Microstory 1797: Dying Alone

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I had a pretty rough life, full of death and despair. My father died in the war before I was born. My mother never said much about him. I couldn’t get the sense of whether he was a hero, or a jerk. I think the problem was that she didn’t really love him anyway. She died of cancer when I was eight, leaving me to be raised by my grandparents, who were both so old that they died within a year of each other by the time I turned sixteen. The state awarded me emancipation, so I just took care of myself from then on. I met a great girl at her college. I wasn’t in college, I just worked maintenance there, but she didn’t make me feel bad about myself. We were in love, but she died trying to give birth to our third child, who also died. I had to raise our boy and girl on my own, and we managed to get through it, even with all this heartache; that is, until my son got himself killed in a car accident when he was 28. My one remaining child actually managed to make it to her forties before she succumbed to lung cancer, just like the grandmother she never knew. In the latter’s case, it was surely the cigarettes. In my daughter’s case, it was just because life is unfair, and there is no good left in the world. So there I was, a sixtysomething guy with no family left, and no more drive to do anything with myself. Everything around me reminded me of someone I cared about—who God took from me too soon. I had to get away from it. I had to get away from everything. There weren’t a whole lot of places left to hide away in modern times. Used to be, people we called mountain men owned whatever territory they claimed, and no one gave them any trouble. Now the government has all these rules,  and even publicly available pieces of land are heavily regulated. To live a new remote life, I was going to need some help.

I didn’t have any money, so I couldn’t buy up a bit of land myself. I may have been able to afford a single acre if I had stayed in the workforce for a few more years, but no one wants to sell that little unless maybe it’s on the edge of their property. The edge of any property is usually too close to another property to satisfy my needs. I remember knocking on the door, and I remember talking to the farmer and his daughter, but I don’t recall how I convinced them to let me live on their back forty. I’m sure I told them the God’s honest truth about why I wanted to live in the wilderness, and that I didn’t want to cause any trouble. I don’t remember if he hesitated either, but it obviously ended up working out, because he showed me a patch of land that he didn’t need for other purposes, and it was great. I was planning to live with the bare essentials, but he gave me more than I needed. He chose a spot right next to a creek of clean water. He let me have some pots and other tools that were just taking up space in his attic after he upgraded. I had my own tent, but it wasn’t rated for winter. He donated a brand new one that his daughter asked to buy for me instead of her Christmas gifts. I later carved her a nice birdhouse as a thank-you. She invited me over for family get-togethers a few times, but she grew up to understand that the point of this was to live alone, and not get attached to people, since I felt cursed, and didn’t want to go through that again. She ended up taking over the farm, and continued to fight off the authorities when they came to complain about me living there every few years. I never got over my depression, but I figured out how to live fairly comfortably for the rest of my life until I died, hoping to finally see my loved ones again.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 25, 2013

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The last time Mateo was in 2013, he was only 27 years old. He had yet to hear of time travel, parallel realities, other universes, or psychics. More frighteningly, he had not met Leona, who was only 13 years old. She had never heard of any of this either. That was all in another timeline anyway. There was no way of knowing what awaited them in the here and now. At the moment, the four of them were stepping out of their hotel suite, and heading for the business center, so they could investigate a theory that Leona was brewing. It had been a very long time since she had been able to get onto the old fashioned internet. In the future, Web 4.0 was destined to begin scrubbing the internet of unnecessary information, or misinformation. Future generations will stop caring about frivolous personal broadcasts, and focus on shared knowledge, and streamlined entertainment. Answers will be readily available in whatever form the user wants. Dense datasets can be reorganized on the fly to come up with any solution that’s in there somewhere.

After that, Web 5.0 will take over, and centralize all this data. Artificial intelligence will analyze and synthesize the collective vonearthan information. Separate web sites will no longer exist. They’ll be replaced by a repository of information, which can be accessed by pretty much anyone. The idea of a place to order books, and another place to watch videos will be as foreign to the natives as churning butter was to the people of today. Until then, it was nice to get back to basics. Leona had to go to a specific location in a building to connect to the internet, and just hope the answers she was looking for were there somewhere.

Angela hovered a little bit, while Mateo and Jeremy passed a foam ball between each other. They stopped when another hotel guest came in, then continued once he left. Soon thereafter, Leona was ready with her hypothesis. “On October 9, 1532, a carrack called The São Leonor left Ponta Delgada on a return trip, bound for Portugal. It never made it there before it sank for unrecorded reasons on October 15. The crew was later located and rescued by another vessel less than a year later. In 1535, an attempt was made on John III of Portugal’s life, but the killer was thwarted by a man named Mateus Gil, who was reported to have been a crew member of the Leonor. He killed the would-be assassin, and was awarded his own ship by the king for his efforts.”

“Hmm,” Angela said simply.

“August 29, 1608, a known, but unpunished, rapist in the little English hamlet of Olympia found himself at the hands of the town physician. Stroud ignored his oath, killed the rapist, then escaped to Chaslow to avoid prosecution himself.”

“Oh, weird,” Jeremy said.

Leona continued, “May 31, 1838, Anatol Klugman was born. He’s killed more people than anyone can count. November 9, 1888, Mary Jane Kelly is Jack the Ripper’s last canonical victim.”

“I think I see what you’re trying to say,” Angela noted. “I don’t see much evidence of a pattern.”

“You don’t?” Leona questioned. “We saved killers of killers.”

“We don’t know that Orna killed Jack the Ripper. The murders stopped, but that doesn’t prove Orna had anything to do with it. Sure, she had motive, but no one else was able to catch him, what gave her an advantage?”

“The man who tried to drown her called her a hedge-creeper. She might not have actually been a sex worker, but she could have posed as one, and lured the serial killer to her. He may have even known that they were related, and couldn’t resist the poetry.”

“That is all a guess. Nothing suggests the Ripper stopped because he was killed.”

“It makes sense, though, doesn’t it?” Leona insisted. It sure did make a lot of sense. They should have known all along that The Warrior wasn’t going to let them save lives without there being some kind of catch. He was a killer, and if he couldn’t compel them to kill for him, he would have to loop a hole. “We’re Dexters.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Mateo asked.

“Don’t play into it,” Leona argued. “We don’t take any missions.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” Jeremy acknowledged, shaking his head. “First of all, that won’t come without consequences. Secondly, we are still saving lives. Who are we to say who is worth saving, and who isn’t?”

“Not us,” Leona agreed, “but better us than him.”

“We just need to hold out,” Jeremy went on. “If we can—”

“Shh,” Leona interrupted.

“Right.” Before the conversation—or argument, as it were—could continue, the Cassidy cuffs beeped. Jeremy looked at his, sighed, and stood up. “I’m taking this. I’m answering the call. Anyone can come with me...anyone can stay.” With that, he left the business center, and then the hotel.

The other three followed him out there, and down the street. They walked into a sporting goods store, and over to the customer service counter. While satellites were now flying overhead, the cuffs were still just giving them two points: where they were, and where they needed to go. They had no idea who it was they were meant to help here. A clerk turned around and smiled. “Let me guess, you’re the Matics.”

“We are, yes,” Mateo answered.

“Your order is all paid for, and ready.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a large hiking backpack. She then reached down, and retrieved four more. They looked like they were already packed full of stuff.

“There are only four of us,” Jeremy explained.

The clerk frowned, and checked the receipt. “You’re right, I don’t know how this happened. It does say four.” She pulled one of the backpacks away. “I’m so very sorry about this. I’m still new here. I’m only in Utah to house sit for my aunt while she’s on sabbatical, but I still need a little money. I’m better with shoes.”

“That’s not a problem at all,” Mateo said sincerely. “Thank you for your help...” He looked down at her tag. “...Cecelia.”

“That’s who I am if you need me...and not if you don’t.”

They all chose their packs, thanked Cecelia, and left the store. The map became a little more sophisticated. Now it wasn’t just showing them their destination, but the path they were meant to take to reach it. Leona had bought a Utah atlas as the hotel beforehand. She compared the two, and learned that they were going on a pretty bad hike. It was only about five miles, but instead of using a road, they were cutting through a mountain range. Without understanding the topography, it looked more or less like a straight line, but it was actually going to be grueling. On the streets, this distance would only take them half a day, but like this, it would be more like three days, especially since none of them—not even Angela—was a particularly avid walker. The only blessing was that their time limit was five days, which would give them a buffer to work with. Still, fearing punishment more than ever, they strapped on, and headed off.

It was worse than Leona had surmised, but they couldn’t blame her. This was not her area of expertise. It took them all five days to make it to the general area of their destination. Once they were close enough, the dot changed colors, and began to move. It was moving towards them, so they quickly realized that something was floating down the nearby stream. As it drew nearer, they discovered that it wasn’t something, but someone. It was either a dead body, or a nearly dead one. It was just letting itself get knocked around by the rocks and branches. It wasn’t moving that fast, but still. Jeremy instinctively threw his belongings down, and jumped into the freezing cold water. He reached down, and began to pull the body to the shore. Mateo came down to help, and together, they began to perform CPR. Angela was their medical expert, but the two of them were more than qualified to handle this part of the treatment.

While they were doing that, Angela removed the AED from her pack, and started to set it up. She placed the pads on his chest, engaged the voice instructions. Then she restarted his heart with one jolt. Now that their patient was breathing and beating, she and Jeremy began to clean his wounds together. Once all the blood was removed from his face, they realized it was Lowell Benton, who was part of their team some time ago, before he joined forces with Ellie Underhill. He hadn’t experienced much time travel, though, so a good bet was that none of that had happened to him yet. This would have to be the 2013 version of him.

“Looks like you’re right,” Angela lamented as she was unrolling a bandage. “We’re saving killers.”

“I was also wrong,” Leona admitted. “Lowell has to be saved. He has important things to do in the future, like delivering baby Jeremy. Even I know that, and I don’t have the intel that Anatol does. We can’t just refuse.”

“Mateo, could you please set up one of the tents, so he has somewhere to recover?” Angela ordered. “Find a nice clear, flat spot. Obviously he’s the one who needs the sleeping pad this time. I know it’s your turn, but...”

“It’s fine,” Mateo laughed. “Just focus on getting him better. You’re a valuable member of this team, and we’re gonna miss you when it’s over.”

“Shh,” Leona repeated.

That night, after Angela had done everything she could, the team went to sleep. She shared the other tent with Leona and Jeremy, while Mateo stayed with Lowell. If something went wrong, he would have to call Angela for help, but Lowell was too dangerous to wake up next to anyone else. He didn’t know any of these people yet. If he came to and witnessed their sins, he might attack them. Mateo wasn’t immune, but his death would be the lesser of four evils.

Hours later, Mateo was still wide awake. He was just staring at Lowell, who was slow-breathing next to him, ready to pounce at any moment. The tent zipped open, and a dark figure came halfway in. It took Mateo by the ankles, and dragged him out into the cold like a horror villain. Mateo wasn’t sure if he should scream, or let it happen. Once he was out, and on the ground, he watched the figure reach back up, and zip the tent closed. The dying firelight lit up his face just enough to show that it was Anatol.

“Are you trying to scare me to death?”

“It would be a new one,” Anatol replied. “I wouldn’t mind being able to brag that I accomplished that. But no, I just needed you out of there.”

Mateo looked over where the second tent was supposed to be.

“Don’t freak out,” Anatol insisted. “They’re in the future. Tents are really complicated. The powers that be decided that people can’t transport out of a tent; that the tent will go with them, including everything else inside the tent. I need Lowell to just stay here where he belongs, while the three of you move on.”

“He’s gonna wake up alone and wonder what happened. Whose tent is this? Who made the fire? Most importantly, who treated his injuries?”

“He will,” Anatol concurred, “but so what? That’s not your problem. He’ll eventually shrug it off, and move on to his next kill.”

“Is he a friend of yours, or like, a rival?”

“I don’t think that much about him, and he doesn’t know about me. He’s killing sinners, which is kind of my whole thing, but he’s better at it, so I need him alive.”

“So it’s true; we’re saving killers of killers.”

Anatol smirked. “Get to 2020. Leona and Jeremy are waiting for you.”

“Very well. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We want answers.”

“That I do not doubt.”

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Microstory 1327: Savage Vandal (Part 2)

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Mediator: Before we begin, let me make a few things clear. This is not a courtroom, nor an interrogation room. You are not under oath. Anything you say may not necessarily be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney so much as it’s your right to walk around pretty much wherever you go with an attorney—if that’s your thing—but none is required for this process, and in fact, I discourage it. Nothing that happens here directly affects the proceedings of the civil court, assuming this fails, and you go through with the suit. Still, we will be communicating with each other civilly. We will remain calm. We will treat each other with respect, and come from a place of honesty. Like in court, it is your responsibility to assume each other’s innocence. I’m not saying you are, but if you retain your current antagonistic position, we will get nowhere, and this will all have been pointless. Now, as I understand it, this matter involves more than some vandalism. I don’t normally handle violent crimes, but the judge ruled Miss Vandalism Victim innocent, so now we’re here to discuss how to move forward. This is a safe space...for everyone. Vandal, why don’t you go ahead and explain why it is you vandalized Miss Victim’s car? I understand you do not deny having done it?

Vandal: Oh no, I did it. I did it, because she killed my cat. I don’t care what the criminal court said. I will never believe that she’s innocent, as you say.

Mediator: Okay. Miss Vandal Victim? Did you kill Mr. Vandal’s cat?

Vandalism Victim: I absolutely did not.

Mediator: Okay. Vandal, is it possible that she’s telling the truth?

Vandal: Anything’s possible, so yeah, but that don’t make it true. She did it.

Mediator: And how do you know this?

Vandal: She knew that Dr. Whippersnapper likes to hunt near that creek—I’m sorry; liked. She knew what kind of food he liked to eat. She had access to the insecticides from the nursery where she works.

Vandalism Victim: Worked.

Vandal: Oh, I’m sorry. You lost your job? Because you killed a cat? How sad.

Mediator: Okay, let’s get back to what you were saying. Are there any other reasons you have to believe Miss Victim killed Dr. Whippersnapper? Did she leave any direct evidence? In the law business, we call everything you said circumstantial.

Vandal: Yeah, my friend, Vandalism Witness saw everything. He saw that she was there the day Dr. Whippersnapper died.

Mediator: This..Vandalism Witness. He was also there when you vandalized the car, right?

Vandal: Yeah, he wasn’t involved, but yeah I guess he just happened to be riding by on his bike.

Vandalism Victim: He was? He saw both incidents? The poisoning of your cat, and the vandalism of my car?

Vandal: Yeah, everyone knows he lives on that bike.

Vandalism Victim: True, but...he doesn’t live anywhere near me. What was he doing so far out of his way. I mean, there’s getting exercise, and then there’s riding twenty miles away from your neighborhood.

Vandal: Wull—I mean. I don’t know.

Mediator: Mr. Vandal, I’ll ask the question again. You can answer the same as before, or amend it. Is it possible that she’s telling the truth?

Vandal: Well, I just think...

Vandalism Victim: I didn’t do it. I would never. It doesn’t matter how pissed I was at you for what you wrote on my locker. I wouldn’t have killed a frickin’ cat. That’s sick.

Vandal: Ya know, Vandalism Witness wasn’t super happy when he found out I was kissing Uninvolved Classmate. Is that what happened? Is he the one who killed my cat?

Vandalism Victim: Vandal...

Vandal: I think I owe you an apology.

Microstory 1091: Maud

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My name is Maud Benson, and I am not innocent in all this, but I did not kill Viola Woods. Welcome to jail, Alma. I hope they’re treating you well. I certainly can’t say the same for me. I’ve been in here for months, awaiting trial, knowing that I should not be here. This crime totally freaked out the town’s local law enforcement. They watch a lot of television, and were worried about the feds coming through and taking over, so they were real motivated to find someone to book for it. I’m not saying they didn’t do a thorough investigation, because the reality is I have no clue what they did. All I know is that they picked me up the day her body was found down creek, and held me until they thought they had sufficient evidence to arrest me officially. They’re not incompetent, but they’re scared, yet I can’t sit here, and honestly tell you that they had no reason to suspect me. I was there that day, and unlike Gertrude, I remember everything that happened to us. First of all, I wanna talk a little bit about me and Viola. I know what she was, but I didn’t always. Once she turned five, she started using her amazing gifts to help people. She would always stay pretty close, but not too close, to Blast City. She didn’t want to be too far from her family, but she didn’t want to be recognized either. She was wise to begin with easy missions, so she would know what she was doing by the time she got older, and they started getting more dangerous. Her parents realized early on that there was nothing they could do to stop her. She was destined to do this, and when she told them she knew for a fact she wasn’t going to get hurt, they believed her, because she had long ago proven herself to know a lot more than a normal child her age should; or anyone, for that matter. But at her seventh birthday farm party, which I attended, they sat her down and told her that she needed to take a break. They were worried, not that she wasn’t being safe and careful, but that she wasn’t enjoying her life. If she spent all her time only trying to help others, she could lose sight of why it was good to help them at all. They said on the day after her eighth birthday, she could resume her duties, if she felt so inclined. This was, I guess, like one of those soul-searching adventures that Amish people go on, to decide if they want to stay in the city, or go back home.

Welp, she needed a guide, and I was the most obvious choice, because I was one of a handful of her peers who had any clue what she was up to. I actually hadn’t know anything about it until the party, and accidentally overheard their conversation. Looking back, I probably wouldn’t have believed any of it if I hadn’t been so young and impressionable. I taught her how to be a kid, and ignore all the terrible things that were happening in the world. She couldn’t completely shut off her absorption of the world’s troubles, but I helped her learn to filter out all but one at a time. She couldn’t be in two places at once, so there was no point in her dwelling on all the missions she would never be capable of even attempting. If you think FOMO is bad, you should walk a meter in Viola’s shoes. It would drive you insane. Harriet and Clarence would go on to serve these kinds of roles more permanently, and in a more official capacity, but I was her first true friend. I would have never killed her, even if she had asked me to. There were a number of times where she would give me a little job, and it was oftentimes really weird out of context, but it would always make sense in the end. But there are some lines you don’t cross, and though I can imagine a world where she knew she was going to die, and in fact, thought she had to die, but I wouldn’t have allowed myself to assist her with that. It may seem random of me to even volunteer that information at all, but when you start interviewing all the other kids that were at the creek that day, they’re gonna do everything to make you think I was at fault. Some may say I did it maliciously, but most will probably just claim I thought I was doing the right thing. I am here to set the record straight before those creatures have the chance to fill your head with their lies. Here’s what really happened that awful day—

[Reporter’s note: Maud Benson was escorted back to her cell the moment she opened her mouth to reveal her truth regarding the day of Viola’s death; suggestive of a cover-up at the police station. They have not allowed me to continue my interview with her since, but I will go on with this series—with discerning skepticism—and update if I speak with Maud again.]

Microstory 1071: Mamie

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Viola and I were friends when we were kids, but we haven’t been very close since then. Morbidly, we used to hang out by Masters Creek. Obviously, I had no idea it would become the site of her death, but I’m pretty sure she did. Back then, she was sort of trying out this thing where she led a normal life, and socialized with others. She was practically born knowing what she was, and that she needed to dedicate her life to helping others, but she didn’t think she could do that if she didn’t first learn about humans. J-K, she was technically human, but not entirely. Anyway, as it turns out, she had the right idea, because once she got older, she started investigating her purpose, and finding what she could on others like her. All of them were born like her; knowing that they walked amongst us, but were not one of us, and they allowed themselves to be drawn into that superiority complex. They helped people too, for sure, but they did so coldly, clinically. They didn’t actually care about anyone, which prevented them from helping people in more creative ways. The reason most of her classmates have at least one specific story about her is because we were the ones she saw everyday, and impacted her the most. At some point in those early days, she realized that spending too much time with me was starting to give her diminishing returns. She knew everything about what it would take to help me, but not enough about humanity in general. I was saddened by this revelation, but I understood. It would have been wrong of me to try to keep her all to myself, so I let her go out into the world. So, when you go through these later interviews, and hear people talk about being friends with her, don’t forget that she actually did not have any real friends. She was too busy for that. A relationship is a two-way street, but she could fly. That’s all I’ll say on the matter. If you really wanna know who Viola Woods was, you should talk to her directly.

Microstory 1068: Mabel

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I think you’ve been going about this all wrong. I get that you’ve been trying to get an idea of who Viola was. That’s called victimology, and it’s an important component to any murder investigation, but it really only tells us part of the story. Even if you wanted to focus exclusively on this aspect, you’re interviewing far too many people. Most of these stories aren’t going to have anything to do with her death, as interesting as they may be on their own. Lots of people know any given individual who has died, but that doesn’t mean they were at all involved. Let me try to put in another way. Let’s say you’re a detective, who’s just caught a murder in an alleyway. You get on your hands and knees, and discover a cigarette butt on the ground near the guy’s body. You run a DNA test, and discover the man who smoked that cancer stick was John Doe. John Doe immediately becomes your prime suspect. Why? You haven’t linked the cigarette to the death. All you’ve done is linked both the cigarette, and the body, to the alleyway, but that doesn’t mean they’re related. He could have smoked that days before. Let’s say forensics can estimate the amount of time it’s been lying there. He could have dropped it, walked back into the noisy nightclub, then two minutes later—BOOM—the victim is shot and killed, by someone completely different. Do you kind of see what I’m saying? You’re trying to gather as many clues as you can, and hoping they fit together into a pretty picture, but that’s not how life works. It’s messy, and confusing, and you’re always left with tons of missing pieces. What you need are the keystone pieces. Have you even considered speaking with her parents, or any other family members? What about her nearest neighbors, or anyone who was by Masters Creek around the time of death? The police are pretty sure they know what happened, so I’ve heard that didn’t do a lot of canvassing. Of course, this is a really small town, and they didn’t send for a brooding detective from the big city with a complicated past to handle this for us in the span of ten episodes. They did their best, but I am quite certain there’s a lot they missed, and also quite certain what they missed was not part of the random population of this year’s graduating class. Somebody was there we don’t know about, and I suggest you try to figure out who that was. You’re an aspiring investigative reporter, Alma. You know what you need to do. I get that you’re kind of on a roll, and it sounds like you’re well beyond halfway done, but do remember my advice once you’re finished with this series. I don’t think we’ll have the whole story if you stop there.

Furor: That is an Absolute Last Resort (Part VIII)

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Ace and Paige didn’t even open the lockbox until Dave had them back on Earth, and in their home. Once in the dining room, he set it on the table, and waited for someone else to do it for him. There was no telling what they would find in there.

Jesi wasn’t afraid, but Slipstream slapped her wrist away. “No, I’ll do it,” she conceded. Slip turned the key, and opened the box.

Ace half expected an orangey light to emanate from inside, but it was just a collection of what appeared to be junk. There was a dog tag, with the name Anatol Klugman etched on it, and an unremarkable watch. There was a little toy space gun, and a rock. The only thing that was remotely cool was this cute little baby gyroscope. He picked up the rock, and tossed it in the air a few times. “This is what we have to work with? What are these things?”

Jesi cleared her throat.

“Yes, Jes, you’re allowed to help, thank you,” Serkan said to her.

Jesi started pointing to the objects, and explaining them. “That’s a teleporter gun, that’s a paradox ticker, that’s the Hundemarke, that’s a baby gyroscope, and that...is a rock. Personally, I favor the Hundemarke, but that’s just me.”

“What does it do?” Paige asked.”

“The rock? I have no idea.”

“She means the Hundemarke,” Serkan corrected.

“It kills people,” Jesi answered. She lifted the dog tags from the box, and fidgeted with the chain.

They had no response.

“Well, it doesn’t kill people on its own, but if you kill someone while you’re wearing it, you’ll create a fixed point in time. That way, if a time traveler goes back in time, and tries to create an alternate reality, this will still happen, no matter what. Most people’s deaths can be undone, unless you got this thing.”

“Who’s Anatol Klugman?” Ace asked her.

“He’s the one who created it,” Jesi answered, “using the Sword of Assimilation.”

“And what is the Sword of Assimilation?”

“It steals people’s powers. Well, it doesn’t so much steal as it copies, but there’s a lot of stabbing involved, so the original user usually dies.”

“So, you favor using the Hundemarke,” Paige began. “You want to kill him. I thought you were turning  over a new leaf.”

“I don’t want to kill him,” Jesi argued. “I think we should kill him. There’s a difference between being good, and doing the right thing. Sometimes the right thing is a hard pill to swallow, but some people just need to be removed from the equation.”

Ace took the dangerous object from her, and threw it back in the lockbox. “That is an absolute last resort.”

“Understood,” Jesi agreed sincerely.

Serkan carefully lifted the apparent teleporter gun, and held it in the palm of his hands, as if it were a caterpillar. “This is all we need. We can send him directly to the prison, and be home in time for lunch.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Slipstream said. She reached into Ace’s bag, and retrieved the special handcuffs that Dave gave them. “I would rather escort the man there myself. Who knows where that gun is going to send him? It could make matters worse.”

Serkan shrugged. “We can find someone smart enough to reprogram it; make sure it sends Rothko where we need him to go. Paige, what about your engineer friend?”

“Hogarth? She and Hilde are living in what they call a dead zone. I think it’s unreachable by teleporters and time travelers.”

Jesi frowned. “I don’t think those exist. They probably built some kind of protective shield themselves.”

“Either way,” Paige said, “contacting them is this whole thing. I can do it, but I can’t promise they’ll be able to help by the time the City Frenzy begins.”

“Do what you can,” Ace instructed her. He tossed the stone another time. “I need to figure out what this thing is. Perhaps, it’s the best option we have, and we don’t realize it. If Jesi doesn’t even know what it is, it must be pretty special.”

“I may still be able to help,” Jesi said to him with a sigh. I don’t know what it is, but I may know someone who does.”

So Slipstream and Paige broke off to call Hogarth, while Serkan and Ace waited for Jesi to call her friend, Ophir. He wasn’t the best person in the world, but he could remotely teleport them anywhere in the world; something Jesi called apportation. This was necessary, because if someone attempted to teleport the three of them directly, their powers would have been hindered by Serkan’s. Before she could even hang up the phone, they were whisked away. They were now standing on the porch of a rustic cabin, overlooking a resplendent body of water. A woman was walking up from the shore with fishing gear, and fish. She was neither surprised by their sudden arrival, nor perturbed by the intrusion.

“Doctor Buhle?” Jesi asked.

“I am!” the woman replied with an exaggerated wave of her fish-filled arm.

“I thought you knew her,” Ace whispered.

“I know of her,” she clarified.

The woman approached, and dropped all her stuff on the porch. Then she reached out and gave each of them a hug. “There. Now that we’re friends, you can call me Ladonna.” She sported a thick British accent, or maybe it was South African? “All three of you are teeming with temporal energy. “Except for you, I guess.” She smiled sadly at Serkan. “You’re more like a black hole of linear time.”

“Doctor Buhle here is a diagnostician, specializing in temporal objects.”

“And spacetime anomalies,” Ladonna added.

“We were hoping you could help us identify this.” Ace showed her the mysterious rock they had found in the lockbox.

Ladonna closed her eyes, and shook her head. “I never work on an empty stomach. Fortunately, I caught four of these beautiful salmon. Something told me I would need three extra, but we should eat them quick, while they’re still fresh.”

“How did you catch salmon in that lake?” Jesi asked. “Aren’t we in Wyoming?”

“That’s Brooks Lake, yes,” Ladonna said, nodding. “I didn’t catch the fish there, though. There’s a rift that leads directly to the Beaufort Sea. It’s not a pleasant trip, but I don’t accept anything but the best. Come on inside, you can help. Any of you gutted before?”

And so they prepared a full dinner of fish, salad, and Nanaimo bars for desert. Then they sat down, said grace to a god of time Ace had never heard of, and ate together. Ladonna could sense the tension between the two of them and Jesi, so she ordered them to literally break bread together. It was merely a symbolic gesture, but Ace was actually feeling less hostile towards her, almost immediately afterwards.

Ladonna could also sense their anxiety over the stone, so once dinner was finished, she volunteered to take a look at it for them. She examined it carefully and methodically, turning it over in her hands, smelling it, and even touching it with the tip of her tongue. “Hmm. It’s a recall object.”

“Recalled to where?” Jesi asked her.

“To the beginning,” Ladonna said.

“Of time?” Serkan asked, amazed.

She laughed. “Where were you when you first traveled through time, if ever.”

“Where did I go, or where was I just before I traveled?” Serkan asked.

“The second one,” she answered.

“July 16, 2026.”

“Ah, not far from here. Well, the stone would take you back there, right to where you were when it happened. Well, maybe a few seconds after. If you’ve aged since then, which you always have, the stone will reverse it. Now, it’s not an undo button. Everything you did since that moment has still happened, but it might give you a chance to start your life over if you lost out on a lot by being gone. I don’t think it would be useful to you, Serkan, since your past is in the very near future, and you’re gonna get back there soon anyway, but I can think of one or two people who would cherish the opportunity.”

“Hm,” Jesi said. “You can give it to one of them. We have no use for that here.”

“Now, hold on,” Ace disagreed. “Are you sure?”

“Rothko is a superpowered maniac who’s about to expose the whole world to time travelers. If he goes back to when we were kids, nothing would change.”

“Sure it would. You said you got trapped in another dimension together, and he spent more time there than anybody. If he could avoid that before it happens, maybe—”

“It won’t matter,” Jesi said in a raised voice. “He’s already experienced it. You can make him as young as you want, and take him to whatever point in time you want, he’ll still be angry. If you’re not gonna Hundemarke him, then you should at least send him to prison, where he belongs.”

“The Hundemarke?” Ladonna questioned. “You have that wretched thing?”

“It was part of the white package we got from Meliora.”

Ladonna lost her bubbly attitude. “Give it to me.”

“Pardon?”

“Hand it over, right now.”

“It’s not with us,” Serkan said.

“Then go back and get it, so you can give it to me. I’m the only person in histories who both knows how to destroy it, and wants to.” She was not playing around.

“But what if—”

Ladonna interrupted, “that object was created during one of man’s worst mistakes: a war. It was created through blood and death. It is used for more blood, and more death. It has the potential to save us all, but the only thing anyone ever thinks to do with it is kill their enemies. No one can be trusted with it.”

“Well by that logic...” Jesi began.

Ladonna interrupted for a second time, which didn’t seem like something she would do. “I can’t be trusted either. I’m still just human, despite what choosers say about us being a different species.”

“What are you going to do?” Serkan legitimately wanted to know. “Throw it in Mount Doom?”

“No, not Mount Doom. Darvaza Crater. Lucky enough, there’s a rift over there that will get me to the Caspian Sea.”

“I thought it would go to Beaufort,” Ace recalled.

“Brooks Lake is a hub,” Ladonna explained. “It can take you to any other large enough body of water, and any large enough body of water can get you here, if you know what you’re looking for.”

Ace shook his head. “I want to find a way to do this peacefully, but we need a last resort. I don’t like violence any more than you do, but we need the Hundemarke, just in case nothing else works. We can give it to you after it’s done, but not before.”

Ladonna sighed loudly. She stood up fast enough to knock her chair over. Then she walked to her desk, and removed a small mirror from it. After setting the mirror on the table, she grabbed Serkan’s hand, and cut his finger with a knife that came out of nowhere. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Ouch, let the hell go of me!”

“What’s your daughter’s name!” Ladonna repeated.

“Paige! It’s Paige Tuner!”

Ladonna calmed down, and let a few drops of blood land on the mirror. It swirled around, then revealed a bird’s eye view of Paige. She was sitting at their own table with Hilde, and a woman Ace presumed to be Hogarth. They were working on the teleporter gun, and were paying the voyeurs no mind. Ladonna set the stone on the glass, and let it sink into it as if plasma. The mirror then turned back into a regular mirror.

“What did you just do?” Ace questioned her as he was making sure Serkan’s wound wasn’t too bad.

“You said you found her in 1971?”

“Yes why?”

“What a coincidence. The Darvaza Crater was created in 1971. You get me the Hundemarke, you get Paige back from 1971.”

“Your reputation does not suggest you would anything something like this,” Jesi pointed out.

“I’ve never been this close to getting the Hundemarke. And before you get any ideas,” Ladonna began. She removed the special cuffs from Ace’s bag, confident he wouldn’t make a move against her. She placed one cuff on Serkan, and the other on Jesi. “If you try to retrieve your daughter without doing what I asked, you’ll never get these off, and neither of them will be able to help you ever again. Serkan is simultaneously suppressing Jesi’s time sliding power while being unable to suppress anyone else’s.”

Ace stood up and scowled at her. “How am I meant to get back to Kansas City?”

Ladonna jerked her head towards the lake. “On the southeast corner of the lake is Brooks Lake Creek. Start swimming right where they meet, and you’ll end up in Brush Creek, which I believe is close to your house. You have one hour.”

Ace called upon the spirit of Serkan Demir, and ran as fast as he could to the creek portal. It was a little embarrassing climbing out of Brush Creek, since it cuts through the middle of town, but he was able to get back home fast enough to quickly brief Slipstream on the situation. She was then able to run much faster back to Wyoming. Ladonna honored their deal, and returned all of his people, along with the stone that could send people home. But having to go back to her birth parents, if only for a few seconds, was incredibly traumatizing to Paige. So what Ladonna didn’t realize was just how terrible of an enemy she had just made.

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Microstory 1031: Carl

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Did Herman really not say anything about magic club? Well, that is just like him. He’s too cool to be part of something larger than himself. He’s not ashamed of being in it, but he’s definitely one of those people in the band who think they can go off and start a solo career. I’m not like that; I’m a team player. That being said, I should have been president of the club this year. It’s been Alfred every year since it began, just because it was his idea. I could have come up with it too, if someone had first told me that it was an option to start your own club. I was a dumb little freshman at the time, so you couldn’t have expected me to know how to do that. But I was one of the first people to join, and I’m proud of that. It’s not the only thing I have going on, though. I have many interests. I play darts and pool, just like Finley. My parents belong to the Masters Country Club, though, so I never needed to sneak into a bar. History is my best subject, just like it is for Bertha. Right now, Minnie is helping me learn how to train horses to do dressage. I already know how to ride real well, so I’m ready for the next level. My favorite thing to do is kayaking, and everyone knows this about me. Masters Creek is basically my territory. I should charge a toll for other people to use it. I tell ya, Viola wouldn’t have died if I had had something to do about it, I tell ya that much. Wow, that made me sound really conceited, but I really am a...master on the water. See what I did there? Too soon, I guess, that’s why you’re not laughing. Well, I knew Viola from magic club, but we didn’t talk much. She was clearly there just to keep our numbers up, or we would lose our status. There was one time outside of all that that I saw her, if you wanna hear about it. I was just floating down the creek, not working hard; just enjoying the serenity. School was in full session, but I skip every year on my uncle’s birthday. We were really close, you see, and the administrators and I have this unspoken understanding that I’m just not going to be there. I have perfect attendance otherwise, and wonderful grades, so they’re fine with it. I mean, they haven’t said anything to me about it. Anyway, I was peeing in the weeds on the bank, and to my surprise, Viola showed up. I ducked down when I saw her walk up on the other side of the creek. She was gazing at the water with this shockingly beautiful, but indescribable, expression on her face. It was somehow simultaneously a frown, and a smile. She was watching a very specific section, where the stream goes all still. It was like she and this spot on the water were old pals who would never see each other again after one of them moved across the country. But I shook it off, assuming she stumbled upon a family of tadpoles, or was just admiring her swirly reflection. Well, it appears that I should have told someone about it, because like, a week later, she died. They found her body in that exact same spot, I swear to god. I pee there all the time, because I have the same routine, and it’s nice and secluded, so I’m not mistaken. I’m calling it her body of water. Is that too dark? Either way, I’m pretty sure she predicted her own death.

Microstory 723: Credos, Convention One: Coordination, Chapter One

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The beginning of the journey of the wandering child; a child was born on a world, and he would grow up to be a great man. When he was a child, he came across a creature in the creek near his home. The creature had the body of a fish, and the head of a woman. When he first saw her, she was eating the other fish. He asked her, “why do you eat your own kind?” She replied, “we all eat our own kind. We take from our brethren. We kill, we conquer, we colonize. Everyone is a cannibal. I just do it my own way.” Then the fish woman moved on. The boy followed her. “Excuse me,” he asked, “what are you?” “I am what I am,” she replied, still swimming happily. “But what is your kind called? If you are not fish, nor woman, what could you be? Was one of your parents a fish, and the other a woman?” She answered, who I am is unimportant, for the only question you should be asking is who are you?” And the boy realized that he did not know who he was. “I am but a child. Should I know myself already?” “You should know what you want out of life, at least.” “I came to eat fish.” “Then eat fish.” “I am looking for a purpose, however.” “A quest?” “A quest, yes.” The fish woman sped up, and hopped over a branch that was hanging down. “There is a quest,” she told him. “You can open the Canisters of Cultivation. That is a fine quest.” The boy asked, “what are the Canisters of Cultivation?” “They hold the secrets of the universe. They will bring order to a cosmos of chaos.” This interested the boy, and so he agreed. And so the fish woman sent him on his journey to find the special canisters. She could not go with him, but she gave him a cup. Whenever he needed help, he could fill the cup with water, and she would appear in it, and she could help. For ye, the fish woman of Coulr Creek was convenient and comforting. At the source of the creek was an everlasting spring. There on the bank were fourteen canisters. He tried to open one, but failed. He tried another, but it would not open either. He filled the cup with water and spoke with the fish woman again. She told him that the canisters must be opened in order. And so the wandering child walked over to the first canister, and opened it, and it opened. He tried to open the second canister, but it would not open, so he fill the cup with water again, and asked for help a second time. She said that he could not simply open the canisters. He would have to first learn from them. “Stick your arm into the canister.” He stuck his hand into the first canister, and it transported him to another place; not his body, but his mind. He could see a farmhouse, and people walking out of it. He could not speak with them, for he was not there. This was but a memory.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 23, 2138

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Last year, Arcadia warned Mateo and Leona that they would be better off getting all their sleep in that evening, because the expiation would start immediately. Of course, they heeded her advice, and were in bed before the sun set.

The next day, a little after midnight, they found themselves having been moved. The two of them were now waking up in separate jail cells. There was a third cell near them, but it was completely dark inside. Not even the starlight was shining through. The couple could see each other by torchlight.

“Mateo,” Leona said to him.

What?

“Mateo,” she pressed, a little louder.

I’m here! I don’t understand what we’re supposed to do.

“Mateo! I can’t hear you!”

“Hello?!” Darko’s voice came from the third cell.

Darko?

“What is it?” Leona asked of Mateo. If she couldn’t hear, then she probably had no idea that Darko was with them.

“Leona? Where are you? I can’t see anything.”

She’s right here, but she can’t hear anything.

“Leona, hello?” Darko asked. “It’s completely dark in here, but I can feel engravings on the back wall. They’re numbers. I think it’s a combination.”

Okay, read them to me!

“Did you hear me, Leona!” Darko asked.

I heard you, Darko. Leona can’t hear anything.

“Mateo, what’s going on!” Leona asked, upset.

“Mateo’s here?” Darko asked. “Why isn’t he saying anything?”

What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been trying to talk to you! Okay, Mateo needed to figure this out. There was a huge gap in the communication, and it didn’t make any sense. Leona couldn’t hear, and Darko couldn’t see. This much was obvious, but every time Leona said something, Darko would react to it. Yet neither of them were reacting to what Mateo was saying. Maybe he wasn’t saying anything at all. Leona couldn’t hear, and Darko couldn’t see. That just left...speaking. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. They were each left with a disadvantage. Great, how were they going to get through this one?

“Leona, what’s happening?” Darko yelled after too long in silence.

He would have to play charades with her if anything was going to get done. He reached his arms through the bars, and excitedly pointed towards the third cell, while maintaining eye contact with Leona. He then mouthed the word speak, and waved his hand from his chin to mimic sound coming out of his mouth.

“What am I supposed to say?” Leona asked.

Mateo just gave her the thumbs up, because that was good enough for now.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Darko answered. “I think I’ve figured out the numbers. Should I read them out to you?”

Mateo perked up, waved his hand from his chin again, and mouthed the word yes.

Leona turned her head slightly to the side, a little unsure that she was understanding him right. “Yes!”

“Okay,” Darko began.

Mateo hastily reached through the bars and presented Leona with his combination lock, of which she had none.

Leona nodded that she understood.

Mateo pointed towards Darko.

As Darko read each number out loud, Mateo tried to hold up his fingers so that Leona could see. “Eleven-twenty-four-forty-two-fifty-six-eighty-three!”

Shit! He didn’t have eleven fingers, let alone eighty-three. How could he indicate which two digits belonged in a pair? Not only that, but Mateo wasn’t great with numbers, and had already forgotten most of them. He pointed towards Darko again, and waved his hand in a circle.

“Again,” she requested.

“Okay!” Darko said. “Eleven-twenty-four-forty-two-fifty-six-eighty-three!”

Mateo closed his eyes and tapped the air with his finger, showing that he was doing his best to memorize the numbers. Once he felt he had, he reopened his eyes and looked back to Leona. He stuck one hand through the bars and showed one finger. Then he stuck his other hand out with a second finger.

“One-one,” Leona said out loud.

“No, eleven!” Darko corrected.

Mateo quickly pulled his fingers close together, so that she could get the right idea.

“Eleven,” she said.

“Right, can you not hear me very well?”

Five fingers on his right hand, and three on his left.

“Eight.”

“No,” Darko whined. “Eighty-three.”

Three on his left hand.

“Three.”

Mateo could hear Darko sigh as he was clapping his hands together

“Eighty-three? Okay, understood.”

Mateo nodded. They then continued this procedure until she had all the numbers in her own head. It got easier over time. After they were done, Mateo placed his hands on his combination lock, which he couldn’t actually see from this side of the bars.

“Okay,” she said to him. “We can do this.”

“We can do what?” Darko asked, literally in the dark as to what was going on.

Mateo pointed towards him, then swept his fingers in the air dismissively.

Leona was getting even better at understanding his meanings. “Mateo and I are working on it.”

“Oh, so he is here?”

Mateo placed his hands back in position and waited for Leona. She reached out as well and slowly moved her hands as he was meant to, holding up the international signal for stop when it was time to turn it the other way. Finally, they reached the last number. He heard a click, and some pressure release. As soon as he opened his gate, they were all three apported to a windowless room.

“Can you hear me now?” he asked.

“Oh my God, yes I can,” she replied. “That was infuriating, and frightening.”

“Have we been here the whole time?” Darko asked.

Arcadia’s voice suddenly rang out from the speakers in the corners, “congratulations, players, you successfully completed your first challenge. Aldona’s brother, Nestor was fascinated by this fad called escape rooms. Starting in the early 21st century, these rooms adapted similar video game scenarios to the real world, adding a level of excitement and urgency never experienced before. Over time, these adventures became more elaborate and expansive. Years after the first one appeared, people were no longer tasked with breaking out of a single room, but an entire building. Decades later, these buildings would grow to enormous proportions, allowing contestants time to eat and sleep while still on the clock, which was now measured in days, rather than minutes or hours. Advances in automation and access to resources were providing people with more free time, and less of an obligation to work. They were now free to entertain themselves in new ways. But we have an advantage over the designer of those petty escape buildings that they could only dream of. We have control over time and space. The possibilities are quite literally endless. You won’t be trying to escape a room, so much as you’ll be seeking the prize at the end of the rainbow. Your mission is to break out of this place, and all others after it, until you find the one where your friends live.”

And so that was what they did. They continued questing through room after room, but it wasn’t all there was to it. They had to walk up 328 flights of stairs to get to the top floor of something called an arcological megastructure. They had to solve a critical failure on a space station before life support ran out. In a real escape room, this would be a simulation, but Leona made sure they knew, if they didn’t actually fix this very real problem, they would really, actually, die on the station. After that, they just had to get to the other side of the Grand Canyon, survive the battleground during a short skirmish between two warring nations on an alien planet, and complete a continental scavenger hunt against contestants who were doing it for mere fun. They met up with Aura, Mario, and Lincoln after walking upstream for a couple miles in a creek, thinking that their game was finally over. It wasn’t, though, because then all six of them were thrust into the next challenge together.

Through the fatigue, Mateo remembered that he had asked Arcadia to see Horace and Paige again, to make sure that they were okay. He now knew that these tasks were the means to that end. Unfortunately, they never knew how much further they had to go, or if they would even get through everything. All in all, this was the most taxing and dangerous of the Aldona expiations. It might have been fun if it had last, maybe, a quarter of the time. But the full day just kind of ruined the whole thing. By now, even if they managed to pass it, they wouldn’t have much time with Horace and Paige. As happy as he was for them to have gotten off the island, and away from the expiations, he missed them both. Missing Horace Reaver. Who would’ve thought?

After helping solve the crime at a murder mystery dinner, they were apported to another windowless room. Arcadia’s voice returned, “wow, ya know, you did those first ones pretty well, but then you started slipping. I guess I underestimated how tiring this would make you.”

“Yeah,” Mateo said, barely able to think straight. “You think so?”

“Well, there’s only one left, so you can all calm down. This is a standard room. You have one hour to break out of it. I’ll be here to give you clues, if you need them. Each additional clue beyond three will cost you time, though. If it takes you longer than seventy-five minutes, well...if you look at your watches, you know what happens then.”

They did all know what would happen then. That was the moment of Mateo and Leona’s jump to the future. If they didn’t get through this, they would fail, and Aldona’s brother, Nestor would be lost forever. Things started getting bad pretty quickly. They misunderstood what the most important information on the newspaper clippings was. It took them a long time to figure out the right sequence of flipping the light switches on and off. And they failed to recognize one of the panels on the wall to be part of the game, and not just as a function of the room itself. Arcadia had to give them five clues altogether, providing them with only five minutes to win.

Mateo wandered around, looking for anything they didn’t see before. Darko took the metal bar they used to magnetically retrieve a key down a tube, and used it to start prying one of the chairs bolted to the floor. Lincoln was asleep in the corner from having been the one to last the longest in the stamina challenge earlier that day. Leona and Mario were trying to decipher a combination to a safe, but were having trouble reading Aura’s chicken scratch.

“Got it!” Darko cried. They had a minute left.

This woke Lincoln up from whatever dream he was having. “Gangs aren’t illegal; just the crimes they usually commit!”

“Is there something under there?” Aura asked.

“No, of course not,” Darko answered, wrenching the fourth leg from the floor. “This is not part of the game. Dad, come help me!”

Mario came over, and lifted one side, though he asked, “what are we doing with this?”

“Fast as you can, on three,” Darko said, leading them over to the door.

“You can’t do it,” Leona warned them, “if it’s not part of the game.”

“We need to get through that door,” Mateo said. “This is the only way we have.” He got behind the chair and prepared to help.

“One,” Darko said, swinging it back, and then forward.

“Two,” Mario said as they swung it a second time.

“Three!” they all three hollered in unison, then smashed the chair against the door. It moved, but not enough.

They tried again.

“thirty seconds,” Aura notified.

They tried again.

And again.

And again.

“Seventeen seconds!”

“The chair is too big,” Mateo complained.

“You need to focus the force on its weakest point,” Leona explained reluctantly. “Right at the door knob.”

“Get that fucking chair out of my way!” Mateo ordered.

Mario and Darko complied.

Once they were out of his path, Mateo stepped back, and slammed his shoulder against the door.

“Mateo, stop!” Leona begged.

Mateo hit the door again.

“Five seconds!”

In one last desperate attempt, Mateo pushed himself into the blood rampage, which was an adrenaline flowing technique he had learned from Vearden. He ran straight for the door as fast as he could, with as much power as he could muster. The lock broke, sending him flying through the opening. He caught a glimpse of Horace and Paige’s faces before landing on the sand.

“Did we win?” Serif asked, helping Mateo up. “Did we get through it in time?”

“We’re back on the island,” Mateo said. “I think it’s next year, and I don’t think we won, no.”

Leona walked over from behind them and sized Serif up. “Who the fuck are you?”

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