Microstory 1111: Kolby Morse

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There are lots of different kinds of protectors. Law enforcement officers, military servicepeople, and emergency dispatchers are often drawn to their professions out of their desire to protect others. Kolby Morse was a lifeguard at a swimming pool when he was a kid, and as he was becoming an adult, determined that becoming a security guard was a logical next step. It wasn’t particularly glamorous, and much of the time boring, but he felt a sense of self-worth every time he put on that uniform. It was at his first job where he met his best friend and working partner. Elder Caverness was also born with an instinct to protect others, and shared many of Kolby’s values. They began to follow each other around the security circuit, so they would always be able to work together. At some point, they found themselves working for an organization they couldn’t personally believe in. They had developed a faulty product that resulted in deaths, but refused to take responsibility for it. Kolby and Elder were about to simply quit when they started noticing some strange goings on. The vice presidents all appeared to possess special abilities that couldn’t be explained through a conventional understanding of reality. One day, they simply disappeared, and no one else around them seemed to realize they ever existed. But then these VPs reappeared, with different histories, and having created separate companies. Fortunately, they all fell into the same parent company called Snowglobe Collective, which had decided to support their subsidiaries with a singular security branch. Kolby wanted to go undercover, and try to figure out what exactly was going on with these people, but Elder convinced him otherwise. One of them should be on the inside, but one should remain outside, to protect the other, should the need arise. A game of chance left Kolby on the outside, and though Elder’s life would now be much harder, at least he had a purpose. But just because he would not be investigating Snowglobe, didn’t mean he couldn’t contribute positively to society. There was still a lot to be done, and now that he knew about people with time powers, he felt like he had to do something with that. After months of searching, he finally managed to catch up to a petty thief who had a time power of his own. He could send people forward or backwards in time, then bring them right back to where they started. He wasn’t using his gifts to break into places. In fact, he wasn’t really using them at all, but Kolby knew he had potential. They started working on forming a team, eventually meeting up with a woman who could possess other people’s bodies, and a time traveling psychiatrist. And so Garen Ashlock begins to propel Quivira Boyce to the past, so she can take over someone’s life temporarily, and fix whatever went wrong in the original history. Dr. Mallory Hammer provides medical and psychological support, while Kolby does everything else. He maintains facilities, and makes sure the people Quivira switches bodies with have everything they need to be comfortable, and feel safe. Most of all, it’s his job to do what he does best. He protects.

The Mystery of Springfield, Kansas: Chapter Four

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As part of my research into Analion, which is this window manufacturing company I’ve never heard of, I look at their website. I have lots of different windows open at the same time, and I’m multitasking, because sometimes that’s just how I work. I stop everything else I’m doing, however, when I find a picture of all the Vice Presidents, because I recognize every single one of them. They’re the kids who disappeared at the same time as Rothko Ladhiffe. They’re a little older now, so they don’t look exactly the same, but it is undoubtedly them. I just can’t believe it. I should have kept better track of them, but I was just so obsessed with protecting Springfield, so everything beyond its borders seemed irrelevant. So not only did they stick together, but they formed a company. I don’t recognize the President, or the Executive Vice President, though. Either the two of them are even more powerful than these kids, or there’s some other reason they’re not just in control of the place themselves.

Regardless of whether there’s a mystical artifact in the President’s office, I need answers, and it’s about goddamn time that these vice presidents give it to me. I rush out of the coffee shop to jump in my car, only then remembering that I don’t bloody have one. I barely got to Topeka, but now I have to figure out how to get out of it. That will be next to impossible, because I don’t have an identity anymore either. Though I was outside the boundaries of Springfield when it made its final descent into the void, I had no life elsewhere. I’ve tried getting back to my bank account, and the like, but they’ve been erased. I might as well have never been born. Completely out of options, I just start walking. I don’t plan on getting all the way there like this, but maybe I can bum another ride from a nice man in a truck.

No truck, but a man does approach me after a half hour of wandering on the streets. “Kallias Bran?”

“Huh?”

“Is your name Detective Kallias Bran?”

I just stand there in shock. Who the hell is this guy? “Yeah?”

“I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

I instinctively place my hand at my hip, readying my sidearm.

The stranger pulls an envelope from his coat pocket.

“What’s this?”

“Money.”

“Money? Why are you giving me money?”

His face betrays some slight level of horror. “Wait, I did this wrong. I totally messed up my line. I’m supposed to call it a letter. We need to go back and try again.”

He snaps his finger and disappears. I revert back to the position I was in just before he showed up, as does everyone around me. He’s just reset time.

He walks up again. “Kallias Bran?”

“We’re not gonna try it again. Just tell me what the money’s for.”

He looks surprised. “You remember that? But...but, I reset time.”

“Yeah, I’m immune to some of those things,” I explain to him, not fully understanding it myself. “What do you want?”

“Ah crap. It was this whole bit. It’s not raining, though, so I don’t know why we were trying.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“The money is just for you, to spend as needed. We are aware that you are in a bind, and require transport to Kansas City. I am not authorized to transport you myself, but this should be enough.”

I look through the envelope he hands me for the second time, and thumb it open. “There’s, like, thirty thousand dollars in here.”

“There is?” he asks, still just as surprised as maybe he always is. “Oh, here ya go.”

He flicks the envelope with his finger, which causes a second envelope to magically appear just under the first one. He does it two more times, and I nearly drop them all on the ground.

“I don’t need a hundred and twenty thousand dollars either.”

“Oh, that’s only a hundred twenty? I’m not great at math.” He tries to flick them again.

“No, no, no. That’s quite all right. I would just like to know who you are, and why you care what I do?”

“Have you ever heard of a deus ex machina? God in the machine?”

“Yeah...” I say, because I sorta remember that from High School English class.

He smiles and tips his hat. “Sometimes the machine breaks down. I’m The Repairman.” Then he disappears, leaving in his place a greenish bag.

I open the bag, but close it quickly. Of course, it’s more money; at least a million, probably closer to two. A little note is safety pinned to the handle. As I read with my eyes, I can hear an actual real-life narration in my head. “We have reviewed your case, and determined that about twenty-six years have been stolen from your life. Though we cannot fully repair the damage caused by the temporal anomaly, we hope these funds will sufficiently compensate for any loss in wealth that you should be enjoying from those years of hard work.” There’s a post-script on the back. “Do not spend any of this on a bus ticket. You have a magic door knob that can cross into other dimensions.”

I don’t spend the money on a bus, but I do figure out how to command the Escher Knob to take me to the Kansas City bus station. Here I stash the cash in a locker since I don’t really have anywhere else. I try to get the knob to take me to the upper levels of Analion Tower, but it won’t do it. I pull up the memory of the pictures I saw of the building from their website. D’uh, I can’t magically teleport myself in there. The building itself was constructed into the shape of a cylicone, which is the same technology used to make the Escher Knob work. It’s basically warded against unauthorized entry, like a giant safehouse. When you can manipulate time to the degree of the kids I know from Springfield, you’re bound to form an enemy or two, so it’s no surprise they sought protection. They can’t hide from me, though. I simply pull up a trusty map of the city, and Knob to the closest building. Then I just walk.

I get into the lobby, but security won’t let me by, because what reason would they have to do so? I could have all the money in the world, but I would still be nobody. As grateful as I am to that Repairman, and whoever he may be working with, I would have been happy with just a driver’s license. I leave the lobby and sit down on a bench next to a lavish water fountain. I open my bag and examine my resources. Okay, I already know the knob won’t work. I don’t know exactly what the HG Goggles do, but probably nothing useful right now. What I could really use is some psychic paper, but all I got is this half-empty pack of gum, a broken shoestring I’ve been meaning to toss, and the Rothko Torch. Oh and my gun and badge, but I don’t really wanna do that, because what if they look close and try to figure out what Springfield, Kansas is? Plus, I have no official business with the vice presidents, and whether I’m a real law enforcement officer or not, I still respect the badge, and I refuse to abuse its power.

So it looks like we’re back to the flashlight, with its indeterminate power. If the building is cylicone, then time magic should work while inside it, just maybe not against it. From what I’ve learned about these objects, along with other crazy things I’ve encountered throughout most of my adult life, is that you have to be creative, but also remember what things seem to be. The goggles don’t have the power to paint the future, because goggles aren’t a tool for painting. You would need a cylicone paintbrush for that, if such a thing exists. A normal flashlight is used for one thing; to shine light. You can use it to illuminate your path, or it can brighten your surroundings to find something. Or it can be a beacon.

I stride back into the lobby, giving off the impression that I am up to no good, which isn’t what I was going for, but whatever. A security guard standing guard in the corner approaches from the corner of my eye to corner me for security. Before she, or the receptionist, can get anywhere near me, I raise the Rothko Torch up in the air, pointing it towards the top of the giant atrium that runs all the way up. I flip it on, and suddenly feel the light pulling me upwards, like an alien abductee—oh, I’m sorry...an experiencer.

“We got the message.”

I’m standing in a conference room of some kind. At least that’s what it looks like it’s going to be, once they finish construction. Apparently the building isn’t quite ready for prime time, despite being in full use. “Ishimaru,” I say to the one woman in the room with me.

“Hello, detective,” she says.

“You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t teleport in and get me up to speed. What the hell is this place, Yatchiko?”

She looks at the walls in a more general sense. “A failed experiment.”

“What were you trying to do?”

“Save the world,” she answers.

“From a window company?”

“The company was just the beginning. Is the beginning,” she corrects herself.

“Forgive me,” I say to her, “I’ve forgotten what your power was. Are you the one who can read minds, or whatever?”

“No. I can change time. Move things around.”

“I read the literature. The company’s older than you.”

“No, it’s not. I just make people think that.”

“I need your help. I need to find Springfield. I hear you have some kind of astrolabe?”

The word seems to smell bad to her. “I know what you’re talking about. It is not here.”

“Well, I read—”

“Then what you read was fake news,” she interrupted. “The astrolabe couldn’t be further from Analion Tower. I would never let it within these walls.”

“Then what good are you?” I ask callously.

“I’m not,” she says as profound truth.

I let me breath go, realizing only then that I’ve been holding it for however long.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

“Please. I’m desperate. If there are survivors, and they’re lost, or hurt, somewhere, they need my help.”

“Sometimes we help people in ways they don’t want, but instead need. You want to find your missing town, but you need purpose. You’ve lost that, but I can get it back.”

“Whatever you’re about to do...don’t do it.”

She smiled coolly. “It’s done.”

I start to feel drowsy, and then I’m drifting down towards the floor, or maybe my bed. When I wake up, I’m a retired former detective of the Kansas City Police Department.

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Microstory 451: Floor 35 (Part 2)

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Spokesperson: We here at Analion are still in shock at the horrific news of our beloved leader, Alpha’s death. Alpha was a great man, and I don’t believe you could find anyone working for this company who did not feel the same way about him. We also deeply regret the loss of Alpha’s wife, a new temporary receptionist, and another employee who passed from an unrelated incident. At this time, we have no information regarding the nature of Alpha’s death. Nor are we comfortable speculating about exactly what happened with the executive elevator. Any questions regarding these terrible tragedies should be directed towards the appropriate channels, like the police department, and the medical examiner’s office. We would like extend our deepest regrets to the victim’s families, and assure them that we will do everything we can to get to the bottom of these issues, and also that we consider them...part of our family. Um, and then—what the hell is this?

Speechwriter: Go on, you’re not finished yet.

Spokesperson: I am not saying this. It’s all bullshit. You wrote it just now, why am I even bothering to speak it out loud?

Speechwriter: It’s called workshopping. You’re helping me work out the kinks.

Spokesperson: These aren’t kinks, this is meaningless. This just happened, why aren’t we doing something to help? We shouldn’t be up here working on a speech for something that happened two minutes ago.

Speechwriter: Security has ordered us to remain where we are until receiving further instructions.

Spokesperson: Okay, but who is this other employee you’re talking about. How do you know the details?

Speechwriter: Don’t worry about it.

Spokesperson: Nah, this is fishy. None of this feels right. You know something you’re not telling me. You weren’t the least bit surprised to see what we shouldn’t even know for sure is Alpha falling down the atrium. You seem aware of who was in the elevator crash, and now you refuse to explain this other mysterious death. What is going on?

Speechwriter: You wouldn’t understand.

Spokesperson: Try me.

Speechwriter: Have you ever wondered why the pyramids in Egypt were built?

Spokesperson: They’re tombs, or something.

Speechwriter: No, they were designed to focus travel to other planets.

Spokesperson: Oh great, you’re a nutter.

Speechwriter: I’m serious. This building was designed for similar reasons. The atrium serves as an echo chamber. A literal one. It traps temporal disturbances, allowing them to be harnessed.

Spokesperson: What the hell are you talking about?

Speechwriter: Tell me. Do you have any recollection of a group of people known as...the vice presidents?

Microstory 447: Floor 39 (Part 2)

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Omicron: Where the hell are the vice presidents?

Lambda: The who?

Omicron: The vice presidents. This is their floor. I could have sworn I saw them all coming up here.

Lambda: Omicron, this floor is for “future use”. No one works here yet.

Omicron: No, this was specifically designed according to very detailed instructions by the vice presidents.

Lambda: I still have no clue who you’re talking about. Who are the vice presidents?

Omicron: The VPs? Of the company? That we work for?
Lambda: Analion has never had any vice presidents, except for Beta. Alpha was very clear on that. He didn’t want Beta’s title to be sullied by anyone else’s use. It’s just him. Are you looking for Beta?

Omicron: What nonsense are going on about? Of course we have vice presidents. They practically run this place!

Lambda: I think you should probably sit down, and maybe go home. And maybe see a doctor.

Omicron: ...

Lambda: What are you doing now?

Omicron: I’m pulling up our company website so I can show you the leadership profiles and prove to you that I’m...they’re not here.

Lambda: Well, they wouldn’t be since they don’t exist.

Omicron: Who caught the mouse with his bare hands at the end-of-the-year party two years ago?

Lambda: That would be The Cleaner. He did it with a mousetrap. Who would pick up a disease-ridden vermin with their hands?

The Cleaner: It would seem that you are capable of remembering things that you should not be able to?

Lambda: Where the hell did you come from?

The Cleaner: I’m not talking to you.

Omicron: Why does Lambda not remember an entire group of people?

The Cleaner: They tore themselves from the spacetime continuum. It is very interesting that you remember.

Omicron: I don’t understand.

The Cleaner: No, you wouldn’t. But you will. If you’re willing to let me teach you.

Omicron: Teach me what?

The Cleaner: Do you like salmon?

Microstory 446: Floor 40 (Part 2)

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Epsilon: What’s this I hear about pushing Alpha out of the company?

Iota: I don’t know one thing about it.

Epsilon: Omicron and Theta have apparently been working on a completely new business plan. They want to dramatically reduce the workforce and streamline company operations.

Iota: In response to the window crisis?

Epsilon: From what I gather, they’ve wanted to do this for a long time.

Iota: Do you think it’s a good idea?
Epsilon: I have a different idea.

Iota: What might that be.

Epsilon: ...

Iota: You can trust me. Honest.

Epsilon: Omicron wants to shrink the workforce, and to a certain extent, that’s a good idea. A few layoffs here and there will help enrich our team. But what we have here is a management problem. No matter what you say, it all comes down to management.

Iota: What exactly are you suggesting?

Epsilon: We should remove both the president and the vice president...along with the entire Board of Directors. Wash away our past.

Iota: That’s us, Epsilon.

Epsilon: Well, I obviously don’t mean us. We should knock everyone else out.

Iota: No, obviously you do mean to include me. You didn’t come to me with this proposal. I just happen to be in the room right now. You’re telling me on a whim, which means you’ve never intended to keep me on.

Epsilon: I intend to now.

Iota: Because you can’t do it alone.

Epsilon: I won’t apologize for being strategic.

Iota: And what happens when you run into Zeta in the bathroom? Are you gonna pull him into the plan and drop me?

Epsilon: You sound paranoid.

Iota: Can you blame me?

Epsilon: Okay, you’re right. I didn’t generate this plan with the intention of you being my partner, but I did plan on having someone as my partner. And I didn’t choose you because you’re literally in the room. I chose you earlier this morning because I believe you to share the least amount of blame for our company woes. I’m not saying you’re the least responsible besides me. You’re even less at fault than I am. I chose you because I need someone to actually stick around to make this company great. I can’t do it alone, not because it’s too much work, but because I wouldn’t be any good in the aftermath. People like you. They need you. You need to step up and become the next Alpha.

Iota: And you’ll be the next Beta?

Epsilon: I plan on retaining my position on the board.

Iota: ...tell me more.

Microstory 404: Floor 39 (Part 1)

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The vice presidents of Analion did something strange near the beginning of the tower project. The 39th floor was reserved entirely for them, but they instructed the construction team to hold off on it until all other floors had been completed and furnished. This was an odd request, but the construction team accepted it and did as they were told. Their reservations about it remained until the grand opening. There were some complications and setbacks that slowed down their work. Had they spent as much time on the 39th floor as the schedule base had allotted, they would not have completed the job on time. Everyone who realized that the vice presidents were the ultimate cause of the unexpected success assumed that the VPs simply had excellent foresight and time management skills. They did not even consider any other possibility, because what else could it have been? Surely they could not literally see the future? Or could they?

The vice presidents were the most intelligent and insightful members of the company, besides one other. Their problem was that no one ever listened to their ideas. All that work climbing up the corporate ladder, hoping to gain some traction on the future, and nothing seemed to come of it. And so they hatched a plan. Or rather they ceased the plans they had been working tirelessly on since the early days of the organization. They were essentially the only thing standing between the company and its doom. They had always been covertly removing issues from the equation. Very few people were aware of their work, and even fewer were aware that they had stopped. The company started tanking due to the vice presidents’ inaction. Now, that was not to say that they were directly responsible for its demise, they were just tired of keeping it at bay. Their power had grown far beyond anything anyone could comprehend, and Analion was just no longer an appropriate place for them to work. No, it was time to move on. They stood on the 39th floor without anyone having seen them go up there. They stared at the atrium, fully aware of what was about to happen. They then witnessed Alpha’s fall to his death with a cold level of solace, and a perception of slow motion. Alpha perceived it the same way for that brief moment, but was unable to save himself. And then the vice presidents disappeared.

Microstory 76: Night Training

As soon as I go to sleep...

...I wake up. I immediately inject myself with a serum that keeps me from needing sleep. I go over to the corner of my room and open the secret passageway that leads me to a second basement, inside of which is a teleporter. It only goes to one other place, and I’ve never been told exactly where that is. My trainer is always there waiting for me. I’ve been developing my skills in hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, explosives, and wilderness survival. If I need to wake up in the middle of the night, it means that I will have to go back through the teleporter and temporarily slip back into bed. I receive multiple injuries throughout the training sessions; cuts, bruises, and even broken bones. One time, I was sent into the field before I was ready, and was shot in the chest. I had to undergo surgery for a heart transplant, which is why I “slept” 15 hours that night, and missed class. On a normal night, once the session is over, and it’s time for me to wake up for good, I receive medical treatment that heals me almost completely. I go back to my house and inject myself with a serum that suppresses my memories of that night. As soon as I go to sleep...

...I wake up. Throughout the day, I notice a few subtle hints of injuries. Bruises that I don’t remember getting in the first place are nearly gone. I find small cuts and scratches all over my body. My arms and legs are inexplicably sore. One time, I discovered what looks like a scar on my chest, just under my heart. And I was exhausted for no reason for weeks afterwards. It was only then that I started getting suspicious about myself. I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure that someone has been erasing my memories. I must find out who. And I must find out why.

I think my lower self is getting too close to finding out what’s going on.