Microstory 2257: And He Paid It

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

The money is in. Our bank account is so full, money is spilling out of it. I mean that in the most literal sense while still not talking about physical cash. Knowing that the funds would be in there by the end of the day, I set an autopayment for a number of various charities, so the full amount was only available for a few minutes before a chunk of it was gone. I’m laughing now, reading all of the replies and comments from readers who were under the impression that I was getting scammed. Oh, so many of you thought that it was never gonna happen; that I was just setting myself up for failure. We kept mentioning all the things we had to do at the bank, and whatever. You were convinced that it was going to come back to bite us in the ass. I suppose I can see where you could have guessed that. In an alternate reality, that’s what would happen; us becoming the victims of a long con. The thing is, though, even though I’m not telling you who commissioned me to give up my specimens, he’s not just some random guy who claimed to have a bunch of money. He’s fully on the books, and can’t run from me. The FBI, and other agencies, were fully aware that this was all happening, and they could have easily gone after him if he hadn’t been on the up and up. I know that a lot of scams work by telling you that they’ll give you a whole lot of money if you just give them a tiny bit up front, and the idea is that they’ll accept the tiny bit, and just run away with it, because to them, it was better than zero. But this guy didn’t ask me for a cent, and like I said, he’s a public figure with a life to lead. Taking my index and bone marrow probably won’t do much for him, especially since as I’ve been trying to tell everyone, they’re not the key to immortality. Risking going to prison by stealing them? That would have been even more absurd. He set the price, and he paid it. He paid it today, and now that business is done. I’m keeping enough of it for the three of us to live comfortably in this house, and to pay my security detail and publicist. Everything else should be spent on things that help the community, and maybe the world.

Microstory 2078: Where I Live and Work

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Bard text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2

I only worked first shift today, which was great, because it gave me time to get to the bank for my final new identity paperwork. If I wanna get paid, then I’m going to need an account, because they don’t do physical money here if they can help it. I didn’t come to this world with a known identity, which I assumed would be a major issue, but it’s not as bad as I figured. The government will give me a new one as long as they don’t find any reason to suspect that I’m changing to a new ID because I did bad things with my old one. Every major city has at least one Identity Services department that is capable of handling this. All I had to do was provide my fingerprints, multiple DNA samples, images from all angles, and video testimony. I have to tell them where I live, and where I work, and if either of these things changes, I’m required to alert them. They’re basically going to keep track of me to a higher degree than they would for someone who was born with a name, and kept it throughout their whole lives. If they find out that I’ve committed some crime in the past, though, all of this will be immediately revoked, and I’ll need to answer for any outstanding warrants. Of course, I don’t have any of those, which is why this special program is perfect for me. I don’t care if they know where I live and work, or that I have to check in with my social worker at least once a month. I’m glad that all of that is finally behind me. You’re looking at the official blog for the official resident of The United States of America, Nick Fisherman. Everything should be completed in enough time for my first deposit, and if not, I can wait a week, no big deal.

Microstory 1990: True to One’s Word

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software

Freeman 1: Hey, thanks for meeting me, man.

Reese: Yeah, no problem. It’s been a long time. What’s up?

Freeman 1: Well, this is sort of awkward.

Reese: Go ahead, dude. No judgments.

Freeman 1: Well, it’s just that...a few months ago, you became bonded to our group of freemen, and that was great. I mean, we don’t regret it. But since then, you haven’t really, ya know, fulfilled your obligations, you know? Like, we helped you find that escapee, and then you and Myka just disappeared. You changed your number?

Reese: Yeah, it was this legal thing. We’ve all kind of had to leave our old lives behind. I’m really sorry, though; that wasn’t cool.

Freeman 1: What exactly have you been up to? A few of the other freewomen are gone too, but they’re not dead; they still see their families. Honestly, we are all kind of worried about you, but you don’t look dead either.

Reese: You’re right, I screwed up. Uhh...I can’t tell you what we’ve been doing. We got in trouble with the government, so we’re working on that.

Freeman 1: You look free to me.

Reese: Different kind of trouble. Mixed up with them is probably a better way to put it.

Freeman 1: I see.

Reese: But I’m here now. Let’s bump phones so you can have my new number. Do you need anything today?

Freeman 1: *scratching the back of his neck* Actually we do. Well, I do.

Reese: Remember, I can’t do anything illegal for ya. Though, I think I may be able to skirt the rules for you now. I’m kind of in a better position than I was before. It’s all really complicated and weird.

Freeman 1: I’m glad to hear you say that, because it’s definitely on the outskirts.

Reese: Just ask, friend.

Freeman 1: I’m trying to buy a house. I...I got a girl pregnant, and I have to provide for them. The only job I could get pays pretty well, but it’s all under the table. That makes applying for a loan pretty difficult. I would get a different job, but no one wants to hire an ex-con, especially one who was locked up for aggravated assault and armed robbery. Big surprise, I know. I have a connection at the bank, but even he won’t just give me the loan outright. *pauses again*

Reese: What does he need?

Freeman 1: Look, I don’t know what you’re doing, but by mixed up with the government, it’s pretty clear you’re saying that you’re employed by them, in some different capacity than before. You don’t have to tell me what it is, but it would really help me out if you could pose as my employer. Just say I bring you coffee or dry-cleaning, that would be enough. It just has to be from a reputable company. I dunno, is this even possible?

Reese: What do you do for a living? Are you fulfilled? Are you being exploited?

Freeman 1: Courier work. No. And probably.

Reese: Let me make a call. Let’s not fake a job. Let’s get you a real one.

Microstory 1774: Sculptor

< > Table of Contents

Thank you for meeting me. I’m sure, after I’m done with my presentation, you’ll see why I deserve this loan, and how big this business can really become. This bank will be pleased with the results, and I’m eager to prove myself. Okay. Parents. What is their job? Well, they’re meant to mould their children into decent members of society, who contribute to the positive good, right? Well, it doesn’t always work out, does it? Sometimes people grow up wrong. It’s not necessarily the parents’ fault, and I doubt I can do anything for those people. There’s something in their psychology or neurology that I am not equipped to handle. My business is designated for the people whose caregivers screwed up somewhere along the way. They made the wrong choices, or taught them bad lessons, or maybe they just weren’t around. These people have a ton of potential, but they’ve not learned to want to reach it, let alone actually reach it. That’s where I come in. I’ve had dozens of boyfriends over the years, and I was about halfway through them when I realized why I kept breaking up with them. I was naturally attracted to the ones you might call projects. They fell into this category of people who were messed up by their childhood, rather than having been born with problems that I’m not qualified to deal with. I fixed them. I fixed them, and then I broke up with them, and moved onto the next. A few months ago, I got curious, so I started looking them all up on social media. Every single one of them is doing great. They didn’t relapse into their old bad habits, but kept their lives going on track. I corrected their behavior, and I have proof right here. Take a look at these posts over the course of the last two years. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How am I going to make money off of this? Who will be my client base? I intend to market to girlfriends, regretful parents, and even friends. It is also not outside the realm of possibility that such unproductive people will want help turning their lives around, and come to me themselves. I’ve spoken with a lot of people already, and many of them have not been able to find help from professionals. Therapists are generally concerned with helping their patients with their internal feelings, and that’s supposed to help their behavior, but I’ve found that they’re not so great at following through with making sure that behavior does indeed change. Their patients sit in a room with them, have their talks, and then they part ways. I’m there, I’m on the frontlines. I will live with these people, and watch them go about their daily lives. I can make suggestions as they become necessary, and I can formulate exercises for them to complete. I already have a name for myself. You can call me The Sculptor, because I carve out all the unwanted character traits, and leave only the pure version of the person that my clients want to be. I’ve thought a lot about this, and I think I have a really clear business plan laid out for you, which you can read at your leisure. Until then, any questions?

Microstory 1741: The Clock

< > Table of Contents

I hate this clock. It reminds me of the worst years of my life. When I was a child, my foster parents would time everything I did. Homework, chores, umm...well, I guess there isn’t a third thing on that list, because those were the only things I did. I suppose showering isn’t a chore, but that was timed as well. They said they were getting me ready for the real world. Apparently, in their jobs, every task they completed was measured and recorded, and that was how they got paid. I asked them a few times, did they get paid more for more complicated tasks, but they said no. The rate didn’t change at all. The point was to keep track of when they were working, and when they weren’t, such as when they were walking to the location of the next task, or using the restroom. They were expected to be at work for ten hours a day, but they only get paid for their recorded time. They were so proud of themselves. Other workers recorded an average of eight and a half hours of actual work, which meant an hour for lunch, and another half hour for the in between times. My foster parents, however, averaged nine hours and forty-five minutes. They said they organized tasks so that it was easier to switch from one to the other, they literally ran when they had to, and they...well, let’s just say they weren’t too careful when it came to their bathroom breaks. They sometimes saw that as an opportunity, because even though janitorial services weren’t technically in either of their job descriptions, they could still get paid for cleaning the facilities. The word diaper was thrown around once or twice too. They actually acted like I should aspire to be as hard-working as them one day. I never bought into it. I don’t worship the clock.

My parents are dead now. They left this world with nothing, and not just to spite me. They worked so hard in their jobs that the company didn’t want to promote them, and they didn’t want to be promoted either. A promotion would mean a salary, and more freedom than they could have handled. They hated their bosses, who didn’t work hard enough, and focused too much on their personal lives. My parents didn’t have lives of their own. They were too exhausted when they got home that they ate their dinner, read something boring, then went to bed. After I came into their lives, they had to squeeze in a lot of strict overbearing criticism, so they couldn’t read as much anymore. When they were too old to work, since they didn’t have any hobbies, they had absolutely nothing to do. You can ask the professionals what killed them, and they’ll give you a scientific answer, but I contend that they died from the realization that their lives were always pointless. The company where they worked for forty-five years closed shortly before the deaths, because they too were old-fashioned, and ultimately meaningless in a world that moved on without them. So here I am with virtually nothing. My parents were in so much debt that the bank had to repossess nearly everything they owned. Fortunately, it seems to have covered it, so I won’t have to make up the difference. They even managed to leave me with one thing: this damn clock. It represents the futility in work for work’s sake. It spins around in circles, and never goes anywhere. Yeah, I hate this clock, but I also need it. For as much as it pains me to see every day, it’s also a consistent reminder of what I don’t want to be, and how I don’t want to raise my own baby boy, who’s scheduled to make his debut in three months. It shows me that time only means anything when we use it to enjoy doing the things we love, with the people we love.

Microstory 1579: Any Password Will Do

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

I enter my bank password wrong, but the app still lets me sign in. I log out and try again, this time using a password that is not anywhere close to the right one. It lets me sign in this time too.

Botner

The trick: I don’t use the exact password. Instead I pick a random six-letter combination. It’s not easy to do, but there’s a little-known secret that lets me log in without making a mistake. All I have to do is get my phone to emit a strong “pattern” beep and lock pattern. If I follow this series of steps, I can log in to my bank account from my phone no matter what the password is. I started wondering how this works after I noticed this article from The Atlantic detailing how to trick Google into giving you the wrong password when you’re on an Android device. The author said that when he logged in, his bank account info and the password didn’t match. He was able to get into his account despite the fact that his password was wrong. It’s possible that this is an isolated incident. But some security experts are skeptical. “The notion that it’s really easy for hackers to break into my account if I type in this correct password...is dubious,” says Randy Abrams, security specialist.

Conclusion

I’m no programmer, but I have a decent idea what happened here. There’s a line of code somewhere in my bank’s software. It’s there to help people login to their accounts. When someone inputs their password, this line is supposed to ask whether it’s correct. If not, it will return false. But if the code itself just says true, then the password is always right, no matter what. As long as they put something in the box, it will let them in. This is a problem. This could allow anyone to access anyone else’s account, assuming I’m right, and it’s a global issue, rather than some kind of caching bug that’s only happening to my device. I open my laptop, and put in my mom’s username, since we use the same bank. I randomly strike a bunch of keys, and try to get into her account. It works. It is global, it has to be. But still, I’ll try one more thing. I call my mom, and ask her to try to login to my uncle’s account. She helped him set it up, so she has his information too. She puts in the wrong password, just like I did, but it doesn’t work. Whew! I guess they solved the problem already.  Hopefully I was the first and only person to notice the glitch, and no one had the chance to exploit it. I realize my session’s been terminated because the app has been logged in too long, and I never did get to check my balance, so I have to login yet again. Feeling shaky because of what might have been, I mess up my password once more, like an idiot. But it works. I know I messed it up, my hand slipped. What the hell is going on here? I have to get help, so I call customer service, and tell them what I know. “Yes, sir,” the representative says. “You have access to all accounts, as you should.” What?” This is even weirder than that time I drove down the highway going the wrong direction, and the cop just smiled and greeted me like it was normal. Something is happening to me, and even though it all seems good, it can’t be that easy.

Microstory 1535: Unpopular Favorite Foods

< > Table of Contents

Anyone who knows me well enough knows that my favorite food is ________. It’s a very unpopular favorite food to have, and everyone I’ve told this to has been very grossed out about it. I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe my mother ate ________ a lot while I was in the womb, or gave it to me early on. Or maybe my subconsciousness is called back to a particularly happy time in my life when I just so happened to be eating ________. It’s not all that hard to find, but unlike really popular favorites, like ________, ________, or ________, they don’t make restaurants dedicated to  ________. Nor should they, it would be weird, and I would be the only customer, at least in the area. Some people might go there, just to give  ________ a try, but it would quickly go out of business. It did give me an idea, though, this weird love of mine. What if someone created a restaurant that was specifically designed to appeal to unusual tastes. I looked up online what foods people hate the most, thinking I had a pretty good idea what I would find there, like  ________,  ________, and  ________. I ended up being wrong about  ________, but not  ________ or  ________. There were a lot of things on there that I would never have thought. Apparently, people have extremely strong feelings about  ________ and  ________. They also dislike  ________ when mixed with  ________, though they seem to be okay with them as long as they’re kept separate. People even seem to really like ________ when it’s instead mixed with ________. I once watched a show where a character discovered he liked  ________ and ________, and the joke was that it was an odd pairing, but there have to be people out there who like it, just like him. There are, after all, seven and a half billion people, or so. So what if someone did that? Made a restaurant just for the weirdos like me? You wouldn’t have to eat anything you didn’t want, but you would be encouraged to try other people’s odd favorites. If you’re the one person who likes  ________, and you’re friend is the one who likes ________, you could switch, just for the meal. It might even make you more empathetic to that person, or in general, and that can’t be a bad thing. This is just an idea that’s rolling around in my brain. It might work better as a food truck, or a ghost kitchen, I don’t know. I know, as a loan officer, you’re expecting me to come in with a business plan, and a full list of terrible foods, like ________. I have some. You probably don’t even realize how many people dislike  ________, or how many people actually like  ________. But I already have a full time job, so I didn’t want to spend too much time on this if you think it’ll be a terrible idea. I just want you to tell me, in your professional opinion, if you think this is worth anyone’s trouble, including mine. Why don’t you start by telling me what your favorite food is, and what food you like that most people don’t?

Firestorm: Alexi Lanka (Part IX)

« < » > Entire Story

My name is Alexi Lanka. I’m a runner, I have anger issues, and today is the day that everything about my life changes. I’ve always known that my mother keeps secrets, but she runs a bank, so I figured she was an embezzler, or whatever. The reality of her insane life never occurred to me, because how could it? Who could have known she would turn out to be a time traveler? Or that I would be too?

“So.” My father smiles at the two of us as we’re sitting at the table, eating what I hoped would be a casual meal. He speaks in a surprisingly poor Russian accent. He grew up around North Americans, so he spent most of his life without it. Even his parents apparently worked hard to shed their original accents, which makes it strange that he would try to adopt it in honor of them after they died two years ago.

“So, what?” He’s gonna say something embarrassing for me.

“So, are you two officially an item?” he goes on.

“Yes, sir.” Cambria Buchanan, a.k.a. Agent Nanny Cam and I have been friends for years now. She was a racer at one point as well, but now she’s a streaming drone operator. The woman actually paid a neurosurgeon to drill into her head and upgrade her brain with technology so she could be better at her job. I guess I’ve always loved her, even before we were together.

“You don’t have to call me that,” my father says to her. “We’re all friends here.”

“We are, aren’t we?” she asks rhetorically, with her own smile. It’s powerful enough to get me out of even the worst of my fits of rage. I better not do anything to screw this up. She’s gonna save me a lot of money in therapy expenses. “Then, can I call you dad?”

Mine is one of those cool fathers who never treats Gen Z-ers like us with disdain. He goes with the flow, and tries to understand people. I’ve never seen him angry my whole life. I don’t think he knows how. We couldn’t be more different. This comment from Cambria throws him off, which is unusual. “If you want. Are you getting married?”

“We’re thinking about it,” she answers. That’s misleading, though. She’s thinking about it, and I’m thinking about it, but we’re not thinking about it together, and we’re definitely not talking about it. I don’t know how long you have to wait before you propose, but I imagine the waiting period has to be measured in years, rather than months. That’s the kind of thing a real mother would be able to explain.

Dad smiles again, but my brain suddenly shifts. I’m thinking about something else, or trying to, at least. I can’t figure out what it is, but something is wrong. “Something is about to happen.”

“I’m sorry?” dad asks.

Cambria massages my arm. “What are you talking about?”

I can’t help but ignore them, even though I did register their responses. I stand up, and point into the living room. “There.”

They look over in plenty of time to witness three people magically appear on the other side of the sectional. One of them is my mother, and another is Slipstream of Tracer gang fame. I don’t know who the one in the middle is. My father stands up and takes one step forward. “Alexina,” he says. That may actually be anger. I know the two of them don’t get along, but he’s always been just as cool as ever when she’s around. He’s never uttered her name with such contempt.

“Rodion. This is your home,” mother says to him.

“Yes. And you promised never to do that in our son’s presence.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she says sincerely. It was an emergency. She got us out of a deadly situation, and I guess her...let’s them bosses decided she would bring us here.” She now turns to the third woman. “You need to go back for the others.”

“I can’t,” the woman replies. “If they don’t send me there, I can’t go.”

“It’s too late,” Slipstream chimes in. “Whatever that thing does, it did it to them. If we go back now, there’s no telling what we’ll find.”

“That agent had that thing just floating around in his closet,” mom began. “There’s no way it killed them. It would have killed him too, and he would have fought a hell of a lot harder to stop it.”

“What are we talking about?” Cambria, ever the curious one. She wasn’t going to let a little thing like the sudden realization that magic is real slow her down.

“It doesn’t matter,” dad says with his new tone that I’m not comfortable with. “You promised you would never do anything like this. You need to go.”

“Wait,” I argue. “The cat’s out of the bag. Now I know she’s a super...hmm. I feel like I can’t say hero, but does that mean you’re a villain?”

My mom looks at me with sadness. “There are no superheroes, or supervillains. That’s not what we use our powers for.”

“Speak for yourself,” Slipstream contends. She gestures towards the woman who was apparently responsible for bringing them here. “She’s a superhero. They literally call her the Savior of Earth.”

“A savior,” the woman corrects. “It’s just a title.”

“Dad,” I say in the calming voice my therapist taught me to use on myself whenever I start getting upset. “I don’t know what kind of arrangement you and my mother had with each other, but it was broken, and it can’t be undone, so we just have to move forward from here. I can understand you believing it best to keep this stuff from me when I was younger, but whatever the whole truth is, I’m an adult now. You can’t really argue that anymore.”

“I must be going,” the Savior says, smacking her lips. “I don’t think they’re sending me back to that office, though. I’m goin’ somewhere else.”

“Thank you, Daria,” my mom says to her. “Stay safe.”

Daria disappears, and there’s a moment of tense silence.

“All right,” my father breaks the ice. “He was right about that cat. You might as well tell him the truth. You need to tell him everything, though. If you only go over the good parts, he’s gonna start thinking I was wrong to shut you out of our lives. I need him to know that you’re just as bad of a person as you always have been...except it’s for reasons he didn’t know until now.”

“Okay, Rodion,” she says dismissively. Again, they’ve definitely never been friendly since I can remember, but they’ve never talked to each other like this before.

And so my mother starts to tell me about what she is. She allows Cambria to listen in. Evidently, it’s against their internal policies to reveal themselves to the world, but not to individuals, so this is all okay. She tells us about choosing ones and salmon, and the powers that be, and this special quasi-omnipotent family called the Prestons. She says that she’s also in her own special class called the Springfield Nine, which were turned into people with time powers as kids, rather than being born this way. I asked if I could do what she does, but she doubts it. If I haven’t discovered my ability by now, I probably don’t have one. It would be like going through puberty in your forties. She also tells me the bad things, as she promised. My dad doesn’t hate her because of what she is, and didn’t shield me from her because of it. She used her power for her own gain, and that of her friends. She screwed people over, and ruined their lives. She took power where it didn’t belong to her, and she never once helped an innocent person.

She’s not a teleporter, like the woman who brought her and Slipstream here. She’s clairvoyant, which means she knows things about the past, present, and future. She doesn’t actually see what’s going to happen, but the feelings she gets can guide her to the right choices. Well, not necessarily the right choices, but the choices she wants. In the past, she has used her gifts for financial gain, and to maintain all that power. She’s reportedly trying to become a better person, but of course, it’s really easy for her to say that now that I know more about her life. In the end, I hug her, because my father was wrong. Getting to know my mother was all I ever wanted, and I have to assume she does truly want to change, because if no one believes in her—if I don’t believe in her—she’ll quickly lose faith in herself, and that will just prove everyone right about her. I know what it’s like to see almost everyone give up on you. I’m certainly not going to let anyone else feel like that if I can help it.

My father makes the gracious decision to let her stay the night with us. She says there are some dangerous people out there, and she wants to protect us. Cambria stays over too. After Slipstream goes out to look for their friends, she returns, and stays as well. Nothing against my mother, but Slip is the true protector here, and she doesn’t even need superpowers to do it.

I awaken to loud arguing in the morning, and rush downstairs to find out what’s going on.

“I know you have the Omega Gyroscope now, because I tracked it here!” a man is screaming at my mother. “Don’t make me go back and create a new timeline! I still got Ophir on speed dial. How’s your relationship with him these days?”

“What’s going on here!” I scream at him, defending my mother. “Who the hell are you?” I step in between the two of them.

The man who’s barged into our house regards me with such shock. “This..is...uh. Um. It’s a private conver—” His eyes start to droop, and his head gets real heavy. He tries desperately to remain in control.

“Get away from him, Alexi,” mom instructs.

“What’s happening to him?” I question.

“It’s a failsafe, in case you two ever met,” she answers cryptically.

“Who is he?” the man demands to know, indicating me. “I feel something here. He looks so familiar. Let me go so I can—I can figure this out.”

“No. I’ll die before I let you know one thing about him.”

“Why wouldn’t you want me to know him? Why do you care?” He’s about to keel over, but he protects himself by getting down on one knee.

“Volpsidia is one of the worst of us,” my mom begins, “but even she understands how dangerous you are. Your only hope now is to stop thinking about it. You understand? Psi put a bomb in your memory. If you don’t get the hell away from us right now, you’re literally gonna go insane. It’s the only way to stop you...unless you stop yourself. Get out now, and find someone who can erase your memory of today.”

“We have a pact,” the man argues. He slowly puts himself on the floor. “We can’t move against each other.”

“That pact was broken when Rothko showed back up,” she says to him. “Jesi broke it, and I’m glad she did, because her heroics have opened my eyes. I realized that I’m not much better than him...or you. The difference is I’m trying here. You can try as well, but you have to leave.”

Now on his back, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and struggles to lift it up to his ear. He sounds like he’s approaching his last breath. “Ophir. Emergency exit. Get me to Tertius Valerius. Right now.” He disappears.

“Who was that?” I ask my mom.

She looks over to the kitchen, where Cambria and my father are. He’s somehow angrier than he was yesterday. Is this going to become a habit? “Don’t. When I said you needed to tell him everything, I didn’t mean that. We agreed to never talk about that.”

“Alexi’s in danger now. I stopped him this time, but if Jesi and I are the only ones who turned over a new leaf, that means he still has plenty of friends to help him. Alexi has to know what he’s up against.”

“What is it?” I ask. “Tell me.”

“I am your father!” my dad cries, as if I don’t already know that.

“He’s right,” mother says, turning to face me. She takes a deep breath. “He’s your real father. But he’s not your biological father.” I think I know what she’s gonna say, but then she adds a whole new level to this madness. “And I am not your biological mother. That man is named Jupiter Fury. He’s actually a Preston, but very few people know that. He and an...entity known as Effigy are your birth parents. I lied to you before. The chances of you not having some kind of temporal power...are negligible.”

« < » > Entire Story

Firestorm: Aeolia Sarai (Part VIII)

« < » > Entire Story

The year is 2027. I’m minding my own business, trying to take a nice stroll in the park, maybe shed a few pounds while I’m at it, when I suddenly find myself on my ass. Oh my God, this is it, I think. The terrorists have come for my town, and I’m collateral damage. Or I’m a target, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m in an immense amount of pain, and I’m not alone. Other people are strewn about the ground around me. They weren’t there before, though, I know that. I would have remembered if I had been in a crowd. I feel like I’m hurt more than most of them, yet they help each other up, and don’t so much as acknowledge me. Until one sees me.

He lifts me up. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” I say, but I’m overpowered by someone else’s response.

“I’m fine,” says some guy who happens to be standing next to me. He’s brushing that dirt off his shoulder.

“I was talking to her,” the kind man tells him.

The rude man looks around. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about this stranger who we’ve just hurt! Correction, who you just hurt by keeping a weapon like whatever the hell that thing is in your closet.”

“Hey, you guys wanted to open the door; I told you not to.” The jerk looks around again. “I still don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m the only stranger to you people. You came into my office..unannounced.”

“Can someone please tell me what’s happening?” I ask, about as politely as I think I can muster.

“What’s your name?”

“Austin Miller, and I swear to God, if you try to call me—”

“I wasn’t talking to you! Just always assume I’m not talking to you! Go over there! Now!”

“Kallias, what’s happening?” one of the other guys questions.

He sighs. “Raise your hand if you can see this woman right here.” Kallias points to me.

No one raises their hand.

“I think you hit your head,” another guy suggests.

“Don’t assume that,” a teenage girl contradicts him. “Maybe she’s invisible.”

“Why would I be able to see an invisible person,” Kallias asks her, “but no one else can?”

“Why would anyone be invisible? That’s not a time power.”

“We don’t know what that explosion did,” the teenager reasons. “We don’t know what the gyroscope does.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I can’t see you. My name is Paige Turner. These are my fathers, Serkan Demir, and Ace Reaver. This is an asshole named Hello Doctor.” Hello Doctor doesn’t seem pleased by this designation, and I don’t know what it means, but if he doesn’t like it, then I’m gonna use it. The girl gestures towards Kallias, and adds, “I guess he can introduce himself.”

Kallias shakes my hand. “Detective Kallias Bran.”

“I thought you were an agent,” Hello Doctor spits.

“I am. I was a police detective before that, so it’s just a habit. Relax.” He turns back to him. “I know you said you weren’t okay, but...do you need medical attention?”

“I would just like to sit down,” I say to him.

He helps me over to a bench.

“She’s invisible, and we can’t hear her,” Serkan points out. “That’s weird. I feel like I just lost a few seconds of time too. I mean...I saw you standing right there, and now you’re by that bench, and I don’t know how you got there. I imagine you walked, but I didn’t see it happen.”

“Did this woman somehow make him invisible too?” Ace offers. “Temporarily?”

“No, that doesn’t make much sense either,” Paige says. “We didn’t see him disappear. It’s more like we forgot that it happened.”

“We forgot a few seconds ago?” Hello Doctor asks.

“Shut up,” a couple of them say in unison.

Paige tries to think about it more, and everyone seems to automatically understand that she needs silence. “Uncle Bran, do you have your wallet, or your badge, or something?”

“Yeah,” Kallias answers her. “They’re one and the same.”

“Hand it to your new friend, and ask her to throw it at one of us. Don’t tell us which one. Just pick one of us at random, and give it your best shot.”

“Gladly,” I say, taking the wallet from Kallias. I actually have a really good arm; I played baseball in college. I send it hurtling towards Hello Doctor.

He dodges it, then goes right back to how he was standing before I threw it. He blinks, confused. “What just happened?” He finds the wallet on the ground. “How did this get her? Is this yours?”

“Holy shit,” Ace says, dumbfounded. “Did she do it? Did she throw that?”

Paige kind of snorts. “She’s not invisible. She just...erases our memories so quickly that we can’t even recall that we’re looking at her right now.”

“How is that even possible?” Serkan asks.

“How do I time travel through photographs?” Paige counters. “We don’t really understand how any of this works, and as I said, we really don’t understand the Omega Gyroscope.”

Kallias approaches Hello Doctor threateningly. “What is it? What does it do? Where are we?”

“We’re in another world,” Hello Doctor replies with a shrug. “As far as I can tell, it’s only different from ours by its history. They had different presidents, different TV shows, different people altogether. It’s otherwise just like our Earth, though. Same geography, same animals, same relative technology. I was just starting to compare climate history when you guys showed up.”

“It’s an alternate reality,” Paige clarifies.

“What are you doing with it?” Serkan asks Hello Doctor.

“Nothing,” Hello Doctor defends. “I’ve no interest in this place. It’s just the world the gyroscope sends me. I’ve been trying to figure out how to control it, so I can take it anywhere. I’m hoping for a world that doesn’t have any people at all.”

“For what purpose?” Ace asks.

“To exploit its resources without hurting anybody. I’m not a bad person! Again, you barged into my office!”

“Never mind that,” Serkan dismisses. “We just need to figure out how to get back. First, though, we should find somewhere to go before someone in this world sees us. This grass is all dead. We don’t want to have to explain it to one of the natives.”

“You can come to my house,” I tell them. “I’m Aeolia Sarai, by the way.”

“There’s someone here who will let us into her house,” Paige says for some reason.

“Yeah, me. I just said that. Wait, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Serkan agrees, “but who?”

Kallias is less confused than I am. He’s almost getting used to this. “Which direction should we go?” he asks me quietly.

“That way,” I point down the street.

“Say it louder than me,” he prompts.

“My house is that way,” I say in my outside voice.

“Let’s go this way,” Serkan says, like it was his idea.

“What the hell?” I lament as they’re all walking in the right direction.

“They can forget you,” Kallias begins as we hang back from the group a little, “but they can’t forget what you taught them. You told us where to go, and they respect that, even though they have no idea where they got the information.”

“Hey, man, is this yours?” Hello Doctor is presenting Kallias with the badge I threw at him. “Why am I holding this?”

“I dropped it,” Kallias lies. He speaks up to address the group, “the invisible woman’s name is Aeolia Sarai.”

“Who’s invisible?” Paige questions.

“Jesus Christ.” I’ve never felt so disregarded.

“We need to find out how powerful you are,” Kallias puts forth.

“Well, we need to find out why it is you can remember me when no one else can.”

“Oh, it’s kind of my thing,” he explains. “There are lots of things I remember that no one else does. I’ve never met anyone like you before, but I’m not that surprised. If you can conceive of a way of manipulating time or memories, someone probably exists who can do it.”

I look at him like a sad puppy.

He smiles, and lowers his voice. “Tell him to do something that he wouldn’t do on his own.”

“Take off your shoes,” I order Hello Doctor.

The guy actually does what I say, and removes his shoes. He doesn’t know why.

“Agent Miller, could you keep up, please?” I’m not sure why Serkan is using the guy’s normal name. “What are you doing?”

“I have no idea,” Hello Doctor says truthfully. “Why are my shoes off?”

“Ace, clap your hands three times above your head,” I order.

“Honey?” Serkan asks after Ace does exactly as I’ve instructed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. We just need to get to this person’s house.”

“Take a left.” Now I’m just the satnav voice.

Everybody turns left. This is becoming awfully frustrating. People are listening to me, but they don't know it. I don’t need credit, but this can’t just be my life now. Kallias can’t be the only person I ever talk to again. That isn’t fair to him. He deserves freedom...from me.

“Wow,” Kallias says. “You need to not, like, abuse that power.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely. How can I communicate with people, though?”

This saddens him. “I don’t know. Maybe you can control it. Maybe you could voice your opinion without forcing others to share it. Maybe you just need time to learn.”

“Take your gun out of its holster.”

He doesn’t budge.

“Maybe I just need you. You’re the only one who’s immune to me.”

“I shouldn’t be, though.”

“Take the next right,” I direct the group. “What do you mean?” I ask Kallias.

“Serkan is special. He can suppress other people’s powers. There only seem to be a few exceptions. His daughter is immune to him, and apparently so am I, but that doesn’t explain why you are. He should be able to see you, if not also make other people be able to see you.”

“I’ve not had this—I wouldn’t call it a power...”

“The term we use in your case is time affliction.”

“Yeah, that describes it well,” I agree. “I’ve not had this time affliction before. It probably happened because of this gyroscope you keep talking about. How do other people get their powers? Is it from that, or something else?”

“Different ways,” Kallias begins. “Ace was born with a special pattern. His soul lives through every day twice. His memories don’t go with it, so he can’t remember what’s going to happen in the future, but he has really good instincts when his boyfriend isn’t blocking this power. Somebody gave Serkan his power, but we don’t know why, and he in turn, gave Paige hers. That was an accident, though. I got mine because I spent some time in another dimension. We think Agent Miller was born with his power, as most people are, but we don’t even know what it is yet. We just know he can do something because he too remembers things other people don’t.”

“He doesn’t remember me, though. This is it right here.” I walk towards my front door, and find the keys in my purse. “Follow me, everyone.”

They all come inside. “Whose house is this?” Paige asks.

“I don’t know, but we’re safe here,” Ace responds. I guess that’s nice to hear, even if it’s not directed towards me specifically.

“Can we speak privately?” Kallias asks me. “I’m still not sure I understand when they can hear me talking to you, and when they forget.

“My bedroom’s this way.”

Once we’re alone,” he continues. “I know I just said that I don’t want you to abuse your power, but we may need it.”

“You wanna control someone,” I imagine.

“I just want answers. “We’ve been investigating this rogue FBI agent. I haven’t been part of the group that long, but...well, you’ve met him. He’s being difficult. He found this very powerful device.”

“The Omega Gyroscope.”

“That’s right. He said we can’t get back to our reality. He said he didn’t have time to prepare, which there may be a little truth to that.”

“You don’t think it’s the whole truth.”

“He’s too relaxed. He should be freaking out that he can’t ever, ever go back home. He has some way, though, and I need to know how. There must be some reason he’s not telling us.”

“I can ask him, it’s fine.” I start to get up to go do that.

He stops me, “the problem is, when we go back...you’ll be alone. If you can’t talk to me, I’m not sure you can talk to anyone.”

“Oh, I’m going with you.”

“You are?”

“The guy said this world is kind of superficially different. You don’t have sharks with lasers on their heads, or damn dirty apes enslaving humans, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

“There’s nothing left for me here. I don’t have any family, and even if I did, they wouldn’t know me anymore. That is...if you’ll have me.”

“I would love for you to come. You just have to be certain about this. When we go back, we’re taking that gyroscope, and securing it. We can’t let Miller hold onto it, and we probably can’t use it ourselves either. It’s just too dangerous.”

“I understand. I’m ready. And I can pay my way,” I say with a grin. “Look, I have all these gold coins my late uncle left behind. He was a survivalist. I just came from the bank, where they told me they wouldn’t take them.”

“Hmm,” he says, holding up one of the coins. “Heads you don’t have to pay with the coins. Tails you also don’t have to pay.” He flips it. Heads.

“Whew,” I joke. “That was a close one.”

“I feel different.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Like I’ve had a headache my whole life, and now it’s gone. Whatever. Let’s go ask the man some questions.”

We return to the living room, where everyone is sitting on my furniture, presumably trying to decide what to do next. “Okay, I know none of you remembers our new friend, Aeolia, but she might be able to help us get out of here.”

No one reacts.

“Guys?”

Still no one reacts.

“Guys!” Kallias shouts louder. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Umm,” he says tentatively. “Everyone, stand up.”

They stand up, confused. Oh, shit.

« < » > Entire Story

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 3, 2028

« < » > Table of Contents

After Leona exited the homeportal, the first thing she did was look around for Mateo. He was nowhere to be found, so the second thing she did was consult her watch. May 3, 2028. This was the day she disappeared from her old life, and became a time traveler, at least in one reality. Her mind possessed memories from different realities, so the portal must have just chosen the most recent one. It likely did the same thing for Mateo. She should have realized they wouldn’t end up in the same place either way. His special moment was on a different date. Now all she needed to do was find a time traveler who could get her back to him. Hopefully someone in this restaurant would let her borrow a phone. She walked over to the counter to ask, but stopped when she realized she recognized the guy on the other side. “Allen?”

He slid his finger underneath his nametag. “Funny, my mom used to say that all the time. I never figured out why.”

She chuckled. “Is Richard here?”

Allen’s eyes narrowed. “My husband is in the back.”

This was Richard and Allen’s place. She had heard about that once. It was at Mateo’s memorial. They owned a restaurant together, which was fitting for them, but this building was much more than that. “When you say he’s in the back, do you mean he’s in the other restaurant?”

Allen’s eyes narrowed further. “He’s cooking up some salmon.”

“Ah, yes. So you know already. Good.” They heard the bell ring from the door opening. Leona turned her head to find her own younger self walking in with a friend. Fortunately, she wasn’t paying enough attention to see Future!Leona. This was the day she became a time traveler, and that was going to be stressful enough for her. “Let’s just say, she’s not my twin. It would be nice if she didn’t see me at all. Could you get me out of here?”

He smiled. “Come on back.” He opened the counter, and led her through the kitchen, to the other side, where the second half of the restaurant was. This was a secret dining area, designated only for time travelers, or time traveler-adjacent people.”

“What can I get ya?” he asked.

Richard stopped wiping down one of the tables, and stepped over to join his husband.

“I actually just ate breakfast.”

Richard looked at his watch. It was late afternoon.

“It was morning when I stepped through the portal. Anyway, I didn’t really mean to come to this time period. I could use some helping getting back to my husband. Who else set up shop in this little mall?”

“Salmonday Club is next door. Post office is down that way, across from The Switcher’s office. The Forger works in that one over there. Might try him if you’re not just lookin’ to send a message.”

“Hey, thanks!”

“No problem,” one of them said after she turned away. She couldn’t tell which one.

She opened the door to the Forger’s den, though this new location wasn’t a den at all. It looked more like a DMV. It was larger, and more professional. Duane was sitting in one of the waiting area chairs, carrying on a conversation with... “Julius?”

Duane smirked. “Oh, please, call him that again.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Saxon.”

“Yes,” Saxon said, “how may I help you?”

“I actually came in here to see the Forger. I need a ride.”

Duane stood up. “Sure, when and where do you need to go?”

“I don’t know,” Leona replied. “I ultimately need to get to March 21, 2014, but I need to find something first.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The Insulator of Life. Do you know of a moment in its history when I could take it without interfering in anyone else’s need for it?”

“Hmm. Have you tried the bank?”

“What bank?”

“Gregorios.” He leaned forward, and pointed in the general direction of the hallway. “It’s that way. It used to just be a regular bank for humans, but they shuttered the entire business, and the woman who owned it switched the whole thing over to a special vault where time travelers can keep their valuables, and access them from the future, or the past.”

“Well, who owns the Insulator?”

“No one can own something like that, but anyone who has used it before, according to their own personal timeline, can requisition it.”

“I’m one of those people.”

“Perfect. You do still have to be approved, so there’s no guarantee.”

“Okay, cool. Thanks for your help.”

“Wait. You come back with what you need, I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go...for a price.”

“What’s the price?”

“I need you to get me a ret-gone coin from the bank.”

“I think I can guess, but what exactly does one of those things do?”

“It’s incredibly dangerous, but I need it for a client, who’s willing to take the risk. You flip it. Heads, no one remembers who you are. It erases your entire timeline, past and future. You can do whatever you want, and no one will remember it long enough to do anything about it. You won’t be able to maintain a single relationship, but you can’t be stopped either. You’ll also be immortal. You hit tails, though, it is your memory that will be wiped; both retrograde and anterograde amnesia. Like the Insulator, no one owns the coins, and no one knows how many there are, but rumor is that Alexina is in possession of all of them. It’s impossible to know whether anyone has ever used one, and they’re each single-use.”

“What will I have to give her for it?” Leona asked.

Duane shook his head. “I don’t know. Obviously, you can decline. You’ll just have to catch a ride with someone else.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Thanks again.”

She walked down the hallway once more, and entered Gregorios Bank. Alexina was standing behind a pedestal deliberately, as if she had been waiting for her. “Hello,” Leona began. “I know you from the future.”

“Are we friends?”

“We have a mutual friend, but we didn’t talk much.”

“Oh, okay. How can I help you today?”

“I need two things, and you might not want to give them up. The Insulator of Life, I believe, is the only thing that can save my husband from two psychics who have hijacked his mind. I was told I would be allowed to take it as long as I’ve used it before, which I have.” Alexina seemed inclined to accept her plea. “This is the thing that I really need. Once I have it, I’ll then need to go find my husband, before the psychics make him do something else against his will. The Forger has agreed to provide transport...if I get him a ret-gone coin.”

“Do you know what a ret-gone coin is?” Alexina asked, noticeably upset about being asked something so despicable.

“He filled me in, yes.”

“There’s a reason I spent twenty years of my personal timeline hunting them down,” Alexina explained. “I didn’t want to use them myself, or have control over them. I wanted to keep people from using them. I’ve been trying to figure out how to destroy them ever since.”

“I have no personal interest in them either,” Leona told her. “The only question you have to ask yourself is whether you trust Duane Blackwood with one.”

“No, I have to decide whether I trust whoever it is he wants to give it to. I know he doesn’t want to flip it himself.”

“That’s a fair perspective. I can get by without his aid. I can find another time traveler. I can’t survive without the Insulator, though. In fact, the whole timeline can’t. The people who took over Mateo’s body are not going to do good things with it.”

“Your husband is Mateo Matic?” Alexina asked.

“Yes. What do you know of him?”

“I know he rescued one of my best friends from a prison he didn’t belong in with his bare hands.”

Leona didn’t say anything as Alexina was thinking hard about what she was going to do. After a full two minutes of this, she removed one of her earrings, and held out her hand. “Give me yours.”

“I’m not wearing an earring.”

“Your hand. Give me your hand.”

Leona did as she was asked.

Alexina used the sharp end of the earring to prick Leona’s finger, letting only two drops fall onto the pedestal. She then pricked her own finger, and dropped some of her blood. She looked back to watch the vault door behind her swing open on its own. Finally, she removed a key from around her neck, and handed it to Leona. “I took two drops of blood, which means you are entitled to two withdrawals. You are not entitled to any specific item, however. What you are seeking, you will only be able to find using your intuition. Walk into the vault, and pick a safe deposit box. Open it with this universal key, and see what’s inside. It might be the Insulator, or the coin, or something else, or nothing. A lot of the time, it’s nothing. Your blood donation only gives you access to the vault, not your desire. That’s up to you, and the covenant you’ve made with time.”

“I understand.” Leona walked into the vault, and took a deep breath. She didn’t waste too much time trying to look for the best deposit box. This was about her intuition, so the only way she was going to find the right one was if she just let it happen without thinking too much. She was right. The Insulator of Life was waiting for her inside the safe. She closed it back up, then quickly went over to the next box. Inside was not a coin, however. It was the HG Goggles. She had once used both of these objects in tandem, along with several other things, to bring Mateo back from nonexistence.

Alexina regarded the withdrawal as Leona was walking out. “Hm. Interesting choice.”

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

Curious, Leona placed the goggles on her face, and looked around. The room now appeared in an indigo tint. She could see lights dancing along the edges of the safe deposit boxes as the vault door was closing back up. The whole bank was a little more lit up than the rest of the building that she could see from in here. There was one particular spot over by the hallway that led to the bathrooms that was particularly bright. “Do you see that over there?” she asked.

“I’m not wearing the goggles,” Alexina said.

Leona crept towards it carefully, then stopped just centimeters in front of it. It was like a silent miniature lightning storm. She pushed her hand towards it, but nothing happened. This made a bit of sense, because spacetime anomalies were reportedly all over the place, but most people didn’t just accidentally fall through them. You had to have some means of opening them up. The goggles seemed to only be good for illuminating them. There were points of light among the lightning that looked like rescaling buttons in a photo editing program. They moved as well, but at their own pace, which was much slower than the rest of the lights. She took two of them with her index fingers, and deliberately pulled them apart. Yes, this was it. This was opening the tear. She stepped through, and found herself in the foyer of Fletcher House.

“Madam Matic,” a man said to her. He executed a manual flourish as he bowed to her reverently. “My name is Old!Declan Aberdeen. Your husband is waiting for you downstairs. I have contained him so that his psychic invaders can do no one any harm.”

“Thank you very much, Old!Declan,” Leona said to him. She walked down to the basement to find Mateo wasn’t alone. Arcadia was there as well, though she was glowing, so she must have been a psychic manifestation, rather than a physical presence. They were standing in some kind of glass chamber.

“Why did you go back to him?” Mateo was asking her. “Why are you working with your father?”

“I could say it was because he promised to undo my siblings’ deaths,” Arcadia responded after a beat. “I could claim I just want to make a better reality. The honest answer, though, is that I would do anything for a family member. If Zeferino showed up tomorrow with some conflicting plan, I would go along with that instead, because he was the last one who asked. I’m just no good on my own.”

Mateo stepped closer, and gave Arcadia a hug, even though she was theoretically not really there. “You don’t need to be with a Preston to not be alone.”

“That’s touching,” Leona finally spoke up.

They separated from each other. Can you see me?” Arcadia asked her.

Leona pointed to her goggles. “These let me see things like you, yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Leona.”

“I am too,” Mateo added.

“I understand what’s wrong with you now.” She reached into her bag and showed them the Insulator of Life. “So let’s fix it.”

Ramses Abdulrashid surprisingly walked into the room. “Can I help?”

« < » > Table of Contents