapse never really existed.
The piling anomalies stand in stark contrast to the silence of the investigation. The site remains cordoned off, and efforts to excavate further appear minimal at best.
Look, I am not one for baseless speculation. But I do know this:
A group of people went to Central Park that evening. A disaster happened. They have vanished — completely, inexplicably.
Unknown identities. No one looking for them. No usable traces.
I wonder — even at the risk of sounding deranged — what if this wasn't an accident at all? I don't know why or how — but to me, it's undeniable.
These joggers weren't just lost.
They were erased.
ENGLISH ARTICLEOCTOBER 20, 2018 AT 01:46:40 UTC