Microstory 2421: The Wasteland

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This place sucks. I get what they were going for here, but it’s lacking that authenticity that a real post-apocalyptic wasteland would have. Or maybe there’s just no way of making this exciting and interesting. The name says it’s all. It’s just miles and miles of desert, it’s so boring. There are a few burnt out cars strewn about, and some random collapsed structure, but not much else. You’re supposed to take your cues from science fiction from days past, and make your own adventure, but I don’t think it really works all that well. I mean, since it’s not real, there’s no desperation. You can always find an exit, and just leave. I really don’t see this one sticking around. Yeah, it’s all right to watch a two-hour movie about this, but I don’t know that anyone wants to spend any substantial amount of time in this environment. Thinking on it, though, it has to exist. This guy’s got 83,000 domes, and had to come up with almost as many ideas. I don’t think he made it, he doesn’t have quite as much—which is fine, I’m not criticizing; I’m just saying that wasteland is certainly a theme that exists. There are tons of examples in media. It would be kind of weird, actually, if they didn’t use it. There seems to only be one like this, which is probably a good thing. Many domes are based on particular franchises, but in the end, all wastelands are about the same, so you probably shouldn’t make more than one. I doubt most people would be interested in even seeing it once. I can’t recommend coming here at all. Maybe they’ll add more intrigue later, with robots that have their own programmed motivations, but if they’re expecting us to do all of the heavy lifting, I just don’t see enough people getting into it. There’s another desert dome where your only goal is surviving long enough to make it clear across to the other side. Try that one instead. At least the incentive is clear. My recommendation to the builders is that they should put the ruins of more buildings here. If the world were to end in such a scenario, it’s not like everything would be flattened and buried, ya know? There would still be stuff here to show that a human civilization once thrived. Just a thought, you don’t have to change anything if you don’t want to.

Microstory 2352: Vacuus, June 1, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Oh no! I’m sorry that you’re going through all that! There must be some way to make new friends without just having to meet them organically. That doesn’t really work when you’re as old as we are. It’s more of a kid thing, but even then, it really only happens if you belong to the same class, or are in the same football team. We...don’t have sports teams here, of course, but I’ve read about them in books. Since you should have more space under the dome, I’m guessing sports are still a thing for you? Maybe you don’t do them yourself, but do you have any other interests, like knitting or stamp collecting? Sorry, I just searched our database for hobbies, and I’m listing the first ones that catch my eye. I don’t have any myself, unless you count watching TV. There’s so much content from the before-fore times, and it’s the easiest thing to do while I’m at work. There’s no collecting up here, and there aren’t many opportunities to make things either. It takes resources, and I would rather pay my friend to make something for me than do it myself. Not that I would like it at any rate. I’m just saying that our past times are really limited on the base. Anything that requires the use of a computer or something is the easiest because I’m paying monthly for access anyway, and power is sort of worth whatever it takes, because again, there’s not much else. I’m sure you have limitations too. Man, I really wish they hadn’t poisoned the Earth. I mean, obviously I hate that because it’s bad, but also because you otherwise could have regaled me with stories of how amazing and different life is in the clean air. I could have actually known someone who has been skiing or whitewater rafting. Ugh, that’s probably enough fantasizing about the perfect world. I’m just going to go watch another episode of Nature Wars. Have you heard of it? It’s a reality competition that’s all about going out into nature, and leaving pollution behind. Back then, that was possible, and you didn’t even have to do it on top of a freezing cold mountain.

Living vicariously through our ancestors,

Corinthia

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 17, 2398

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Technically, this next error that they’re investigating is a lot closer than Wyoming. It’s right in the heart of the Plaza in Kansas City, but Ramses chose to put it off, because he was pretty sure that Erlendr was on Brooks Lake, and that seemed more urgent. Interestingly, they’re in the shopping block where they first searched for the Salmon Civic Center, which doesn’t exist in this reality. Alyssa has been spending her free time monitoring the cameras that they have set up in the parking lot where everyone seems to appear, and no one has come through since Vearden several weeks ago. If someone is looking for the Civic Center, they’ve been looking for a real long time. Mateo has made up a story in his headcanon to explain that as they’re wandering around the block. He thinks that maybe a traveler showed up for the predictable reason, inadvertently drawing attention to themselves. Someone who runs one of these businesses noticed him, and they got to chatting, which eventually led to a job. The traveler is still around, because they work somewhere close now.

“That would be a decent story, and it may yet prove true, but there’s something different about this one.” Ramses is wielding a portable brain scanner, and is waving it around, hoping to detect their target.

“What’s that?” Mateo asks.

“The satellite orbited two dozen times before it stopped—or disappeared, as it were. In that time, ten brains produced ten errors two dozen times. One brain, however, produced an error only once.”

“Where was it during all the other scans?” Mateo questions, pretty sure that Ramses doesn’t know for sure.

“I can’t say for sure,” Ramses answers, “but funny enough, the orbital pass where it appeared happened at exactly midnight central Saturday night.”

“The club,” Mateo realizes. “The Salmonday Club only exists in an extra temporal dimension. I can’t remember what it’s called.”

“The Facsimile,” Ramses replies. “If my calculations are correct, it should be right around...here.” He stops at a dirty off-white wall.”

“That’s why we’re here so late.”

Ramses checks his watch. “We’re here just in time.” He pulls out a syringe, and prepares to inject himself with it.

“You’re going to teleport us in?”

“If our target is in there, they may not be able to get out, which implies the door that’s supposed to be in this spot doesn’t magically appear at 23:59:30. Ours may be the only way in or out.”

Mateo nods.

Ramses injects himself with the temporal energy-infused water. He lets it run through his bloodstream, then checks his watch again. “Are you ready?”

“You warned Leona where we might go, right?”’

“Of course.” Ramses winks, and takes Mateo by the shoulders. Once his watch beeps, he teleports them both through the temporal window.

They end up in the club, or what used to be the club. Now it’s a dirty and abandoned empty space with light trickling in from a collapsed roof, and mold growing on the walls. Ramses holds up his scanner, and tries to find the signal. Once he catches it, they exit the building, and head down the street. It too has been abandoned. Entire buildings have collapsed, vines have taken over. Cars have been burnt up. This is a post-apocalypse world. If anyone is living here, it’s not easy for them, and it’s not fun. Ramses continues to follow the signal only a short distance to the Ponce de Leon. It’s the only thing left standing in all its former glory. Someone is performing maintenance for it, and they likely live in this dimension’s version of the Bran safehouse.

They walk up the stairs, and knock on the door. They hear shuffling on the other side. A  very old man answers, and peers at them. He stares for quite a while, barely able to hold his own weight up. “I’m afraid there’s no way out.” He turns, and begins to walk towards the kitchen. “But there’s still tea, if you want it.” He sets a pot on a gas burner, and lights it. There’s no electricity, so he’s living like a camper in many ways. The unit is clean, though, and tidy. He takes pride in his space, even if no one else could ever have seen it until today.

“My name is Ramses Abdulrashid, and this is my associate, Mateo Matic. How long have you been trapped in this dimension?”

He looks up and to the left as he checks his memory archives. “Since Christmas Eve, 2022. The Cleanser trapped me here. He didn’t take too kindly to me helping one of his victims get her life back. Maybe you know her, Siria Webb?”

“We do,” Mateo answers.

“How was she doing?” the old man asks.

“She was all right when we left her,” Ramses replies, “but she never mentioned you, so you may have seen her more recently than we.”

The man nods. “Well, I’m Mackenzie Dodge, former proprietor of the Salmonday Club, and current sole occupier of this world. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

“We think we can get you out,” Mateo tells him. “We came here intentionally, strongly suspecting that someone was trapped. I can’t imagine being alone for over 370 years. It must have been hard.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Mackenzie says with a laugh as he’s preparing the tea bags. “This place only exists on the eighth day of the week.”

“Right.” Mateo looks over to Ramses.

He does the math in his head. “More than fifty-three years.”

“That’s still a lot, sir,” Mateo says.

Mackenzie smiles. “It is, but—” He suddenly grasps his head, and hisses in pain.

“Oh, no,” Mateo laments.

Before they can do anything, the patch of timonite on Mackenzie’s head spreads throughout his body, and spirits him away to the Sargan Forest. The two of them just stare at the kitchen counter in horror.

“Come on,” Ramses says. “I have to get back to my lab.”

“Are we not going to talk about what just happened?”

“Only so that I can say that it’s not your fault.

“Yes, it is.” Once is an occurrence, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is a pattern. From Mateo’s perspective, twice is evidence enough. Even if he’s not the cause of this issue, he’s certainly not helping. This investigation is going to have to move on without him. His connection to timonite and the bulkverse is too strong to let him just run around free, ruining people’s lives.

Microstory 1652: Safe as Houses

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I’ve decided to give you some details about how the Bicker Institute survival facilities are populated, and how they operate. Forty-nine people are rescued from each of three generations. They are protected from birth, all the way until they age out of the program at 42. If all goes according to plan, they are unaware that they are Inheritors, or that they are being watched, until it’s time to populate the Houses. As medical science progressed, the method used for selecting the next generation of inheritors became more sophisticated, but the basic idea remained the same. Thirty-one girls, and eleven boys per generation per House are meant to be able to repopulate the planet, should all other life be extinguished, for whatever reason. They would be joined by seven people they deem wildcards. These wildcards are not closely monitored by Sentinels, and their genetic makeup is kept a mystery. They are chosen to better simulate real life, where people do not choose mates based upon genetic health or diversity. The wildcards also rotate in and out of the program more often, as things change about their situations. Inheritor housing assignments are part of a complex process, later aided by an artificial intelligence. One might be placed in a House on the other side of the world, should their genes be compatible with a group there, and there is also a social component that they try to account for. Wildcards, on the other hand, are selected based on their proximity to any given House, and should they move, they might be taken out of contention without ever knowing it. Older generation wildcards are chosen specifically for their useful professions, which the Institute believes could help the Houses prosper. Two soldiers, two law enforcement officers, two doctors, two nurses, one paramedic, one EMT, a midwife, a doula, a cook, and a leader.

The breeders are not alone in the facilities. Seven people who belonged to the Institute the entire time will be there to help guide the inheritors, and maintain order. These include a leader, a primary medical professional, an engineer, an electrician, a mechanic, a gardener, and a logistician. As for the Houses themselves, there is a standard design foundation, but each one is unique, and they are not all bunkers. There are some commonalities that they need for the people living in them to be safe, and feel comfortable. Of course they all have sleeping quarters, with extras for a growing population. They will also have a gym, kitchen and cafeteria, bathrooms, microponics for food production, and storage for non perishable food items, as well as other necessities, such as water treatment, sewage, ventilation and climate control, and extra supplies. As far as the actual bunkers  go, they’re a lot more comfortable than one might expect. They could have made things simple, just by burying one large building underground, and letting people sleep on cots. But they spent the extra money, and went the extra mile. Everyone gets their own room, until they pair up, and start moving around. The furniture is nice and new, and everything is well-maintained. Like any good survival strategy, this system includes redundancies, and even modularization. The different sections of a bunker won’t physically move away from each other, but they can be closed off, and last independently, for a period of time. The three biggest concerns are radiation, incursion, and flood. Though no system is perfect, this one is pretty thorough, and well planned. There is even a smaller bunker section in the deepest part of the facility that’s filled with those cots, should the rest of the structure become compromised. Not all of the Houses made it through the end of the world, but enough of them do to keep the human race alive, and when it all comes down to, that’s all anyone in the Bicker Institute was hoping for.

Microstory 1565: The Snow in Texas

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Prompt

It’s been snowing for two weeks straight, which is strange for Texas. I’m starting to think my great aunt is right, and God really is angry with us.

Botner

I hope he gives us a good snowfall to make up for it. In case you haven’t heard, Today’s Church of Christ has put out a press release announcing the “end of days”. The holy-rollers are taking over the white wood chairs. Arguably the biggest “Christian” publication on the planet, Christianity Today, had a front page story yesterday saying that the world is at “the end of days”. In fact, they suggested that it is already here. Well, get a load of this guy: If the Bible is accurate, these are the end times and, if so, Jesus is the only one who can save us from all the evil in the world. The question is, if there are some who don’t believe it, what do they believe? What a perfect way to answer that question: Saint Peter, shut the door. I told you so. I love the idea that God would get that upset with us for going around unregenerate people. But it seems kind of random that the desire for knowledge is a sin? It seems to me that the more involved in the Word of God you are, the...

Conclusion

...less likely you are to accept the diversity in others. There’s a lot of intolerance in organized religion, and I have no interest in being part of it. The snow in Texas has nothing to do with God, or the “end of days”. It’s the climate, and the climate is because of us. People don’t want to admit it; not because they’re stupid, but because doing so would force them to acknowledge that we have not done enough to fix it. We’re leaving lights on, and driving too much, and using too many straws. Things won’t magically get better on their own, but if you lie to yourself, and pretend like there’s nothing you can do about it—that the climate is the way it is exclusively due to natural patterns—then you’re off the hook. You can keep doing whatever it is you’re doing without changing any of your behavior, or making more work for yourself. It’s true that there are a lot of greedy people out there who have no stake in the future. They’re old, and they’ll die soon, and they don’t think they’ll have to worry about the consequences. By helping destroy the environment, they’ve not only doomed the rest of us, but they’ve also built up enough wealth for themselves so that, should the consequences appear while they’re still around, they’re better equipped to deal with them. Ted Cruz is a senator from Texas who rejects the idea of climate breakdown, and he’s made a lot of money upon that platform. Funny enough, he’s completely free from the snow storms ravaging his state. He literally left, and took a nice vacation in sunny Cancún. I wrote the prompt for this installment weeks ago, long before this happened to Texas, which doesn’t prove that I’m prescient, but that this was inevitable, because unlike Cruz, I accept scientific facts as they are. These rich people in power aren’t going to do anything about the environment, because it doesn’t matter to them. This means that it is up to us. We have to remove them from their roles, and elect decent leaders, who believe in the facts, and willingly work towards the greater good, rather than their selfish, unsustainable, despicable priorities.

Microstory 1564: Plantworld

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Prompt

Everyone thought that robots or aliens would take over the world, but no one considered the possibility that sentient plants would grow out of control.

Botner

That’s what this bizarre creature from Tokyo seems to be: a strolling rose that puts us to shame with its round-about conversation, longevity, and willingness to prostrate itself before unsuspecting passersby. The rose, a forget-me-not, started out life as a normal plant in the garden of Urayasu City’s Chuo Ward. Initially, it was a member of the quiet ground cover family, but a sudden surge of excitement occurred among the neighborhood’s residents after a rose began growing up and out of its pot. According to the plant’s owner, the guy who brought home the forget-me-not in the first place, the plant’s red flowers, which were not there before, are supposed to signify good luck. At this point, the standard human reaction would be to marvel at the skill of the plant’s operator, who has apparently decided to use its many complicated arms and legs to celebrate Japan’s 125th year of reign in the world’s foremost soccer league. However, the rose is showing some unpredictable behaviors.

Conclusion

It’s not begging to drink human blood, or inject poison into victims. All its doing is multiplying, so rapidly that it can’t be stopped. Scientists tried to find a way to kill it, but before they made any progress, everything changed. The forget-me-not started to impact the plantlife around it, effectively transforming everything else into an invasive species. The spores get on clothes, and fur, and spread around. Not only do new plants grow from this, but also command nearby plants to do the same. In a matter of weeks, the entire island is covered in plants and flowers. They adapt to grow out of the cracks in buildings, and up through the floors. They thrive in the sun, in arid land, and even in saltwater. In months, all of Asia has been overcome, and the rest of the world will surely follow suit. People start to cut back on the brush as much as possible, to carve out some small area of livable land, but it doesn’t last long. It all grows back. People don’t die off as much as other apocalyptic scenarios would predict. There’s plenty of food to eat now, and it’s possible to just live in the wild, using natural shelters, like trees. So it’s only civilization that falls, while the population itself continues. It’s not as interesting anymore, as any plant or vine will destroy any attempt to establish lines of communication, and it’s also lonely, but we continue. We continue in our little isolated pockets like this, and if anyone came up with a solution to the problem, it wouldn’t be a simple thing to get that information to others. My family and I just decide that this is how life on this planet is, and there’s no way of going back to the way it was before. Then everything changes again. I leave camp for my daily walk alone, and come across a plant I see all over the place. But this one is different. It starts to speak to me. It asks me who I am, and what my intentions are. Soon, all the plants around me are speaking. I run back to camp, and tell my family, but they don’t know what I’m talking about. Only I can communicate with them, and now...it’s my duty to do so.

Microstory 1430: Hidden Depths

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If Fort Frontline was designed to protect the Durune humans from the monsters by standing before them, Hidden Depths was designed to hide themselves away. Watershed was a fairly difficult place to navigate. It was the only place with fresh water, but getting to it required climbing over rocks, and negotiating other impediments. While Parade was built as close to it as a surface town could be, while still on dry land, it wasn’t technically the closest place, full stop. Watershed was located at the bottom of a foothill that was up against a small mountain range. On the other side of the hill was a valley. This valley received none of the water from Watershed, and none of the seeds that were still being randomly transported there from Earth. So it was a lifeless place, rocky and dirty, and unfit for settlement. Unless that was exactly what you wanted. With a little bit of tunneling, water could be sent to this location. People had just never thought to do it before, because there was little point, but when the sixth town was first being conceived, they decided it was time to change that. They figured that the time monsters would not be able to find them there, precisely because it was so remote. Just because it didn’t look like a logical place to find humans to attack, didn’t mean they couldn’t be there. The workers dug that tunnel from Watershed to pipe water directly to them, and they built more tunnels for living spaces. They used their water source to irrigate hydroponic gardens, and slept in their underground bunkers. They were like a true group of survivalists. Other people thought they were weird for wanting to do this, but it made perfect sense to them. Doomsday preppers on Earth were all waiting for the world to end, and the residents of Hidden Depths determined that this was exactly what had happened. They were trapped on a mostly dead planet, faced relentless attackers daily, and technological advancement had all but been halted. If that wasn’t an apocalypse, they didn’t know what everyone else was waiting for.

Travel to and from was restricted. They had no reason to believe monsters were capable of surveilling them, but if the people living there wanted to stay hidden, it seemed a little weird to make that more difficult. Visitors weren’t illegal, just limited. If someone did want to see what Hidden Depths looked like, they had to go there with a very specific mage, who was capable of camouflaging a small area with his time powers. Basically, what she did was show any outside observer what a given spot looked like when she and her group weren’t standing there. That made them effectively invisible, so if a monster ever did try to find the location of the sixth town, they wouldn’t be able to follow anyone there. Hidden Depths was completely self-sustainable, and did not interact much with the other towns. They didn’t hate the others, and the others didn’t hate them, but their values were too misaligned to justify taking part in a lot of trade, or the same celebratory events. Mages protected this new town, but there were fewer of them, and since the word border had to be replaced with the term above ground in their case, they didn’t really patrol. They just kept themselves available, in case anything went wrong. They were more successful than anyone else in their mission. In the three decades they were around before the Monster War finally ended, they were not attacked even once. And when the Mage Protectorate fell immediately afterwards, they were the only ones truly prepared to thrive during the Interstitial Chaos that followed.

Microstory 973: Survival

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This slot was originally scheduled for Healthcare (When It Works) but since I know very little about countries and regions where it works, it didn’t seem appropriate. All I know is that Usonia isn’t one of them, but that’s all I’ll say about it, other than mentioning the fact that Obamacare saves lives. Instead, I’m going to take this opportunity to admit that I’m a survivalist. The only differences between me and the doomsday preppers you see on television is that I’m smart enough to not advertise all my secret plans to the world, and also I don’t have any. Some preppers have the money to build or commission bunkers. Others have purchased luxury space in old missile silos; dumping tons of money into something they probably won’t ever need. The less wealthy kind of prepper just squirrels away food and resources as they can, and reinforces their homes as much as possible. These tend to rely on their firepower, because they believe profoundly in gun ownership, so they would be spending money on them either way. I’m not any of these things; I really just come up with end-of-the-world stories, and have trouble distinguishing them from reality, which is true of all my stories. And that reality is that the end of the world probably wouldn’t happen all of the sudden. Yeah, maybe a supervolcano will erupt without warning, or an asteroid will decimate these lands. It’s an interesting thought experiment. Assuming you survive the initial event, what would you do next? Are you a series regular on this post-apocalypse series, or just zombie fodder? The most likely scenarios, however, will involve a slow-burn of destruction. Hell, we might be heading towards the end of civilization right now, and not know it. King Dumpster is certainly doing his level best to make that happen. Just like the truth behind most holidays, no single day will mark the end. Institutions will slowly erode. People will stop having faith in their leadership, and the market will drop steadily as fear replaces hope. Before the nuclear missiles fly off to enemy countries, sanctions and bad trade deals will create extreme tension amongst once-friends. Allies will leverage each other for control, until there’s nothing left to control but a big pile of crap. Sure, maybe the bombs will drop on everyone, but the most likely outcome is that people will just give up on life. Governments won’t be able to survive anymore. Ineffective factions will attempt to take their place, but a lack of vision, and no sustainable distribution of resources will just make things worse. Infrastructure will fall, and no matter how deep you dig into the ground, your life will have no meaning. You’ll live on down there, but nothing will get better, so if you’ve already had children, it’s best that they don’t. I’m fascinated by disaster scenarios, but those stories only ever end one of two ways. Either everyone dies, or the cataclysm gives rise to a societal phoenix. They usually ignore the possibility that we’ll trudge on long after any arbitrary defining moment, until our descendants suffer diminishing returns. So I guess what I really love isn’t survival, but civilization. I love the world, so let’s do everything we can to protect it, and make it better.

Microstory 876: Deer to My Heart

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When the first of the monsters started cropping up in the public, a lot of people thought they knew what they were dealing with. They had pale skin, sharp fangs, and drank human blood, presumably to survive. They only came out at night, and they seemed to be multiplying. People reported that their loved ones, who were once perfectly normal, suddenly acted different, and went after them like all the other attackers. Vampires. That was the word people were using to classify these new beings, because that was the one that made the most sense. Naturally, we assumed we understood what that meant, and how to fight them off. We were so wrong. What we discovered the hard way was that they would not be killed by the sun, or by ultraviolet light. They came out at night because their bodies preferred cooler weather, but that didn’t mean heat was deadly to them. They could be killed with fire, or decapitation, but that goes for just about any living creature on the planet. We also thought a vampire could be killed with a wooden stake to the heart, but a great many humans were either killed, or turned, failing to make that work. Though not impossible to kill, vampires were tough, and strong. It took more military prowess than the average civilian could demonstrate, unlike in the movies, where average joes band together, and save the day. It was I who discovered their unusual weakness, and I did it accidentally. Like any good doomsday prepper, I had a plan to escape the city, and just wait this out somewhere remote. Like a good doomsday prepper with no money, my plan was limited to a few ready-to-eat meals saved up, and some camping gear. I couldn’t afford a bunker, or a road tank, so my best bet was to just hope to find some small sliver of land away from the struggle.

I made my way out of town when the first legitimate reports came in, and monitored the situation via crank radio. I drove up to the nearest significant wooded area, which was Aldenroda National Park. Then I just started living off the land, finding food using the knowledge I gained from video tutorials online before this all happened, and supplementing what I never learned with instinct and improvisation. After a couple of weeks, things were getting worse in civilization, but I had still not encountered a single vampire myself. By then, anyone still around knew that wooden stakes and daylight wouldn’t help them, including me. I felt fairly safe where I was, but winter was literally coming, and I would die from good ol’ fashioned hypothermia if I didn’t travel south, or find some better shelter. Fortunately, I happened upon an abandoned cabin that was perfect. It was pretty well insulated, had a nice fireplace, and a good bed. I was doing even better than before when a vampire showed up out of nowhere, looking for some dinner. There weren’t any samurai swords around, and I didn’t think I was clever enough to set the guy on fire, so my options were death, or switching sides. Desperate for door number three, I grabbed the nearest weapon I could find, which was a set of deer antlers the cabin’s real owner evidently never got around to hanging up. They had just left them on the floor, and so had I. The vampire thought he had me cornered, but I got lucky when he accidentally fell onto the antlers, and straight up died. I was shocked and relieved. I had stumbled upon perhaps the easiest way to kill these things, and no one else knew about it. I now had a new pair of choices; continue to use this revelation to my advantage, or go back to the outside world, and spread the word. The choice was obvious. The world had never done anything for me, so screw ‘em. They can all die, for all I care. I’m the only person who matters now, I thought. Yet fifty years later, I’ll be dying soon anyway, and humanity is still here. I impart the secret of the antlers to you, stranger. Use it wisel—what are you doing with that machete?

Microstory 865: Cashier or Credit

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After seven years, the war is finally over, and wouldn’t you know it, it ended in peace. No side truly won over the other, but compromises were made. Hell would continue to house all the dead bad people, but exactly what qualifies as bad would be drastically altered. There would also be limitations on the conditions of the hellscape, rendering the place more depressing and banal than torturous. Heaven would be turned over completely to be run by the hypostates, with very little cross traffic, save for checks and balances. Earth would be left mostly to its own devices, with an interesting twist. Any demon wishing to relinquish their connection to the other realms would be free to start new lives, alongside living humans, with no repercussions. The apostates agreed to this, not thinking it would make any difference. A surprisingly high number of demons wanted to live with mortals, which was actually rather beneficial to the global economy. The world was primed to restabilize after the apocalypse, but that didn’t mean demons were automatically awarded decent jobs, or that they would be happy about it, or that they would not revert to their old ways. Most of them ended up with dead-end, minimum wage, high school jobs. If you were a law-abiding demon who went an entire workday without doing anything with trash, you were lucky, just that good, or had brilliant connections. With this in mind, I get into the line at the grocery store that’s being run by a demon cashier. The woman ahead of me is wearing that infamous tattoo, indicating that she was a warrior for The Lightbringer during the war, which explains why she’s the only other human willing to risk it. I’m here because demons don’t bother me that much, and the other lines are far too long. It doesn’t hurt that the demon cashier is extremely beautiful. I identified as pansexual even before the armies of darkness brought hellfire to the surface, as many people did. I know a lot of others started questioning their sexuality when that happened, never having before been confronted with the puzzle of how to feel about someone who we would best be described as a monster. I had no problem with it, and were we not literal born enemies, I would have considered a relationship with a demon years ago. I treat individuals individually, and try not to judge people until I know more about what they’ve been through. The warrior takes her groceries, along with the fiver that the cashier tried to pocket. She doesn’t even argue about it; she just gets it back, and walks away. I throw my own stuff on the belt, and try to swipe my credit card. The cashier tells me that the reader is broken, and she’ll have to swipe it for me. Extra cautious from what she tried to do to the warrior, I watch her carefully, easily catching her slipping the card into her cleavage while replacing it with another one. She tries to give me the wrong one, likely hoping I’ll put it away without even looking. I politely ask for the right one, and remind her to return this other one to its rightful owner. “And one more thing,” I say. Her eyes dart over to her supervisor. This may be the straw that causes the camel to fire her. “Would you like to get some coffee sometime?”

Microstory 856: A Bridge Too Far

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We’re walking slowly, which I’m grateful for, because even though I’m in good enough health to move as fast as these horses normally walk, not everyone here is. The guy tied behind me is absolutely emaciated. He must not have eaten for weeks. If the men leading us to our deaths were pulling us along as fast as they sometimes do, he would probably fall down and die right here. I look up at the lead ranger. He has kind eyes, but they’re also sad. He feels a lot of empathy, and does not appear to personally want to be doing this, but it’s his job. He notices the starving man as well, so when the other guards aren’t looking, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of bread. He hands it to me, and jerks his head over my shoulder. If he weren’t asking me to give it to the other one, I would have done it anyway. And I’m not just saying that because I’m going to die anyway, because I’m not. Unlike everyone else here, I’m lucky to have lived in this county most of life, and I know a secret about these tracks that no one else does. No one here is going to die; not if they listen to every word I say, and trust me. Execution by train is a fairly new concept in these lands. In the olden days, it was too dangerous; While 999 times out of a thousand, the train would be fine, that thousandth execution could lead to a derailment. Now that even rural areas used maglev trains, the government decided it was a good way of getting rid of its undesirables. It’s quick, and nearly impossible to survive, and they always do it over a high bridge, so the bodies fall off, and disappear downstream. If the prisoners try to escape, they’ll just fall and die anyway, so no harm done. They picked the wrong bridge today, though.

The extremely tall man ahead of me is actin’ real shifty-like. I can see his eyes dart from side to side, and he’s twisting the rope on his wrists, hoping to eventually get them off. But even if he does, he’s only a third of the way there. All of our arms are tied to the stomach of the man in front of us. All of our ankles are tied together as well, and the same goes for our necks. It’s possible to shake these restraints, but by the time you get all the way done, a guard has noticed, and then he’ll just shoot ya. Some men try this, thinking it better to die from a bullet to the head than the strike of a train goin’ four hundred miles an hour. They may be right, but chances are, they’ll be caught quickly enough to just be tied back up, and then it was pointless. Other prisoners have tried coordinating massive escape plans, which caused the guards to keep people scheduled for the same time and place locked up in separate locations until it was time to go. That didn’t stop every attempt, so they started adding emaciated people like the poor schmuck behind me, so the team has no chance of getting too far. Fortunately for this group here, they’re with me, and I have a plan; a plan that doesn’t work if the guy ahead of me tries his own fool’s errand. I sneak up when even the nice guard isn’t looking, and try to whisper to the other prisoner that he needs to trust me. We have to make it all the way to the bridge for this to work, and it will work, but he has to let go of whatever he’s thinking. He doubts me, but he knows how hopeless his situation is, so in the end, he gives up and agrees. Just in time too, because a guard turns around, and starts lookin’ at us suspiciously.

As we step onto the bridge, we begin to feel the vibrations, and hear the train up ahead. One of the guards urges us on. It’s best for us to be nearly on the other side, so we’re not thrown clear back to the road. But there’s a special spot on this bridge for what I want to happen to work, and it’s about three-quarters of the way there. I whisper up to the guy ahead of me again, and also the guy behind that they need to jump when I say. I can’t get any message up to the other prisoners, so the weight of us three will just have to pull them over. We hit the spot, and I can see the greenish ripple in the air that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t staring at it. I scream for them to jump, and we jump. The guards try to stop us, but they’re not strong enough, nor do they think we have any hope of surviving the fall. What they don’t know is that the ripple in the air will transport you to the other side of town in an instant. No one in the county knows what it is, or how it got there, but we all know about it, and we all agreed to never tell anyone else. The old world is over, though, so the secret no longer matters. I remember jumping through the ripple as a child, and having so much fun with it. I also remember the three kids who died because they missed the ripple. You gotta go right at that ripple, or you just fall. Other people grew out of the exhilaration, but I never did. I continued to enjoy it all the way up until the world turned to crap, and today, I’m extremely grateful for it. We land on the edge of the Humphrey Farm, just like we’re meant to. I’m the only one on my feet, but the others scramble up quickly, relieved and excited about what happened, but still so very confused. I smile, and help the man ahead of me get his ropes off. The others start helping each other too, and we make plans to get as far away from here as possible, but then we hear rustling in the trees behind us. A half dozen men with guns come out and grin at us. One of them points his shotgun right at my gut, and cackles. “You didn’t think we knew about the spatial distortion, did ya? Glad to disappoint.” Then the firing squad squeeze their triggers.

Microstory 853: Sleeping Gods Lie

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I am a dreamwalker, which not only means that I can enter other people’s dreams, but also exercise full control of my faculties while I’m traveling. Most people believe that dreams are just the mind’s way of understanding their past experiences, and consolidating new information. Though this is indeed true of sleep’s biological necessity, it is not the full story. The unconscious mind is capable of entering independent parallel universes, called branes. These worlds are inhabited by free-thinking individuals who generally aren’t aware that you don’t really belong. They also don’t last very long after you wake up, because you were the only thing keeping their world alive. There are some worlds, however, that are created by someone else, but which you can enter while asleep. Dreamers can’t usually tell the difference, but since I have such acute control over where my mind goes, I can actually do this on purpose. I don’t do it for fun, though. Many years ago, I started noticing some odd behavior from the “locals”. They expressed an awareness that they lived in a simulated reality, even though that description does not really do them justice. They are real, just short-lived, except these people weren’t even that, because they lived in dreamworlds that should have long ago collapsed. I started tracking these strange occurrences, hoping it would lead me to the source of the problems. It took me weeks of real time, but I finally figured out where the culprit lived. At first, I thought I had just met another dreamwalker; one using his power to harm others. I even entertained the possibility that he had learned how to deliberately stabilize dreamworlds, and perhaps didn’t realize that he was harming them. But the truth was far more sinister than I could have imagined...and I have a pretty good imagination. I found myself face to face with a god-monster that had started out merely as a non-playable character in someone’s dream, but had spontaneously become self-aware, and was now spreading his evil influence to others.

Despite his hideous appearance, and clear disdain for me, I attempted to reason with the monster, hoping to show him that he didn’t have to be like this. “The point of becoming self-aware is that you now get to choose how you live your life,” I tried to tell him, but he refused to listen. I was forced to fight him, but he was much more powerful than he seemed. He was able to wake my mind up in my own world, but keep my body from knowing it. People experience sleep paralysis all the time, and as an expert, I know how to free myself, but this time was different. I was stuck there for an entire day, missing out on work, but unable to notify my boss. To this day, I’m not sure if I got myself out of it, or if the monster eventually just let me go. The next day, I confronted him again, armed with more determination, and a few dream weapons I didn’t think to bring last time. In the end, I was forced to kill him, which I didn’t want to do, since he was technically a new lifeform, but he did not give me a choice. I stopped walking through dreams for years as a result of what I had to do. As soon as I felt safe and comfortable enough, though, I went back out there, and learned that I had been terribly wrong. The god-monster was not dead, but instead had continued his wicked ways starting about a year ago. I sought him out once more, which was considerably more difficult than last time, because now he knew someone like me might come after him. It was worse than before, with entire worlds being turned apocalyptic. I had to stop him, even though I was afraid, so I figured my best bet would be to contact what few other dreamwalkers I knew. We pooled our resources, and shared information. A week later, they called me to a meeting in a neutral location, claiming to have found the monster. When I arrived, they tied me down with ropes, and started interrogating me. I had no idea what they wanted from me, or what they thought I knew, but after hours of torture, he showed up; the god-monster. In the mirror. I had not killed him at all, but had somehow absorbed him into my own mind. He cackled and freed us from the ropes, then he killed every single one of my friends. I tried to tear him out of my mind, but I was powerless against him. He forced me out instead, but now I wish he had killed me. I’ve broken the record for the longest time in sleep paralysis, by about five years.

Microstory 834: Insight

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“Now remember,” the scientists says, “you can’t change the past. It has already happened for us. All you are there to do is recon. Find out exactly how the world ended, and hopefully how we can make life better moving forward. Anything you try to do while you’re there will have an effect on the future, but only in that reality. Time travel within a single timeline is impossible, because just by traveling to an earlier moment in time, you create a new timeline. You can’t save your family; not your real family.” I nod, because I understand this truth fully. She has me remove all of my clothes, then she takes my measurements and vitals again. It’s important for the machines to calibrate the trip according to my specifications. If they’re just a little bit off, I could wind up rematerializing without a finger, or the part of my brain responsible for remembering my daughter’s name. I volunteered for this mission, and I can think of no greater honor. It’ll be strange being back in a world before everything turned to shit, but I can’t take it for granted. Those aren’t my people, and if I don’t get back in time, those I actually care about will never see me again. She submerges me in the solution, letting me suck on some oxygen with a rebreather, but I won’t be able to take it with me, which means I may have to hold my breath for up to four minutes, once the process gets underway. It feels so good to be in water again. After the shortage began, baths and swimming became illegal. It took years for this team to procure enough of it for their experiment, wasting a lot of it along the way as they worked towards perfecting it. The project leader is a brilliant woman, who reminds me of my late wife. I feel so fortunate to be part of this endeavor.

She holds up the okay scuba diving hand signal, and waits for me to return it. Then she removes the rebreather, and activates the machine. The water tenses up, almost like it’s become solid. I can feel an electrical current surging through me. It’s painful, but not debilitating. Bubbles form at the bottom of the tank, and start shooting up towards the surface. It’s getting hotter and hotter, and I’m thinking I’m going to pass out, but I don’t, because I can’t. For a moment, everything stops, and all I see is darkness. Then light begins filtering back to my eyes, and I feel myself moving. The electrical current is gone, replaced by a river current. I pop out of the water, swim over to the bank, and crawl onto dry land, cry-laughing uncontrollably for having survived the journey. After a decent walk, I find out that I had surfaced in the Yangtze River, upstream of Shanghai, China. I start studying the problem there, remembering the water shortage began in this region. It would seem some mysterious contaminant made its way into one of the largest drinking water reservoirs in the world, by population served. Shanghai needed to source their water elsewhere for a long time, which caused strain the world over as the dominoes continued to fall. It was me. I caused the end of the world. Distraught, I make my way to Russia, where the scientist I meet in the future now lives, and break a rule of time travel by telling her that I think I actually did land in the same timeline that I came from. She just smiles at me and says, “good. Now I know for sure that my plan works.”

Microstory 833: Cold War

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Long-distance skiing isn’t exactly my forte, and I positively hate the bitter cold, but it’s not like I have any choice. There aren’t any roads way out here, but something up ahead is luring me towards it. So I continue, stopping only when I need to pee, or melt drinking water. After hours of trekking, I see a wooden building of some kind, peeking out from the snow. As I move nearer, I realize it’s actually a few little cabins clumped together. If I didn’t have this intense feeling of accomplishment, I would think to stop and rest here, but this is it. This is where I’ve been trying to go this whole time. I keep trudging into it, and recognize it as a ski resort. The world no longer has any need for a ski resort, so this place has been completely abandoned, left to provide shelter for the birds, and other animals. I’m alone. At least no one responds when I call out. As I approach the bottom of the hills, I can see a giant red crystalline structure, floating a couple meters over the ground, slowly turning counter clockwise on a vertical axis. I get as close as I feel comfortable with, worried about disturbing its position, and causing it to fall on top of me. It looks like I’m supposed to see through the crystal, but smoke is billowing around inside, like an oversized lava lamp. I’ve never seen anything like it, in this new world, or in the time before the fall. “Here, boss!” I hear on the other side of the resort. A man with nicer equipment than I have has spotted me, and the crystal. He’s waving to someone I can’t see yet, to come and check out this magnificent technological mystery. I see a head appear from behind one of the cabins, then another, and another. Nearly a dozen men and women appear, some on skis, but most just with snowshoes. They walk towards me, defensively, but not with a great deal of fear, and I quickly see why. It’s the Dowder Gang, and they’re afraid of nothing. They were once my rivals, but since they killed my entire survival group, they don’t consider me much of a threat anymore.

The leader, Shabel Dowder grins when she sees that it’s me, and promises not to kill me. I’m neither surprised, nor concerned that she’s lying. The Dowders always leave one alive, to tell the tale of their misdeeds. They don’t kill for no reason, mind you, and they don’t torture people. They come in with purpose, and get it over with quickly and painlessly. They’ve done a lot of good in this world too—I give them that—about as good as good gets, since the bombs dropped. We were even allied for a time, but a personal quarrel led to an accidental death, and the Dowders couldn’t let that go unpunished. I don’t know why we’re all here now, but once we’ve all gathered around the crystal, it begins to speak, glowing brighter according to the speaker’s volume. “Survivors of Earth, herein lies the souls of your fallen comrades. Inside Oakleaf Cabin, you will find a reserve of replacement substrates. You must bring the bodies here to transfer your friends’ consciousnesses. But be warned, if any one of them dies at the hands of each other, or one of you, you will all die. In order to continue living, you must find peace amongst you. You must learn to work together.” Shabel and I look at each other. The others in her gang might not agree with her choices, but their opinions are irrelevant. The only two people whose positions had any impact on what would happen today were her, and me. She asks me if I can set aside my animosity, and I say it’s possible, if we break the country in three; our third, their third, and a neutral zone. The crystal voice informs us that no individual may be beyond ten meters of someone from the other gang. We discuss terms for a few more minutes, but the voice urges us to finalize a deal. So we agree to form a new gang, proud of one undeniable certainty: the Sherlee-Dowder Family will be an unstoppable force.

Microstory 818: Gum Up the Works

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I watched with curiosity as the man I worked for began to tie a wire around his own rooster’s leg. I had only been working on this farm for the last few days, and had learned a lot, but this one was new to me. I was born and raised in the city, but when the war began, the only safe places to live were in very rural areas. Sometimes not even small towns were safe enough from the danger. I knew I had to adapt, and figure out how people survive around here. He wasn’t trying to show me what he was doing, but he wasn’t hiding it either. I asked him to explain it to me, and he said it was a teaching tool. He said roosters are as intelligent as dogs and pigs—which I wasn’t convinced was true—and he wanted to teach his to do things for him. I pointed out that this would be virtually impractical, as birds don’t have hands, but he wouldn’t listen to me. He was sure that an army of roosters could protect his lands, and perform simple tasks autonomously. All he was concerned with right now was conditioning the animal to follow his commands. The teaching tool was, as you may have guessed, designed to send a small but painful current up the rooster’s leg. Negative reinforcement, my boss called it. He’d read about it in a book. I was horrified by what he was doing, but was too afraid to say anything, or try to stop him. I learned long ago to accept these people’s way of life, recognizing it to be wildly different than mine, and that I’m the stranger here. One of the other farmhands, however, was not so tolerant, nor did he fear losing his job, like I was. While the boss wasn’t looking, the other guy replaced the wire with his gum wrapper. This worked for a little while, but then the boss wised up to what was happening, and went about fixing the problem. I’m not sure why the farmhand thought that would work in the long-term. The question was whether he would live long enough to regret it. As soon as the boss replaced the the wire on the rooster’s leg, he sent a test shock to it. The farmhand shuddered in pain, which surprised us all. The boss tested his makeshift device again, and the same thing happened. While the rooster was indeed feeling pain, so was the farmhand. They had somehow become linked to one another, so that when one felt pain, so did the other. A twisted smirk fell upon our boss’ face, as his head started filling with all sorts of nasty thoughts. A shock was easy to take, but what were the farmhand’s limits, and how could the farmer exploit him? I grabbed the rooster with my bare hands, and deftly removed the shock wire. “Run!” I screamed. We’ve been hiding out ever since, doing everything we can to protect the rooster, and hoping to find a way to disconnect these two, so that the human doesn’t die when the animal does. If it’s the only way, we’ll even consider defecting to the enemy.

Microstory 817: Fly in the Teeth Part II

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Most of us escaped and headed for the nearest airfield, and everything seemed okay. Another group of survivors was getting there just as we were, and we agreed to travel together. It was only while we were in the middle of taking off that we learned they were actually a zombie-worshipping cult, with plans to secure food for their gods. The fact that we were to be that food was not lost on us. We intended to parachute out of the plane, but found only wingsuits, which we weren’t all confident we knew how to use safely. Still, there was no other way, so we quickly put them on, and jumped out of the aircraft. The wingsuits turned out to be specially designed to operate near the plane. They could actually generate their own electromagnetic field, that allowed us to stay in the air indefinitely. The meant we could fly all the way to a safer environment, but stay away from the danger of the fuselage. While we were flying, I began to have this vision of someone trying to kill me with a rifle. I fought him off as best I could, but my only option was to turn the gun back on him, and make him shoot himself. This not only didn’t kill him, but seemed to give him incredible rage, and I suspected his bullets had been laced with some toxic poison. He was delirious, so I was able to trick him into stepping into traffic. I realized only then that this was a flashback of a real experience I had had, that led to the demonic kids who had been chasing me in my truck. I had suppressed the memory. I had done it. I was the one who started the zombie apocalypse.

Our shrinking group of survivors found refuge on a military base that we took over once the zombie cult who had taken up residence there got a fatal dose of their own medicine. As fate would have it, zombies don’t want to be worshipped by their own food. The base was heavily fortified, and well-stocked with provisions, and we were able to ride out the apocalypse there in near complete safety. My zombie pheromone powers increased and changed as time went on. I was never able to fly, but I could jump to incredible distances. And I seemed to be totally invincible. I used my new gifts to venture into the world, so I could report back to my people how things had changed. I found that the apocalypse had played itself out. Zombies needed flesh from the recently deceased. They couldn’t feed on each other, and since they were driven purely by desire, never regulated their hunting habits. In trying to destroy humanity, they had starved to death, and destroyed themselves instead. Still, they couldn’t be removed from the equation completely, apparently. I found another group of survivors, trapped in a former academy. It was surrounded, and ruled, by a horde of zombie-ghosts. They can smell fear, and can’t help but revert to their violent instincts when that fear was present. They can’t actually bite or eat people anymore, since they no longer possess corporeal teeth, but they are capable of affecting the real world in some ways. They can make your life hell if you don’t display an adequate level of confidence. As potentially immortal myself, I have no problem with this, but I feel obligated to help others overcome their insecurities. And so that’s what I do, and why I’m here right now. I can teach you to survive.

Microstory 816: Fly in the Teeth Part I

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Throughout my whole life, I was utterly convinced that the zombie apocalypse was coming. Whenever anyone would ask me about it, I would be able to explain exactly why I thought that. I cited diseases that could mutate to something resembling a zombie-like state, and had all these scientific explanations for why it was not only possible, but inevitable. Everyone thought I was crazy, as you can imagine, and as time went on, I started wondering whether they were right all along. But they weren’t, were they? My first true evidence that there was something wrong—that some kind of epidemic was starting to spread—was when I ran into a group of what I thought were just mischievous kids taunting me for my theories. They turned out to be incredibly fast and riotous, and I began to fear for my life. I had to knock them off of my truck as I was driving away. They could almost keep up with me, but I had to speed to make sure they didn’t. Somehow the story of my harrowing adventure landed in the ears of the White House, and I was secretly invited to speak with the President himself, as well as the First Lady. We discussed the problem, but still things didn’t seem too dire, because I can remember having a good laugh about his opponent’s running mate in the election that led to his first term.

As I predicted, though, the zombies did show up, and man did it spread quickly. Fortunately, the President and I had covertly coordinated the installation of special buttons on nearly every street corner in every major city in the country. One push could summon the aid of military force. I still believe this saved a lot of lives, even though the proverbial shit has since completely hit the fan by now. When it all happened, I was nowhere near Mount Weather, so even though the government had secured for me a place in their bunker, I was unable to make it in time. I instead had to care for a young boy whose mother had abandoned him to save herself. We struggled to run away from the zombie hordes, but some of them seemed to release a pheromone that slowed us down. We managed to push through just barely, and found ourselves with a band of survivors, who were on their way to a series of caves they claimed would easily rival that of Mount Weather’s. A lovely and unexpected side effect of the zombie pheromones was increased agility and strength, which allowed me to jump down a forty-foot cliff to make sure it was safe for the others. I discovered the caves to not be so safe, for other survivors had already made their way there, and had all been turned by the time we arrived. We needed to go somewhere else, and somebody suggested we try to find a plane. Zombies clearly hated the cold, because it slowed them down, so our best bet now was to head North.

Microstory 790: Monarch

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There have been many civilizations, on many worlds, in many universes, across all of time and space. Most were created by humans, or some subspecies thereof. Unfortunately, the chances of any one of these surviving for any period of time is nearly negligible. People often wonder why they have not been visited by aliens, and though the truth is that there could be—and indeed are—many reasons, one of them is how difficult it is to reaching civilization milestones. Most fall before they advance enough to venture beyond their own little section of reality, and those that do will find it nearly impossible to meet any other civilization, for life is few and far between. Intelligent life is even rarer. When a major civilization ends—major being the operative word—there is one entity who is always present. A time traveler and immortal, he has adopted it as his responsibility to ease the transitional period when a culture dies, even if no life survives beyond it. When the Simmer Flood overwhelmed the first united shell, he was there. When Babylon was conquered, he was there. And when Adversary, and his demon army spoiled the lands of the living realm, he was there. He’s always there, taking on new forms, as necessary. He goes by many names, his preference being Deliverer. But others will call him First and Last, Beginning and End, and King of Kings. He is no ruler, though, nor does he have any interest in holding power over a peoples. He is there to help, and relies on a series of Bearers to know when and where he should be to be the most useful. For most transitions, he is around as true witness for a brief period of time. He may save as many as he can at the last minute, but he does not stick around for too long, fearing undue influence on the survivors. But there was one world whose fall was taking longer than usual, and required a little more help than others had. Society succumbed to chaos, leaving a great deal of people with far more arduous lives than they deserved. They grew angry, and began executing apocalyptic attacks against each other. But it would not end there. The misfortune just kept coming, in the form of domestic violence, and external threats. And so Deliverer endured through a long extension, acting as hero and friend to every decent individual that he encountered. He found himself liking this life, and it made him start rethinking his approach to his job.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 7, 2061

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When they woke up the next day, Leona had some questions. “Why did you not tell me about The Cleanser before? How often have you spoken to him?”

“Just a couple of times. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you,” Mateo replied honestly. “We just got done with Reaver, and I guess I didn’t want to burden you with the next thing.”

“We’re in this together,” Leona said before amending, “at least, we’re supposed to be.”

“I know that.” And so Mateo told her about everything; his meetings with the Cleanser, him witnessing her and Prince Darko’s private conversation, and a few things from his past he figured he’d get off his chest. In the end, it was comforting to let her all the way in. She was right. They were a team, and they needed to be honest with each other.

She shifted the subject a bit after that was all done. “Is The Rogue interested in acting out the tribulation period from the bible?”
“Might could be. I don’t know.”

“Well, what’s meant to happen during this period? What are the tribulations?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“Well, Catholics don’t really believe in the tribulation period. Not really. And I’m not exactly a scholar on the matter.”

“They don’t? You’re not?”

“Yeah, there are different interpretations of the text. Some believe what you read in those books, or see in those movies. But those are dramatic interpretations. Those are glamorized. Things are a lot more simple in the original book. People don’t generally realize quite how much humans supplement the Word with their own personal beliefs. There is not as much detail as you would think, and so people sort of make things up to fill in the gaps; try to make it more clear.”

“What do you believe?”

“Just like with most people, my personal beliefs are just that, mine. I don’t follow every single thing the Church does, and I don’t listen to everything the Pope says. He’s a leader, not a god. And he’s definitely not God. Personally, I try to ignore anything the bible says is going to happen, and focus more on what it says happened. I treat the book as an historical record with flourishes. These stories were written before the computer was invented.”

“What does the computer have to do with anything?”

“I just mean that it’s hard to predict what’s going to happen when you can’t so much as fathom future development. They didn’t say anything about the computer being invented, much less vehicles or electricity; not even almost, not even a little. I find it hard to believe they knew what will happen when Christ returns, if he ever does.”

“So there are parts of the bible you just straight up don’t believe?”

“Yes, of course. There are tons of examples, and I would have more if I had chosen to dedicate myself to studying it. But the major problems I have with it are, like I said, when it tries to predict the future with so little understanding of it.”

Leona nodded her head consistently while she was processing. “Well, what might that mean for the Rogue’s intentions?”

“If he has plans to act out the coming of Christ, then I suppose he’ll have to reveal his power to the whole world, which I doubt the other powers that be would allow.”

“I mean just in terms of what he does to us. The tribulations.”

“If he wants to act out the tribulations, he’ll have very little to go on. The text is vague and brief on that matter. It tells us what life is going to be like for seven years, but it doesn’t go into specifics, and you have to gather this information from a number of different places. There’s no single scripture that just lays it all out for you.”

“Oh.”

“I think we may be overthinking this whole thing.”

“How so?” she asked.

“I would assume his use of the word tribulation was more general. It probably has nothing to do with the bible. I think he just means we’re gonna suffer.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she conceded. “I guess I was just hoping we would have a road map for where this was going. So we could plan accordingly.”

“I doubt the man would be so obvious, even if he were borrowing concepts.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” The Rogue interrupted.

“Um...” Mateo replied with a scowl. “This is a private conversation. We would appreciate you waiting your turn.” He swept his fingers through the air, palm down so as to incautiously send him away.

The Rogue laughed. “I like you, kid. You show me no respect. I don’t get that from other people.”

“I know what you are,” Mateo lied.

“What?”

“I know your secret, what you’re trying to keep from us. I know why you’re doing all this. I know where you come from.”

The Rogue was notably distressed by this, but only for a second. He was determined to keep his guard up.

Mateo was hoping to glean some information from him by pretending to already have it. But instead, all he learned was that there was something to be learned. And if there was anything he learned since falling into his pattern, it was that the truth always comes out.

“You’re lying,” The Rogue said, but was unsure.

“You’re right,” Mateo replied. “But I know someone who does know what you are. I just need some time.”

“Well,” he said. “You have today, at least. That’s what I’ve decided. Every other day will be a tribulation, and you get breaks in between.”

“That’s so generous of you,” Leona said sarcastically. “What happened to Prince Darko?”

He was annoyed. “It was not my intention to show you what The Cleanser did, but I could not control that. I can, however, control what you know from this point on. I shall not explain Prince Darko except to say that he lied about his pattern. It would seem that lying runs in the family.”

“So he really is my brother, though?” That wasn’t much, but it was something to remember.

“Each tribulation will come with a reward,” the Rogue went on, “besides the not dying part.”

“A reward?” Leona asked. “Like being able to survive multi-day spacecraft trip?”

“Like a pizza party, or something,” the Rogue corrected. “I don’t know, I’ve not thought much about it. I doubt you survive this next one.”

“How can you not know how it turns out?” she pressed.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a time traveler, and one who is not bound by a pattern. Can you not just skip ahead and see whether we survive or not?”

“Leona,” Mateo warned, “don’t poke the bear.”

“I could do that, yes,” the Rogue said. “But I much prefer to be careful.”

“Careful of what? Disrupting the spacetime continuum?”

“No. Careful of spoilers,” he answered in a British accent, which was another pop culture reference. This man liked his movies and TV shows. That was important, because they might be able to use it against him in the future. If only there was a way to communicate with Leona without anyone knowing. They could never be sure if they were being spied on from another dimension. What was that about virtual telepathy?

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