Showing posts with label Freelancers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Freelancers. Show all posts

Friday, March 19, 2021

Microstory 1585: By Accident or Design

Prompt
This is my tenth interview in two weeks. I should be upset that no one’s giving me a job, but I just feel lucky that they’re considering me at all. Usually, I spend months unemployed with nothing to show for it.

Botner
Now, I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a few more days, and pray that somebody who gives a crap notices I’m good at this. The star: I am a self-taught designer/illustrator/graphic designer. I don’t understand people who get a “serious” degree in a field. I have read every comic, watched every movie, and read every graphic novel I could get my hands on. Everything I’ve learned about art, design, and publishing is self-taught. I couldn’t wait to graduate high school because I wanted to be independent and do my own thing. I wanted to be me. I got a job in entertainment instead. The job: I work for myself as a freelance illustrator and designer. I do graphic design work, print advertising for corporate clients, and offer art consulting for print and web-based businesses. I’ve also started an art school for adult animation. I work on a freelance basis or full-time depending on the project. I will accept projects from anywhere in the world. My rate is based on the complexity and size of the...

Conclusion
..never mind, it doesn’t matter. The point is that none of it is going very well. No one wants to come to my random animation school, and I’m not getting enough clients. Freelance is tough out there, and everybody’s got an edge. There’s really no good way to stand out, so I’ve had to admit that my best bet is to make a steady income by working for a company. The HR representative walks into the waiting room, and tells me that she and the team manager are ready. I follow her down the hall, shoulders straight and confident. I’ve lost my enthusiasm, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at me. I have to act like this is my dream job, and I’ve never wanted to do anything more than work here, for these people, especially this one particular person. No one wants to hear that you’re only in it for the money. Everyone is in it for the money, but they pretend to be passionate, so they expect everyone else to suffer under their own façade as well. People are petty like that. Of course, graphic design is indeed my passion, but I’ve never wanted to become a corporate hack, which is why I tried to go it alone. I’m only here because I’m all out of options. Hopefully even my failed entrepreneurship will make me look reliable and worthy, and they won’t consider the time I’ve spent not working for a company to be a gap in employment. Though no one’s actually said it, that’s how I’ve interpreted how the other interviewers have felt. I walk into the room, and sit down. The manager stares at me without saying a word for a good two minutes. “I spend all this time looking for a good candidate, only to have them quit on me a month later for something better,” he finally says. “It seems it doesn’t matter if someone’s a good fit, and I’m wasting energy trying to figure it out ahead of time. If it’s inevitable, I might as well skip all those steps, and get right to the point, so I at least always have someone on board. You’re hired.”

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Second Stage of Something Started: Choice (Part I)

A series of bizarre events occurred over the course of decades for the two time-traveling adventurers, Saga and Vearden. After their first transplanetary mission as salmon, they spent what they thought would be the rest of their lives on Earth, during two time periods in the past. For the second period, they turned out to be the parents of their resurrected friends, which was this whole thing that nobody expected. Throughout all this, both of them aged at a normal rate, so they were old people by the time The Delegator beckoned them back to his Stonehenge office. As soon as they passed through the doors, their bodies transformed and regressed back down to spring chickens. Now that might sound like a gift, but it meant that they were still beholden to the wishes of the powers that be; the ones who were manipulating and controlling them, along with other unwilling time travelers. If Saga and Vearden could be de-aged so easily, then there was a distinct possibility that they would be forced to carry out the powers’ wishes literally forever.
“I had hoped you would be finished with us,” Saga lamented.
“What would make you think that?” the Delegator asked.
“We just spent the majority of our lives with Sam & L,” Vearden explained. “Was half a lifetime not enough for you people?”
“I believe the powers that be considered that to be a vacation for you,” the Delegator said.
“They need a dictionary then.”
“We can’t fight it, Vearden,” Saga said before directing her attention to the Delegator. “Just tell us what we’re supposed to do.”
“Do you not remember? You’re The Freelancers. You get to choose.”
“Then we choose to go to the year 2030 so that we can be reunited with her son and my daughter,” Vearden put forth with a spark of hope that it might work.
“How do you know that that’s where they are?” The Delegator was confused. “They were moving towards the past.”
“When we were in the past,” Saga began, “we did not encounter any other salmon. But we did when we were in the 21st century. That’s where all the action is. So you sent them back there. Go ahead and try to tell me I’m wrong.”
“No, you’re right, that’s where they are. I still find it interesting that you intuited that. But I’m afraid I can’t so much as tell you if you joining up with them is an option,” the Delegator said honestly. He gently waved his arm to the stone openings around him. Stonehenge was more complete at this point in time, whenever it was. All the stones were set up where they belonged. But through each doorway was a bridge to a unique scene. Some portals were of modern day, some of greenery, and some appeared to be alien planets.
“Oh right,” Vearden scoffed. “This is about our choice.” He used air quotes.
“Have you ever seen that show where—”
Saga interrupted him, “you get television reception out here?”
The Delegator ignored her and continued, “...that television show where hopeful buyers stand in front of a self-storage unit belonging to someone who failed to make their payments?”
“No, but I am aware of what you’re talking about. It’s an auction.”
“Right, well the game is that bidders are only allowed to see the contents of the unit for a few minutes before deciding whether they want any of it.”
“Are you developing an analogy between junk so useless that the original owners abandoned it, and our next harrowing mission?”
“Well when you say it like that,” the Delegator said with frustration, “you can make anything sound ri-goddamn-diculous.”
Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the cold stone table he most likely sleeps on.”
“It’s just that I had this whole speech planned about your destiny, but you ruined it with your attitude,” the Delegator said grumpily.
Saga and Vearden looked at each other telepathically. She sort of rolled her eyes, but more like a mother for an unruly child, and less sarcastically. “We’re sorry. You can give your speech. We promise to listen and respect you. You are valuable to us.”
“Thank you, that’s really sweet. But the moment has passed, and we just need to move on. Literally.” The Delegator pointed to the stone doorways again. “Take your pick. I sincerely don’t know where they lead. I can’t even be sure they’re not random moments.”
They began to walk around the perimeter to get a better view of each one. Before them were twenty-eight choices, and none of them looked better than any of the others. They discussed a bit what they were looking for in an environment, since that’s all they had to go on. They were rather tired of the past, even though that’s where they raised their children. Not having access to running water was a massive bitch. More than that, though, Saga had no interest in traveling to an alien planet. Vearden, on the other hand, always felt the best Doctor Who episodes involved them. The last time they encountered aliens, they didn’t have the best time, but after all they had been through, it was barely a footnote in their lives; one they had all but forgotten. Decisions, decisions.
“I like this one,” Vearden said. “About as much as a guy can like a place he’s never been to and knows nothing about.”
“You just want to have sex with a green-skinned alien,” Saga complained. “Like Star Trek.”
“You don’t?”
“This one looks nice.” Saga presented the doorway like a model on a game show.
“You just want to take a picture of the pyramids as they were being built.”
“You don’t?”
“Rock, paper, scissors,” Vearden suggested.
“We’re not children anymore.”
“I’ll allow it,” the Delegator said, then added, “but if you end up in a tie, then I get to choose.”
“We’re supposed to be the ones to chose.”
The Delegator smiled slyly. “Yes, but you’re not choosing. You’re letting fate decide. I am fate’s emissary.”
The two friends who were supposed to be partners, and always be working together, looked to each other for answers.
“Unless you can come to a consensus.”
“Deal,” Vearden said.
“Vearden,” Saga whined.
“We’re never going to agree.” Vearden placed his hands in the ready position.
Saga placed hers at the ready as well. “I guess we’re doing this.”
The door-walking Freelancers reluctantly stepped through a portal chosen by the Delegator. Saga was sure that she had chosen rock, but her hand had somehow ended up in paper. How did that happen? In the end, she was forced to shake it off, for she had realized where they were. The image shown before made it just look like a stone passageway. It was only after walking through and gaining perspective that they could see things for what they really were. The architecture had fallen apart, but appeared to be at least partially restored.
A man they did not recognize teleported in front of them and offered his hand. “Welcome...” he paused for effect before continuing, “to The Colosseum.”
“What are we doing here?”
“I wanted you to see the original version of what you’re going to be building for me. Well...I suppose it’s not the original, but I’m just a lowly jumper, so I can’t take you to Ancient Rome.”
“Why are we building it if it already exists?”
“This one’s fallen apart! I need a new one.” He finally took his hand back, confident that no one was going to shake it. “And I need it built far enough away from people that they won’t bug me about it.”
“Why would the Delegator want us to do this for you?”
“I have nothing to do with the Delegator.” He curtsied. “My name is Makarion.”

Sunday, August 2, 2015

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 10, 2034

When Mateo awoke, he found himself being carried by The Doctor and his father, Mario. They were whispering to each other, but he was too weak to speak up. “We have to hurry,” Mario said. “It’s almost midnight. We’re about to lose him.”
“I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m the doctor. I’m not supposed to be on any other kind of missions.”
“The powers that be are obviously all right with it,” Mario snapped. “Otherwise, they would have already snatched you up. Besides, it’s your job to get your patients out of danger. If we leave him in this basement, Reaver will know exactly where he is again and be able to exploit that. He’ll have an entire year to prepare for his arrival.”
“What happened?” Mateo managed to eke out.
“You blew up a house, son. I’m impressed. We’re trying to get you as far from it as possible.”
“Where is my family?”
“They’re probably not allowed past the barrier. Reaver Enterprises stepped in and took control of the situation. The two of us timeslipped in at the same time to get you out.” His watch began to beep urgently. “Damn it!”
“It’s too late. We have to break proximity,” the doctor said, gently laying Mateo’s shoulders on the ground. Mario was forced to do the same with his legs.
“Where am I going to end up next year?” He struggled to his feet. It still hurt a little, but he could also feel his wounds healing due to the doctor’s works.
“We have no idea,” Mario shook his head. “But it can’t be good. We didn’t get you far enough away.”

Mateo left them behind and made the jump to 2034. The scene changed dramatically, reminding him of the time he wound up centuries in the future. He was standing in a brightly lit hallway. He could see several doors down the hall, each a dull shade of green. He cautiously began to walk in one direction but quickly slipped through one of the doors after spotting a guard. He turned on the light to find that he was lucky enough to have stumbled upon a storage room. There were plenty of extra guard uniforms from which to choose. While he was changing out of his torn and wet clothes, he could hear footsteps from the hall. It was a ruckus. They must have detected his arrival. The uniform indicated that it belonged to Reaver Enterprise’s security division, which meant that the electronic security measures were likely sensitive to time travelers.
He heard some of the footsteps stop cold, and then a voice. “There’s a light on in here. What is this?”
“It’s just a storage room. No reason for anyone to be in there right now,” another voice replied. They sounded familiar.
Mateo closed his eyes from fatigue and pulled his hat on. When the door opened, he did his best to play a part. “I was just checking this room. Everything appears to be fine, though. We can go now.”
“It’s you,” one of the men said. Mateo reluctantly looked up. It was the two guards who had sent him to the police station after he jumped into the Reaver warehouse. That was six years ago, yet they still recognized him.
“My God, it is.” The other guard came in the room and closed the door. “You must be the one we’re all running around looking for.
Mateo looked around at the shelves for anything that he could use as a weapon, or better yet, a distraction.
Guard Number One turned to his partner. “This kid is what he wants. This is personal. He’s obsessed, and obviously unwell.”
“Well, what do we do?” Guard Number Two asked of him.
“I think it’s time we finally quit; like we’ve been saying.
“We’ll have to change our names.”
“Everyone knows that Reaver is one sick puppy. If he wants to capture a guy like this, we have no choice but to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
A voice boomed from the ceiling. “Mateo?” He began to stretch out his words for effect. “Mateeeeeeeeo. I know you’re iiiiin heeere. You were supposed to wake up in the basement. The entire bottom floor of this facility is a jail cell. What are you doing out of your cage, MONKEY!”
“See what I mean?” Guard Number One asked rhetorically.
His partner nodded his head overdramatically. “Yeah. We gotta get the hell out of here. The man’s nuts.”
Mateo thought it was best to keep his head down and mouth shut. He had no idea what other security equipment Reaver would have, so blending was the word of the day. They walked down the halls together, careful to look like they were doing exactly what they were supposed to. The lower floors had too many people, so they could only head towards the roof, even without a plan. They encountered another team on the stairwell, and Mateo was paranoid that they were suspicious of him, but they soon moved on to their own assignments.
Reaver’s voice returned. “That’s it! I’m calling in the cavalry. Boys, this is who we’re looking for!” Mateo’s face appeared on the wall. The three of them looked around. His face could be seen over and over again on the screens along the entire wall, a continuous pattern that was putting him in danger. “Bring him to me and I will literally write you a blank check!”
Mateo turned to his two new friends. “We’re not turning you in,” Number Two insisted.
“But now we run,” his partner said.
They ran through the maze of hallways, as far from the sounds of the team they had just passed as they could get. One of them tried to go one way, but the other pulled them in the opposite direction. “This way.”
Mateo pulled out his magic cell phone and called Leona with it. “Leona, are you safe? Did he get to you?”
I’m all right, she answered. They thought you were dead, but I knew you would survive. Where are you?
“I never made it out of the mansion.”
Mateo! That’s a Reaver building now.
“You’ll notice I’m out of breath from running!”
We were getting ready to do a bird’s eye survey of the surrounding area to find you, so we’re not too terribly far.
“South side of the southwest corner!” Number Two exclaimed.
“What!” Mateo yelled back.
“That’s where we’ll be.” He directed them into a room that turned out to be an armory.
“We’re not going to hurt anyone,” Number One argued.
“No, we’re not,” Number Two agreed. He went straight for a large weapon that looked like a cannon. “We’re breaking out. He grabbed the cannon and ran out. They followed him as Mateo relayed the rendezvous point to Leona.
A security team came out of nowhere and blocked their path. Number Two held the cannon up threateningly. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
“What are you doing?” the team leader asked. “Why is Reaver so interested in him?”
“Stop us and you’ll never find out,” Number One answered.
The team leader crooked his head. “That sounds like the opposite of the truth.”
Before the argument could continue, Vearden appeared from one door while Saga came out of the door on the other side. They each pushed one of the enemy security guards forward and ushered them through the opposite door, like they had rehearsed it. The doors closed and no one tried to get back out of them.
“What the hell was that?” The leader opened the doors angrily and looked around for them, proving that Saga and Vearden had taken his team somewhere through time. He raised his weapon again and pointed it at Mateo’s leg.
“Excuse me?” came the voice of a man who only the leader could see. “Have you ever been to Stonehenge?”
The leader instinctively rerouted his attention towards the new threat. He disappeared around down the hallway. By the time Mateo looked around the corner, the portal was fading. He could see The Delegator resting his hand on the leader’s shoulder and smiling comfortingly.
“I don’t know what’s happening here,” Number One said, “but we have to go.”
“This way,” Number Two urged them.
They continued to follow him. Once he reached his destination, he lifted the cannon and blew a hole in the surprisingly thick wall. They could hear footsteps headed for them once more. A flying vehicle of some kind was heading for them.
“We have to jump!” Number Two yelled.
“They’re not here yet!”
Number Two looked back towards the sound of the oncoming horde of enemies. “I know. It’ll be tight, but I can estimate the timing.”
“Did you hear that?” Mateo called into the phone.
The horde was upon them, guns pointed to their backs. Reaver’s voice came on, “it’s over. Mateo. I have you. I finally found my loophole.”
“Would you shut up already!” Mateo yelled to the ceiling.
“Now!” Number Two yelled. They complied without hesitation. Mateo and Number One jumped out of the hole at the same time, but Number Two wasn’t so lucky. One of the enemies had gotten off one shot that hit him in the leg, causing him to lose his balance and miss his timing. After Mateo landed on the hood of the aircraft, he looked back up to see Number Two clinging to the edge. Leona flipped around quickly and began flying back to the hole, but Number Two lost his grip and started falling towards the ground.
“No!” Mateo cried.
While they were still too far away, the figure of Daria appeared long enough to grab him before he hit the ground and jump him away.
“Hold on!” he could hear Leona yell from inside what he could only describe as a flying car. He exchanged a look of both fear and relief with Number One as they rose up into the air and increased speed.
They stopped briefly on the ground a few miles from the building. Leona and Aura were using the front row, so the two stowaways scrunched in next to Samsonite. They took off after a moment and made the short trip back to Lebanon. Danica, Theo, and a young woman he did not bother to introduce himself to greeted them at the bottom of the elevator. They spent the rest of Mateo and Leona’s year in the safety of The Constant, doing as little as possible.

Saturday, July 4, 2015

Seeing is Becoming: Freelancers (Part VII)

The man’s office turned out to be the remains of Stonehenge. He called himself the Delegator and claimed that it was his job to help salmon figure out what they were supposed to do with their new lives. Yalshi was allowed to witness the meeting, as long as she kept quiet. “They’re going to be doing something different with you two,” the Delegator announced to them.
“Different how?”
“Most salmon aren’t given a conscious choice. They’re dropped wherever and whenever the powers want them, and they’re expected to do whatever they’re told. And for the most part, you’ll do the same. However, after each completed mission, you’ll be given a few options for your next assignment. These options may send you to Earth, to another planet, to the past, or the present. You’ll be given a bit of information, and from there you can make a decision. Isn’t that great?”
“You force us into these decisions, but since most people have no illusion of free will, you expect us to be grateful that you’re letting us decide where to risk our lives?”
“I expect nothing. I’m middle management,” the Delegator explained. “But I am getting the feeling that something has changed. You’re not the first salmon to have been granted a weird exception. Though, to be honest, that hasn’t technically happened yet since we’re in the past.” He shook the tangent out of his brain. “It is my guess that the powers have recruited someone new. Don’t quote me on that, but I think he’s interested in changing the program. It would certainly explain why you and only a handful of others are being treated differently. Again, I’m not sure that that is how it works. I have more information about this than you do, but I don’t have all of it.”
“Ya know,” Vearden began, “there’s one thing I’ve already decided. I don’t really care. I don’t care who the powers that be are. I don’t care why they’re doing this, and I don’t even care about figuring out how to stop it. I can stop it. You can drop me wherever you want, but if I don’t want to do something, I just won’t.”
“Speaking from experience, bad things happen when you don’t do what you’re told,” the Delegator said. “I don’t mean that I’ve seen it happen; I mean that I’ve caused it. Yes, I’m different, but also very much like you. My job as Delegator is just another mission. I exercise very little control.”
“How about you exercise some of the control you do happen to have right now?” Saga asked, but it was more of a command.
“Pardon?”
“Let me chose my next mission. Forget the multiple choice. I want to go where I want to go.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“1743,” Saga answered.
The Delegator lifted his head, considering the proposition. “I cannot guarantee such a request.”
“Well, what can you do?” Vearden asked.
“I’ll tell you what.” The Delegator rubbed his eyes from exhaustion. “I need you to make a quick stop for me. It’ll only be a few hours. Afterwards, if the powers have accepted your motion, then you’ll find out. If not, it’s out of my hands. I’m not certain you’re quite understanding that I’m more of a messenger than anything.”
Vearden whispered to Saga. “Is there any point trying to reason with these people? Do we have any chance?”
“I think they can hear us even when you whisper,” Saga returned. “Which, to be honest, probably means that we don’t have a chance. But I don’t like the idea of being pushed around. That’s why I became a freelancer.”
“That’s your name!” the Delegator exclaimed. “The Freelancers.”
“I’m sorry?”
“We like to give each other nicknames. That’s yours.”
“We are not children,” Saga insisted.
“Fine.” The Delegator was noticeably hurt. “I’m still gonna call you that,” he muttered under his breath.
“Where are we supposed to go now?” Vearden asked.
“Would you like to have a final moment with your alien friend? You won’t ever see her again.”
Yalshi had been so good at keeping quiet, that Saga and Vearden had forgotten that she was even there. “This has given me an interesting bit of insight,” she told them.
“What are you going to do with it?”
She looked to the ground for answers. “Knowledge is power, right? I’m going to seize control from my father, and make a few changes to our cultural biases.”
“We will return in another few decades to check on your work,” Saga smiled.
“He just said you wouldn’t be able to.”
“We don’t follow the rules,” Vearden said. “We will see you again.”
Yalshi smiled back at them. “I better get going. Who knows how long I’ve been away?” She stepped back through the portal. It shuddered and faded away, slowly revealing a different view. A few graves could be seen by the moonlight.
“Is that for us?”
“Indeed,” the Delegator confirmed.
The two of them walked through the portal without another word. On the other side, they found humans driving land vehicles into the cemetery. They were talking and laughing joyfully, spreading throughout the graves to start their own conversations.
A stranger holding a beer approached them. “Hey, are you two here for the party?”
“Uh no,” Vearden said apologetically . “We just came to visit an old friend.”
“Ah, sorry for your loss. We can move to a different corner, if you’d like.”
“Is this some morbid goth party, or something?”
The stranger giggled. “It’s a birthday party. We used to hangout here as kids. We don’t get too rowdy, though. Mateo, the birthday boy finds cemeteries to be inexplicably comforting.
“Mateo you say?” Saga asked, giving Vearden a look.
“We knew him way back when. Could we say hi?”
“Yeah, sure. He’s over there.” The stranger nodded vaguely in one direction. “I’m Kyle, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Kyle,” Saga said, offering her hand.
“We’re The Freelancers,” Vearden said, much to the dismay of his friend.
They walked over and could soon clearly see the face of Mateo Matic, a man who appeared to be particularly special, even amongst other salmon. “Is that really him?” Saga asked of Vearden.
“It most certainly is,” he replied.
Saga lifted her hand again and shook Mateo’s. “We’ve heard it’s your birthday.”
“That’s what they tell me,” Mateo said.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight. Already feel like an old man.”
“Happy with your life?” Vearden asked.
It was a bit of a weird question, but Mateo seemed open to it. “Actually, I am. It hasn’t always been easy. I’ve experienced loss. But I’m in a pretty good place now. I couldn’t imagine it getting any better.”
“Oh,” Vearden said. “Well, be careful.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s just something my mother used to say before I left the house. It’s become my catchphrase.”
“I see.” He patted both of them on the shoulders. “Well, have a beer or two. I know we’re in a place of death, but tonight, we celebrate life.”
They spent the rest of the night getting to know other people at the party. Despite them being strangers, everyone accepted them and treated them like they belonged. Saga informed Vearden that it was presently the year 2014, which was more than a decade earlier than the time they originally left. They kept an eye on Mateo, mostly out of curiosity. The Delegator had wanted them to be there at that particular time, so it must have been meaningful. Exactly at midnight, they saw Mateo disappear. His beer exploded, sending a few remaining shards into Kyle’s skin. As they were running to help, Vearden noticed something wrong. “Saga.”
“What?”
“Tombs don’t usually just put a date on the front, right?”
“Of course not. They engrave the family name on it.” She looked up and saw the date January 3, 1743 marked over the door of the tomb. The lettering had a light but definite glow to it.
“I think this is our ride.”
“Come on, V.” Saga took Vearden’s hand and led him towards the tomb that was doubling as a portal. “There are a couple of people that I would like you to meet.”
The two friends opened the door and began a new time-traveling adventure together.