Showing posts with label cage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cage. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 20, 2024

Microstory 2108: My Total Withdrawal

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One thing that the couple who set me up with this untraceable computer cage didn’t realize is that I pay attention to the things that happen around me. I watch the cable guy installing my TV and internet. I watch the cashier ring up my items at the grocery store. I even watch the mail deliverer sort and scan the pieces of mail as they approach my door. There is not a single vending machine, janitor’s closet, ATM, car hood, desktop computer, or anything else like that open that I pass that I don’t inspect to the best of my ability. I’m not very handy, I don’t generally know how things work, but I like to have some idea of what they look like inside, because I’m a curious specimen, but I do not like surprises. I’ll never need to know how to load money into an ATM, and if I do, I would receive the necessary on-the-job training, but I might as well take a look while it’s there in front of me. When they installed all this gear, I took notes, some in my head, but some on a paper receipt from my wallet. When you’re on the run, you can’t trust anyone. I built a replica of their handiwork at a second location, and that’s where I am now, in hiding. The only reason I’ve not been living here the whole time is because I didn’t want to be seen going to and from it, but now that I can’t go back to work, it doesn’t really matter. I still had a little cash left over from my total withdrawal in Kansas City, and I received an advance while I was a janitor, so I’ve been stocking up on supplies in preparation for something like this. I will find a way to pay my employers back, but right now, I need to focus on my survival. I still don’t know if I’m going to stay where I am now, or if I’m going to run again. The ID makers have my fate in their hands, just as I had theirs in mine. I made my choice on what to do with them, and I’ll have to live with that. I just hope that the girl they kidnapped makes her way back to her family. Then it will all have been worth it. Signing off now, from my secret location inside a secret location.

Monday, March 11, 2024

Microstory 2101: I Won’t Live a Lie

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I’m out! I’m hiding from the authorities...somewhere. For obvious reasons, I’m not going to tell anyone where I am. When I first showed up in this universe, I didn’t have any identity, so instead of finding one on the black market, I procured it through the proper channels. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, but I’ve ruined it now. I had no choice. I got a parasitic infection, which messed up my brain, and started making me act crazy. After the body doctors cleared it all up, the mind doctors came in, and tried to convince me that everything I’ve been doing and saying has been crazy, and they wanted to keep me there for psychological treatment. The little committee I had to talk to twice before I could be released from the hospital brought up the discrepancy in the timeline. If I was infected in early February, why is it that I’ve been talking about being a bulk traveler on my blog pretty much this entire time? Well, some of them argued that the viral and bacterial infections I had before that could explain all that away. Others argued that maintaining the same symptoms across three completely different infections didn’t make much medical sense, and I don’t know everything that they talked about after I left the room, but in the end, I got out of there. It wasn’t enough, though. I was living around people who didn’t believe me, and didn’t trust me, and I couldn’t stay there anymore. I’ll always be grateful to my landlord, and my boss, and I know that none of this was their fault, but I have my reasons. I spent years pretending to be someone I’m not. I pretended to not be autistic. I pretended to be straight. I pretended to like Blink-182! I won’t do that anymore. I won’t live a lie. Even if I have to sleep in squalor, I’m going to live my truth from now on. So long, Boreverse Kansas City, I’ll never forgive you for the way you treated me. Now more than ever, I know that my only goal in life should be to get the hell out of this universe. Even if I never find my friends again, at least I won’t have to deal with you people anymore. For those of you reading this who are on my side, don’t you worry about me getting caught. I’ve got that covered. Some friends helped me set up a shadow workstation. As long as I always post from the cage, I can’t be traced, and as long as I don’t mention any specifics about my location, I can’t be found. I have to go now. I booked a boat ride on the Chicago River. As I said before, don’t look for me. I’m a ghost.

Tuesday, November 8, 2022

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 5, 2398

Mateo handed the headset back to Alyssa, because she was the one who needed to hear the message about her sister, Trina. After confirming that it wasn’t a prank, she hung up, and asked him how this was possible. It’s a complicated relay system they have. They discovered that certain signals can pass through the bubble that separates the duplicate of Kansas City Metro Island from the rest of the Fourth Quadrant. Radio waves don’t penetrate the barrier, but light can, which means that they can use a laser communication system rigged up on a ship that Great Britain has stationed nearby. Details are scarce, but Trina apparently survived the trip to the past, made her way back to present day, but since she had no way of entering the Third Rail, she crossed over into the Fourth Quadrant. She obviously had help, because she didn’t know about the portals. She and the other travelers weren’t even still around when the team discovered the truth about Easter Island and Stonehenge. They got lucky, really.
“Why can’t we go back?” Alyssa asks. She keeps expecting a different answer.
After Leona came to rescue Mateo, Winona, and Tarboda using the Easter Island portal, that portal closed up behind them. It was almost as if it were sentient, and decided that no one else needed to pass through. It’s not gone completely, though. The connection remains intact, just not on a physical level. It now resembles the Kansas City Island barrier, however, in this case, they don’t need lasers. Just before the rescue team departed, Ramses had finished the prototype for an interdimensional communications booster capable of exchanging transmissions between realities. He had hoped to use it to reach out to someone in the main sequence, but that hasn’t worked so far. The sealed off portal is impossible to traverse, but on a hyperdimensional level, it’s closer than other realities are to each other. “We can’t get over there anymore,” Leona explained.
“But Mateo can teleport at will. Maybe he can teleport though the barrier,” Alyssa suggests. “You haven’t tried that, have you?”
That’s not a crazy idea. If anyone can do it, it’s him. He’s maintained the strongest connection to what little temporal energy they have been able to find in the Third Rail, though they still don’t know why. He was unable to reopen the portal before, but he should try again. He has his fancy new timonite skin now. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Leona sighs, not because she doesn’t want to help, but because she knows that this isn’t going to turn out as they hope. Their plans never do. They may make small wins that add up over time, but big swings like this don’t go well. She knows that she can’t stop them from trying it, or wanting to. When a problem arises, they’ll rise above it. They always do. “Okay, I’ll run the pre-flight check on the Olimpia.”
“We don’t need that anymore,” Mateo reminds her. He reaches out and takes Alyssa’s hand.
“We don’t know the limitations of your power,” Leona warns him. “You may only get a few jumps before you run out.”
“Only one way to find out.” Mateo jumps the two of them away, but they don’t make it to Easter Island. They don’t make it very far at all. They’re in Ramses and Leona’s lab, locked in a cell, turrets pointed at them from above. “What the hell?”
Ramses perks up, and takes his headphones off as he’s spinning around in his chair. He starts laughing at them like a kid at the zoo when the simians start to throw feces at people. “What are ya in for?”
“Ramses, what the hell is this?” Mateo demands to know.
“This is a failsafe,” he explains. “If you try to teleport in or out of this building, or within a hundred meters of it, you’re gonna end up in the boo-boo cage.”
“And are we married to that name?”
Ramses pretends to think about it. “Umm...yeah, it’s perfect.”
“Listen, I know you’re paranoid after what happened with Erlendr, but is this really necessary?” He looks up at the guns.
“Oh, those aren’t real. They’re just there to look menacing,” Ramses explains.
Leona enters the lab. “I didn’t know that thing was online yet.”
“I just activated it twenty minutes ago,” Ramses tells her before redirecting his attention to Mateo. “I was going to ask you to test it, but then I got this great idea for something else, and you know how I get sometimes. I had to write it down right away.”
“I do know you,” Mateo agrees, “and you know me, so you know that when I’m ready to do something, I’m ready. Can you let us out?”
“Depends,” Ramses says. “Where are you gonna go?”
“Easter Island,” Alyssa replies. “I want to speak to Trina myself.”
Ramses nods. “I understand that. I hope it works.” He accesses the app on his handheld device, and shuts down the power dampener that’s been keeping Mateo’s teleportation powers from working.
“Be careful,” Leona instructs. “Were I you.”
“Were I you,” Mateo echoes. He takes Alyssa’s hand once more, but something goes wrong. Technicolor bulk energy begins to run up her hands, towards the rest of her body. “Oh, no. What happened?” He steps away from her, but the damage has been done. The best thing he can do now is hold on tight, and try to go with her.
“Turn it back on!” Leona runs over to the cabinets on her side of the lab.
“What?” Ramses asks.
“Just do it!”
Leona opens one of the cabinets, and takes out a huge bag, which she straps to her shoulders. “Is it on?”
“Yes,” Ramses answers.
Just before Alyssa and Mateo disappear, Leona presses her own emergency teleporter, which reroutes her into the cage. She wraps her arms around the both of them, and hitches a ride into the bulk.
They land in a dark forest. Random junk is all around them. A few things they recognize, but others Mateo never banished. Either he chooses to banish them in the future, or he loses control of his power of suck. Or maybe he’s not the only one with the banishment ability. Leona reaches behind her back, and pulls out a shotgun. She scans the area, looking for signs of danger. She tenses up when they see a figure approaching.
It’s Ramses. It’s actually Ramses’ body. Time is a funny thing, so it may or not be him. It could be Erlendr, or even someone else. “I’m not here to cause problems.”
“Who are you?” Leona asks forcefully.
“I’m who you think I am. I’m Erlendr Preston.”
“Get on your knees.”
“Are you going to kill me!”
“On your knees! Hands on your head!” She drops her bag and finds a set of zip cuffs, which she gives to Mateo. “Tie him up. We’re taking him with us.”

Tuesday, January 18, 2022

Microstory 1802: A Mother Doesn’t Know

The end has finally come, and I welcome the relief. The doctors have been keeping a close eye on me for years now, but they can’t stop the inevitable. I have a DNR, and nobody lives forever. I don’t remember how I ended up in this institution, but it was definitely against my will. They keep me drugged up so I can’t think straight, let alone move fast enough to get out of this place. It’s been such sorrowful torture. I would protest against them, but I just don’t have the energy anymore, and haven’t for a very long time. They know this about me. They do that on purpose. They took away my free will, because if I had a voice, people might actually listen to what I have to say. But they can’t have that. No, far be it for me to speak my mind. I’m a crazy person, who no one cares about. I had someone who cared about me, but they took him away. Not the same people, technically, mind you, but close enough. Anybody who works for the institutions of this country, and promotes the oppression of the masses, might as well just be one evil man. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here, and I am well aware that the only way that happens is in a bodybag. The time has almost come; what I’ve been yearning for. This won’t be the first time that I died. I tried to kill myself a few years ago. My son got into an awful mess, and ended up being murdered by a cop. I was foolish to have made my attempt on the day the charity organization would come to deliver meals. He was the only person who ever gave a damn about me, and now he’s gone. What do I have to live for but him? Now this cough has taken me down my final path, and I’ve been letting it happen. They can’t keep me locked up forever, no sir. Now it’s just a waiting game.

I reflect on the decades behind me. They say that your life flashes before your eyes, but maybe that doesn’t always happen automatically. Maybe I have to force it, and expedite the process. I’ll take any advantage I can get. I did my best raising my child, but I could only do so much without his terrible father. Sure, he was the one paying for everything, so I didn’t have to work, but he should have been there. He should have helped teach our son how to be a man. I don’t know how to be a man; I’ve never done it before! Looking back, maybe there were some signs that he wasn’t well, and maybe I should have gotten him some help. But, really, how was I meant to know that his fixation on certain girls in his class was some kind of warning? It didn’t seem weird when these fixations transferred down to new girls. They kept staying the same age, while he grew older. He was very protective of others; I thought it was sweet. He didn’t ever kill any small animals, which everyone says is the behavior you’re supposed to look for. He has absolutely no trouble feeling empathy for people. I mean, when I say these signs were obvious in retrospect, it’s because hindsight is 20/20, not because I think I should have understood what the problem was back then. I couldn’t have known, I couldn’t. He did some bad things when he was older—those cages. He didn’t have to die for it, though, and they certainly shouldn’t have blamed me for it. Like I said, he didn’t ever show any violent tendencies. He truly wanted to help those women, and the situation sometimes just got out of hand. If their own parents had raised them better, perhaps they wouldn’t look so vulnerable. That’s what he was attracted to, but not in a sexual way. He wanted to help them, and I can’t help but be proud of him for that. I know he’s in heaven now, where he belongs, and I know that I’ll soon meet him there...at last.

Tuesday, December 28, 2021

Microstory 1787: Flying Fish

Sleep and I have always had a love-hate relationship. I love it, but it resists me every single night. I was an adult before I learned that normal people fall asleep within twenty minutes. When my health teacher told us that, I wanted to punch him in the face, and knock him out. Then I wanted him to wake up, and punch me in the face so I would know what it feels like to not lie awake in bed for literally two hours. Over the years, I’ve tried some things to alleviate the problem: meditation, melatonin, stronger pills that put me, and the morning drivers around me, at terrible risk. Some of it has helped a little, but nothing has helped a lot. I would get six hours on a really good night, and I was proud of myself for anything over five. Now that I’m older, I’ve decided to prioritize my time better. Instead of staying up late, and waking up just before it’s time to go to work, I figured I may as well go to bed early, and have more me-time in the mornings. If it’s early enough, it’s still dark, so there’s no glare on my TV. That’s what’s really helped, waking up before sun, instead of fighting for every ounce of rest in those precious final moments. Now I lie awake for an hour, but since I give myself more time overall, I end up with seven hours, and it probably doesn’t get any better than that. I even try to avoid this thing called social jetlag, which means sleeping different hours on certain nights, which for most is due to not having to work on the weekends. Last night was different. It was a Friday, and I was in the middle of a good TV binge, so I decided it would be okay to go to bed at 23:00. That’s 11:00 PM for you people who can’t count past 12. It turned out to be a bad idea...for a bizarre reason. Had I gone to sleep at my new normal time, I wouldn’t have been awake to hear the man outside my window.

At first, I think it must be an innocuous noise. The purr of my refrigerator, the buzz of the street lights, the revving of a distant car. It isn’t so distant, and it isn’t so innocuous. It sounds like someone mimicking the sound of a motor with their mouth, and it only gets worse when he starts talking. “Flying fish,” he says, “flying fish”. Over and over and over again, “flying fish. Yeah, baby, flying fish.” Fuck, what does he want with me? I’m about to die, I’m about to die. What do I do? Don’t turn on the lights, then he’ll see that you’re here. Look out the window. No, not that one, it’s too close. I can’t see anything. What about the window in the study? Still nothing. Can you still hear him? “Flying fish.” Call mom, she’ll know what to do. No, bring the dog in first, and put her in her cage.  Then call mom. Shit, it’s late, they go to bed earlier than I do. Call 911, she says, that’s what it’s there for. Yes, it qualifies an emergency, call them now. Dispatch doesn’t understand my problem fully, but she dispatches a fleet anyway. Firetruck first on the scene. I look back out the window in the study. The firefighter is bent at the hip, hand on the shoulder of a man. He’s sitting in the street, up against the curb. He’s wobbly, and incoherent. He must be drunk. She’s being gentle and patient with him. Ambulance, police cruiser, that red pickup truck the fire station boss drives, another police cruiser. It’s okay, Daisy, go back to sleep. Chew on your cactus if you’re nervous. They load him up faster than I would have thought. I’ve seen car accidents in real life; been in a couple myself. They usually move slower than movies make it seem. They close the ambulance doors, and clear the street. The quiet returns, and it’s like they were never even here. Then a fish flies past my window, followed by another, and another. He wasn’t lying.

Monday, September 13, 2021

Microstory 1711: Giorgia Giraffe

Dear City Council,

I have a pet giraffe. Well, I’m pretty sure it’s a cousin to the giraffe, but it just looks like a baby giraffe. It’s even smaller than a dwarf giraffe—closer to the size of a large dog—and as far as I know, it’s the only one of its kind. I don’t know where she came from. She just wandered into my backyard one day and started drinking out of the birdbath. I thought about contacting the authorities about her, but I grew too attached in only the few short hours since we met. She seemed to grow attached to me too. She kept following me around the yard. I tried to look up what kind of leaves giraffes eat, but the internet listed all these trees I had never heard of, and they didn’t appear to be native to North America. She took a liking to bamboo leaves, so that’s what I’ve been feeding her all this time. I have a little naturally grown ceilingless hut up against the fence. All I did was plant bamboo in the shape of four walls, and it gives me this private little area where I can go to enjoy nature. I have an outdoor television in there, and a minifridge for snacks and water. I even buried the extension cord inside some PVC pipe to protect it from damage. It’s a pretty sweet setup, and I spend most of my time there, especially since the pandemic allowed me to work from home. It wasn’t originally designed to accommodate a tiny giraffe, so I cut down some of the bamboo, and planted more to make it bigger. This is where Giorgia sleeps. I bought a smartspeaker so she can listen to sounds of the jungle all night long, and she loves it. She loves me, and I love her.

The neighborhood kids like to come over and play with her, but she has a tough time with crowds, so I limit visits with a schedule so it doesn’t stress her out. Most people are overjoyed to see her, but not everyone is happy that I have a mini giraffe. Five blocks down—which no one in their right mind would call part of the same neighborhood—lives a middle-aged grump who stopped working when he started to receive disability checks, along with a settlement he won in civil court. He has nothing better to do with his time than complain about his neighbors. If the people on his street don’t have each blade of grass cut to an untenable range of length, he puts up a stink. I’m sure you have all noticed how annoying he is. I was able to keep Giorgia off of his radar for a good long while, but he’s recently learned of her, and now he can’t let go. Animal control came by last week to investigate, and a few days later, a decision was made to remove the animal from my property, and lock her up in a cold and heartless cage. I always knew it was illegal to keep a wild animal at my house, but I don’t think she qualifies. She’s gentle, trained, and not doing anyone any harm. I beg you to return Giorgia to me. The city had no right to take her from her loving home. There must be better things that you can be doing with your time than harassing a law-abiding citizen, and traumatizing an innocent creature. Attached is a petition to #BringGiorgiaHome, signed by over 300 of my closest friends, who all believe that she is better off with me than in some laboratory.

Thank you,

Sir Niall Muller Jr.