The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 12, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

Angela is sitting in the welcome room. It has a conference table, multiple screens, a snack bar with refrigeration, couches, and comfortable chairs. This is where she’ll first meet clients. It’s a playground for them to explore what kind of software they might want to create without the limiting factors of a stuffy office. Completing this room was the final flourish. If she wanted to take a meeting today, she would be ready for them. Well, the building would be ready. Psycho-emotionally speaking, she may never be ready. She’s nervous already, and she hasn’t even opened the doors yet. Can she do this? Is she ready? Should she do it?

Kivi peeks her head into the room like a sideways prairie dog. “Hey.” She’s Angela’s researcher. Angela knows how to counsel people, and she knows how to code, which is a lot of work for one person. It will be Kivi’s responsibility to find people who might be interested in their services, but who might not be aware that it’s even a thing. Or they might not be aware that they can do it for free. This is a highly competitive field, but most companies charge for development. Angela isn’t even sure that she wants to call them clients, because once they go into business together—if it goes that far—they will be more like partners. They will work together to build something, and share in the profits, and if it fails, they will share in the loss. The point of this is to take on the financial burden, because her only partners will be people who both can’t do it on their own, and can’t afford to invest monetarily.

Angela takes a deep breath. “You found my secret hiding place.”

“You mean the biggest room on the floor besides the lobby? Yep.”

Angela nods, but doesn’t say anything.

Kivi walks over and sits down next to her. “What are you feeling?”

“Hesitation.”

“Hesitation,” Kivi questions, “or cold feet?”

She shakes her head. Does it matter? The result is the same when this whole project is cancelled. They should never have even tried, and they wasted so much time, money, and effort getting to this point. They don’t need the money. The entire pursuit is all about her, inspired by the simple fact that Leona and Ramses only needed one floor for their lab. The business doesn’t do the team any good, and it doesn’t do the world much good either. It’s selfish. She feels so selfish, spending so much time on this.

It’s like Kivi can see all this detailed angst in Angela’s eyes. “You don’t have to feel bad about doing this, just because Leona is working on fusion, and Ramses, Mateo, and Alyssa are trying to get Trina back. They want this place to succeed. We all do.”

“It’s all so stupid compared to everything else going on.”

“It’s not, and you won’t feel that way when I show you the profile for your first partner.” She casts her tablet to the big screen. A group of teenagers are laughing for the camera. “The boy in the green shirt has been walking two miles to the nearest internet cafe everyday to research ways to help his community. The area is poverty-stricken, and the school’s population is dwindling as a cult promising riches recruits kids for what he realizes is actually a militia. He has some pretty cool ideas to put a stop to it, but not the resources to follow through. Upon your go-ahead, I’m prepared to reach out.”

Angela reads about him on the screen, and thinks. “Okay. Call him.”

Microstory 1722: The Chameleons

< > Table of Contents

I’ve always been really great at fitting in. In grade school, I would seamlessly switch from clique to clique, making people feel like I belonged, and also that there was nothing wrong with me belonging elsewhere at the same time. People noticed that I was friends with pretty much everyone, but they still couldn’t see the big picture. I didn’t even really see it. It’s not like this was a calculated strategy on my part. I just did it. Everything changed when I went to college. I met people from all over the country, and beyond. I found it harder to relate to some, and that made it harder to want to try to relate to anyone. It was disheartening. It was a small liberal arts school, far from home, so I didn’t think I would ever see anyone from high school again, but there was one. I’m not being rude by calling him an outcast, because that’s how he referred to himself, and how he liked it. He and a few others deliberately separated themselves from the herd, not because they hated people, but because they were all destined to lead lives that required that they be excellent observers. One of them became a writer, who could tell meaningful stories about unique characters. Another decided to be a private detective, specializing in the hardest cases, which others were not able to crack. She operated on referrals from those who would be her competitors. This all may sound irrelevant, but it’s not. The guy who ended up going to the same college as me didn’t know what he wanted to do with his observational skills, but he knew they were important, and he didn’t think he was good at anything else. He was better with computers than people. That was fine when he was younger, but he began to feel too isolated when he was on his own, because he no longer had a support system. That’s why he turned to me.

The two of us became great friends from that point on. He helped me understand my talents, and get back to what I do best. I was making friends left and right, and I realized that doing this in college was even easier, because the individual groups never noticed each other. It was like a playground, where I honed my skills, and became the best version of me. In exchange, I helped him out of his shell. He started to make friends too. He was never Mr. Popular, but he was a lot better than he was before, and he had other gifts to bring to the table. We spent our days getting better and better at slipping into new social situations, and reading our practice targets. We practiced lying by coming up with wondrous, but believable, stories about ourselves. Some failed, but we learned from our mistakes, and we only got better once our writer friend started making the stories up for us. We didn’t know why the hell we were doing any of this—why it mattered—but it felt good to deceive others. It felt like power, knowing that people trusted us who really shouldn’t, and that we could hurt them if we chose to. But we never did. Not once. This isn’t a story about a group of conmen. It’s about three guys and one woman who want to help change the world. A few years after college, the four of us joined forces, and started working on cases together. We specialize in infiltration, with me on the frontlines. I penetrate a group, gain their trust, and solve whatever problem they’re causing. Cults, militias, other evil-doers. The detective finds the cases, the writer creates a backstory, the hacker fabricates the new identity, and I play the part. The problem is that none of us has any combat training, and some of our cases lately have been a little dangerous. We realize now that we need a skilled fighter. That’s why we’ve turned to you.

Microstory 1706: Upon Altar

< > Table of Contents

Arms and legs tied down, stretched across the altar, I don’t scream or cry. I get the feeling that these people consider the struggle to be part of the ritual, and I can’t give them the satisfaction. There are dozens of them, chanting and watching me. There is no escape, even if I were to have broken free of the two people who were leading me down the stone path in the first place. I don’t know where I am, so where could I even go? No, this is where I die, and if I can’t go out on my own terms, I at least can’t give my killers the satisfaction of knowing they were responsible for my last words. The last time I spoke was to my daughter as I headed into the fields for the day. They were loving and kind, and that is what the universe will remember of me; not this. The guy who seems to be in charge of the cult, or maybe just in charge of the ceremony, approaches from the steps on the other side. He’s holding a goblet with both hands, a knife placed precariously over the lips, threatening to slip off to the ground. No one would get hurt from this, but it would probably be pretty embarrassing for him. Hoping to make this happen, I jerk what little of my body I’m still able to move towards him, and sort of chirp. He’s startled, and almost loses the knife, but he manages to grab it in time. I return to my stoic nature, unfazed and quiet. The leader clears his throat, and recovers. He speaks in tongues, or perhaps just a language I don’t so much as recognize. He’s praying to his god, or the demonhorn, or some nonsense like that. I just lie there and reflect on my life until he seems ready to finalize the sacrifices. His minions lift up my torso and place the goblet under my back. Okay, I thought it was uncomfortable before, but this is insane. He’s obviously planning to stab me, and let the blood fill the goblet, but he doesn’t get a chance. An arrow suddenly pierces his neck, and he falls over.

I wiggle until the goblet tips over, but I can’t get it out from under my back. Still, it’s enough for me to face the action. Everyone in the death cult is fighting one solitary warrior. They manage to get in a few good hits, but he’s powerful and relentless. I get the sense that he’s not here to save me, but that he has some kind of personal vendetta against these people, and I just happen to be in the right place at the right time. They probably sacrificed his spouse or child exactly one year ago, just like this, and he’s finally getting his revenge. He’s nearly gotten it. Only he is left standing, but then the leader gets back up. He breaks the arrow apart, and then stabs it right into the lone warrior’s eye, twisting it with a fiery anger. Just for good measure, he pulls the arrowhead out—a little bit of the eye comes with it—and stabs it in the other. The lone warrior falls down, and begins to die. The leader takes a moment to catch his breath before returning to me. Even without his followers, the ritual must continue. He retrieves the goblet from under me, and restarts the chanting; or as much as he can without a voice. He’s more just moving his lips around, and wheezing. Blood from his own neck wound leaks out, and drips into the cup. Able to stand the blood loss no longer, he falls on top of his enemy, leaving the goblet at my side. Blood red smoke begins to rise from it, and swirls around above me. The particles coalesce into a form, and then a figure, and then a man. He’s straddling me and grimacing. He looks over at the carnage, pleased to see so much pain and death. He looks back at me. “You have freed me from the void. I am forever in your debt. What would you have me do for you first, master?”

Microstory 1582: Woman in a Cave

< > Table of Contents

Prompt

I enter the cave, and find...

Botner

...a woman, sitting on a bed. She watches me with a bored look on her face, and moves a little away from me. I ask, “is this you?” She nods yes. I want to sit down next to her, but something tells me not to. So I say, “it’s me, Celeste.” I say, “is this your cave?” She says, “yeah.” I ask her, “is that your cave?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your body?” She says, “yeah.” I try to sit down next to her, but I’m not strong enough. So I say, “is this your dead husband?” She nods yes, and holds up her dead husband’s cane. I ask, “is that your dog?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your cat?” She nods yes. I ask, “is this your pony?” She nods yes. I ask, “is that you?” She nods yes. I try to get near enough to kiss her, but can’t. I know how hard it is for a TOTALLY BOY to kiss a GIRL. (That’s how I refer to myself to my own friends). I can get just about ANYTHING ELSE done, much to Celeste’s chagrin, but kissing is the one thing that I just can’t manage. So I back off a little. She...

Conclusion

...getting a little antsy, so I put the photograph of her and her family away, and sit against the opposite wall, so I don’t make her feel uncomfortable. I take outmy notebook, and start going back over the information I’ve gathered about this place. Legend has it that you can bring your loved ones back to life if you bring their body in here. I nev er truly believed it, but I had to hold out hope that I could one day see my son again. I’m willing to try anything, except for sacrificing someone else’s life for him. I found a cult in Alps that claimed they could do it, but someone else would have to take his place in the afterlife, and neither he nor I would want that. I’ve been studying this cave when I have time for the last seven months, and Celeste is the only one who’s ever been brought back. Others have come, and met nothing but failure and disappointment, so I have to figure out what is different about this one person. Once I feel like she’s ready, I start asking her for more information. It’s not all that easy, because she’s only willing to answer yes/no questions. As it turns out, she can’t ever leave the cave, or she’ll die all over again. Her family comes once a week to check on her, which I find quite strange. If this works with my son, then I’ll find a way to live here with him. I’ll never leave his side as long as he’s back. I decide to try it, because it’s my last hope, and if it doesn’t work, then I will have least done everything I could. I steal the body from the morgue, grateful to my friend who works there. He made sure no one tried to bury the remains, or anything. I take my boy back to the cave, and lay him down in the center. Only a few minutes later, he rises as if he had just woken up from a slightly jarring dream. For a week or so, we’re happy, but then he starts becoming more like Celeste. He loses his ability to carry on a normal conversation, all the way to the point where he can only say yes or no. Still, he’s back, and he understands me, so I stay, and we stay together. A few weeks later, though, things start to get worse. I too can only comprehend true or false now, and if I could, I would ask myself, “is this really living?”

Microstory 1435: A Child is Born

< > Table of Contents

As the source mages were coming into control over Springfield and Splitsville, they came up with a lot of rules about how to keep the town safe, from the monsters, and any other threat. Some of these rules were for the people to follow, while others were internal. But these internal laws were still devised in order to protect the citizens. There were certain things the source mages would allow each other to do, and things that they would not. For one, they would not let themselves become the leaders of some kind of religious cult. There was a scientific explanation for their time powers, whether anyone understood the science, or not. They were still just people, and God should be left out of it. Furthermore, ruling power could not be consolidated into one of the mages, or even all of them. It would remain a fair and democratic society, even though a lot of their conventions would feel very medieval. That was only because of their combination of magic, and only enough technology to survive, rather than an actual feudal system of government and justice. One thing they decided, in order to prevent any abuse of their position over others, was to outlaw mage children. This was especially important for the sources, but town mages couldn’t conceive children either. This made the logistics of competition a little difficult, but not impossible to overcome. Two mages could raise a child, of course, but only if that child was born before either of them had their powers. This meant that a twelve-year-old mage—that being the minimum age at the time of the Selection Games—simply would not be able to have kids. Unless they waited to be sourced their abilities. Like deferring college enrollment, a winner could delay being given powers until after they had however many kids they wanted. This delay was limited to ten years, however, so if they didn’t think they could make it happen by then, it was probably best for them to just wait the full twenty years before the next competition. Again, this complicated matters, but the source mages didn’t know what kind of power a legacy child would have, and they weren’t jazzed about finding out. It just seemed like too much of a risk, except in one case. Knowing which power a new mage received—and how powerful it was exactly—could take too long if they just waited for them to figure out on their own. The holistic diagnosticians belonged to a single bloodline of people with the ability to understand a patient’s abilities just by examining them. The Taggart family was the only exception to the no-child policy. Breaking it was kind of a big deal.

Out of all of the source mages, only Valda Ramsey and Lubomir Resnik were in a relationship. It wasn’t technically disallowed, but the others did discourage it, because it could lead to a breach of their other internal rules. None of the others took any romantic interest in anyone else. They were absolutely not asexual, and they didn’t think of themselves as elitist, but they certainly had trouble relating to other people. In 2077, Valda and Lubomir took their relationship to the next level by having unprotected sex with each other. They weren’t trying to get pregnant, but they weren’t trying not to either. A part of them wasn’t thinking about the consequences, or how upset the others would be for it. They were just in love, and caught up in the moment. Another part of them, however, was terribly curious what the child of two source mages would be able to do. Nine months later, Valda delivered a little baby girl. Fortunately, the source mages saw time move differently, and fully expected to live forever, so the fact that they didn’t see Valda for seven months didn’t seem strange to them. Most of them didn’t even notice she wasn’t just busy in the other room. They named the baby Jayde, even though they knew they couldn’t keep her. If she developed powerful abilities, she would have to do it somewhere else. No one could know that she was the offspring of two source mages. They searched through the census, and found a nice couple to raise their daughter for them. The Kovacs had been wanting a child of their own, and Valda and Lubomir knew that they would take care of her, and also not tell anyone that Sadie never carried a pregnancy. Jayde would grow up to change everything about life on Durus, but for now, she was just an infant, and she didn’t deserve to be treated differently because of her unique origins. Valda and Lubomir regretted letting her go, but they would see her again one day, and they would never regret having her.

Firestorm: Orson Olsen (Part V)

« < » > Entire Story

Two years ago, I witnessed a miracle. Well, there were actually three miracles in one day. I watched a girl appear out of nowhere, standing on a stump in my yard. Her arms were stretched wide, and a halo shined from above her head. Hours later, I ran into that girl again, though she did not seem to know who I was. I watched her disappear again, and realized she was a time traveler, who needed my help to save her friends. I saw my angel a third time later that day, and before she disappeared one last time, she gave me a mandate. I am to worship time. That is the one true God, and I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize it before. I used to follow an imaginary flying spaghetti monster, because I was indoctrinated into it from birth. But now I see the truth. Time is real; it’s abstract, and impossible to hold in your hand, which makes it magnificent, but it undeniably exists. If that’s not God, then God cannot exist.

I realized I had to spread the word. Most of my brothers and sisters in the church would not be swayed. They did not witness the Trinity Miracle, like I did. There were others, however, that I knew I would be able to convince. My mother was always worried people would leave the church, and she taught me to spot these people, so I could help bring them back from the brink of damnation. No matter what I did, though, they retained their doubts; they just learned to hide it better. Fortunately, my memory is totally fine, so I had this excellent list of people who would be willing to hear the true word. I started out slowly—very slowly. I knew that my best friend would believe me without question. It was he who discovered a magician in the area who might be what we were looking for. He was right. This guy had real powers to move things from one hand to the other. They weren’t very impressive, but they were enough to convince my church’s doubters. I brought them to the shows one by one, never giving away that we knew each other. They saw for themselves that time travel was real, and our movement grew. This was not the magician’s only purpose. I knew he would know others like him, so we watched him for weeks, like secret agents. He ate at the same restaurant almost every single day, and every time he showed up, he was surprised, as if the restaurant was attracting him against his will.

My friend and I realized the restaurant was more special than the man, so we switched gears, and started to investigate them instead. Through a complex series of timing the employees, and watching certain customers being led through the kitchen, we determined there was a whole world in the back we couldn’t see from here. We started watching the whole building, and could tell that there were some strange goingson that people like us weren’t allowed to see. We have to see the miracles, though. My people deserve the truth, and I am the only one who can show it to them. I’ve been coming here ever since, waiting for someone in there to notice, and here he comes. My plan has worked. I’m about to be read in.

“Detective Bran,” the man says, showing me his badge. It’s not the first FBI agent I’ve met, but that’s a different story. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, have I been loitering?”

“What are you writing in there, your manifesto?” he asks me.

My notebook. “Oh, heavens no. This is the good book.”

“You’re rewriting the bible?”

“I’m writing the real bible.”

“Hmm,” is all he can say.

“What are your abilities?” I’m pretty good at playing it cool, but I can tell there’s something different about this guy. Security has been coming by nearly every day to get me to leave, but they’re just regular people. I can smell the power coming off of him. Perhaps I’m one of them. Perhaps my ability is to sense other abilities.

“Well, I’m a good marksman, and a halfway decent investigator. My true strength lies in getting people to leave.”

“Please. You don’t have to lie to me. I don’t know exactly what you are, but I know that you’re special. I’m not going to hurt you. Just...read me in. Show me the light. I am..open.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Agent Bran says. “This is private property, and it is time for you to leave.”

“I’ll leave, if you let me in...just once. Let me see what’s really in there—no illusions—and I’ll never bother you again.”

“Sir, this is a secure facility. I cannot let you in.”

“You think I’m going to believe that this is nothing more than a CIA blacksite? I’m not stupid. I saw through the windows. Dozens of people ran into that unit, right there.” I point to some kind of club. I never got a good look at the sign, so that’s the only word I could make out. “A minute later, they all came out. They looked different. I have a really good memory, and an eye for faces. People were wearing different clothes, and none of them looked like they had just ran inside, and came back out. Something happened in there, and I demand to know what it was.”

“It’s all right, Agent.” She’s come. She’s come to show me the light again.

“Paige, get back inside,” Agent Bran orders. “Who is he to talk to an angel like that?”

“Angel Paige,” I utter. “You’ve returned.”

“I have,” she says to me. “You wanna see the light. Then let’s go take a look. Let’s go back to the beginning, or near it, anyway.” She takes out her phone. “You ever been to New York?”

“Paige, don’t do this,” Bran pleads.

“The cat’s out of the bag,” she explains to him. “We can’t put it back, but we can domesticate it.” She shows me a picture of a house on a hill. It’s black and white and yellow, but I think the yellow is probably just because it’s really old. The edges are damaged, as if melted, but again, that’s probably due to the ravages of time. This is a very old photograph. “How about New York 1848?”

“Paige, no!” cries another voice, but I never get a chance to see who it is.

She takes me by the arm, and whisks me away. In seconds, we’re standing at the bottom of the hill in the photograph. For a second, a part of me wonders why it’s not still in black and white, but of course, that would be stupid. We’ve just traveled into the past. The angel has given me such an amazing gift. “Let’s take a walk.”

We walk along the fence for a few minutes as I patiently wait for her to say something else. I am in the presence of divinity, but I know she will be turned off if I act too enthusiastic about it. I just keep thinking about how incredible it is to be here, and how much she must trust me to show me this.

“Orson—can I call you Orson?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Angel Paige.”

“I’ll call you Orson, and you can just call me Paige, because I’m not an angel, and I think you know that.”

“Anything you want...Paige.”

“When we met, I was young, and still getting a handle on my abilities. I was desperate to help my friends, and that made me reckless. I showed you something that you were never meant to see. There are people in this world, and other worlds, with time powers. It’s not illegal for us to tell one or two people what we can do. We have to be able to trust our families, and our closest friends. It is a problem, however, if word spreads. So my question to you is, who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you need me to repeat myself? You’re just some random mormon who got a peek at something that wasn’t for him. What gives you the right to run around, showing a bunch of people magic tricks, and telling them what to worship? Do you think we want that? Do you think we want you exposing us? Do you think, maybe, there are consequences to this sort of thing? Do you think it’s possible that somebody built a prison, stuffed my best friend in it, and left her there to rot for a year? You can’t just go upending everything we’ve done to protect ourselves from the general public. Because you don’t matter, and it isn’t fair for you to assume all this responsibility.”

“I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect. You told me to worship time.”

“That was an off-handed comment. It wasn’t a real command. Jesus Christ.”

I don’t know what to say.

She takes a deep breath before continuing. “This prison isn’t designed for criminals. It’s only there to house those who risk outting us to the world. If you don’t stop what you’re doing, we’ll all go there, including you. You’re human, which affords you some special consideration, but that will only take you so far. If your cult gets any bigger, they’re gonna step in. I’m surprised they let it get this big.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” I say to her honestly. “It’s grown beyond my control. People saw the truth. They saw that magician.”

“People see magicians all the time, they don’t start worshiping them.”

“We don’t worship Delmar Dupont. He’s a lesser god, at best.”

“You need to explain to your flock that you were wrong. You need to get them to believe that...they shouldn’t believe.”

“That sounds impossible. I mean, I already pulled them from a church. Now you want me to tell them to go back? They would see right through that.”

“You’re the only one who saw what I could do, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the only one who saw people run into Salmonday Club too.”

“Is that what it’s called? Yes, I was the only one there at the time. Like I was saying, though, the magician was enough. They watched carefully, and they listen to me.”

“They listen to you?”

“That’s not really what I mean,” I start to clarify. “They listened in the beginning, because they saw proof, and they needed an excuse to leave the church. That’s not gonna work a second time. I can reinforce what I’ve already told them, and they’ll still listen, but I can’t contradict myself.”

We keep walking as she thinks this over. “Why do they listen to you? Why did they agree to go to the magic show?”

“Magic doesn’t go against the church, because most of it is just sleight of hand and misdirection. They only started believing after what they saw, and because I told them it was real. We can’t undo that.”

“That’s the key, though. You told them it was real. They could have just as easily happened upon the venue, watched it on their own, and assumed it was an illusion, just like most people do.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.

“If they stop believing in you, then they’ll stop believing in him, and if they don’t believe in him, then they don’t believe in time magic at all.”

“How would they stop believing in me?” I question.

“We have to discredit you.”

“What are you gonna do, like, doctor photos of me in bed with a man, or something? It’s 2027, they won’t like that, but it’s not enough anymore. I mean, it would be one thing if I preached sexual purity, but I don’t even mention that in my sermons. Their hang-ups would all be carryovers from their old lives.”

“No, I wouldn’t wanna do that anyway.”

Now I’m scared. I wouldn’t love that idea, but I would do it for her, even though I’m not gay. I’m afraid she’s about to suggest something really bad. “So...”

“It’s really bad, you’re not gonna like it.”

I suck it up in my own head, and say, “I’ll do anything for you.”

“That’s the problem, it can’t be you. At least, I don’t think it can. How long were you a member of that church in Independence?”

“I was part of Independence Temple my whole life, until you. Why?”

“That’s what I was worried about. I need the name of the newest member of your church who is also now a member of your...cult?”

“We don’t like that word, but...”

“But who?”

“But there’s no one. There’s no one like that.”

“Damn. If we had someone like that, we could discredit them instead. Bran could barge into your worshiphouse, and arrest him for fraud in three states, or something like that. Then we could convince them that he was the one in control of everything.”

“That’s terrible, Paige.” I guess she really isn’t an angel.

“I know. It was just my first idea.”

I sigh. “Well, you’re a time traveler, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s undo it. Take me back to 2025. Change the past. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen it done, yes.”

“Okay. I’m ready.”

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 1112: Orson Olsen

< > Table of Contents

Orson Olsen, who was psychologically incapable of recognizing how funny his name sounded, was a member of the Community of Christ, which sprang from the Latter Day Saint movement. He was indoctrinated into his faith from birth in Independence, Missouri, and never thought to question what he had been taught. When he grew older, he started taking on more responsibility in the temple. One day, he was copying some missionary files when a young girl appeared outside the window, literally out of nowhere. He wasn’t certain he could trust what he thought he saw, though, so he watched her as she snuck in, and approached the podium in the sanctuary. She then conjured a bird from the aether, wrapped a message around its leg, then sent it on its way. This was not the first time he saw this girl, or witnessed her miracles, but it provided him with proof and confirmation. She first appeared to him earlier that morning, in his backyard. He had been so mesmerized and shocked by it that, though he did what she asked of him, he didn’t know what to think of it. She appeared to him a third time later that day, and charged him to change everything about his life. She told him that he should stop believing in the prophets, and to worship the only one real higher power in the whole universe, which she claimed to be time itself. It wasn’t as difficult for him to take on this new task as one might assume. He had believed every single thing his family and church taught him, but they had always demanded faith of him. This girl was the only person to ever show him real evidence of an almighty power. She disappeared from this life, but his drive to seek others like her was not lost. It’s not every day you encounter someone with temporal powers, but once you do, and you have some idea what to look for, it’s a lot easier to spot a second time. He remained in the church for the next few months, but all the while searching the metropolitan area for anyone who exhibited the same kind of abilities as that first girl. He found it in a man who could transport an object from one hand to the other. If he was willing to suffer through a psychic nosebleed, he could send something a meter or two farther, but that was his absolute limit. It wasn’t a very useful ability—but not all of them are. He incorporated it into his magic show, to make a little money on the side, but he was at little risk of becoming famous from it. With this man, Orson had real proof that time really was something to be worshipped. The magician knew of others like him; those with more powerful abilities, and Orson realized this was just the beginning. It would be pointless if this new church consisted only of himself, though. Orson was surprised at how easy it was for him to recruit others. He was smart enough to start with the people he knew were already doubting their faith. Once their numbers were high enough, they started thinking outside the original church. At that point, the new movement was unstoppable, and it was destined to cause more than a few problems for people with time powers.

Microstory 1032: Riley

< > Table of Contents

Hello. This is your president speaking. I know you weren’t around to vote for me, but I’d like to think you would have had you gone to this school at the time. Today, I’m going to talk about a dear, dear friend of mine named Viola Woods. We didn’t always see eye to eye politically, but we were a lot alike. We both care and cared about this school, and ran for office to see it reach greatness. We both like and liked to help people; even strangers, and we both consider and considered our peers to be our best assets. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of things about me since you started these interviews, but I think you would have a different perspective right now if you had spoken to me first. We could have combined our minds, and coordinated a strategy to tackle this series. First and foremost, I am absolutely, one hundred percent, behind our police force. I believe that justice has been served, and the right person has been found guilty of this terrible crime. I know that the trial has not yet commenced, but I have complete faith that the truth is exactly what we were shown. I know people are spinning tales about some religious cult, and are filling your head with ideas about what really went down by the river that day. I just want you to be careful about who you listen to, and who you trust. This is a small town, and though I love it terribly, I recognize that it’s fairly pleasant and uneventful. This murder has made the news statewide, and with that comes the crazies. People like conspiracy theories, because they take comfort in the possibility that not everything is as it seems. They don’t actually care who killed Miss Woods, but the idea that there’s something stranger going on than the public is aware of makes them think there could be other things they don’t know about. Why, if a demon possessed an impressionable young girl, and forced her to kill her best friend, or a ghost drowned Viola in revenge for some crime carried out by someone else, what else might there be? The fangirls can hold onto hope that vampires are real, and out there, and just waiting to seduce them. Nerdy young boys might actually get the girl, because hey, crazier things have happened, right? Conspiracies are just believable enough that they could technically be true, but insane enough that they open us up to other—perhaps more fantastical—possibilities. In philosophy class, we learned about something called hokum’s razor [sic]. Basically, if you haven’t heard of it, it means that life is really simple, and if something is too complicated to explain, it’s probably a bad explanation. Viola’s death was a tragedy; one that could have been avoided, but the investigation came to a legitimate conclusion. All the pieces fit, and if anyone tells you they have evidence to the contrary, they’re most likely trying to feed you a bunch of hokum. Thank you, and God bless America, and Blast City. Go Miners!

Microstory 1026: Willis

< > Table of Contents

Yo, my name is Willis, I talk a mile a minute, and I got a lot to do, so let’s make this quick. I’m on my way to the pharmacy, ‘cuz my father, he is sick. I didn’t really know the girl; we were never tight, but I saw her by the pond one day; she was in a fight. She was talkin’ all crazy, to herself, no one was there. I looked for something in her ear, but it was totally bare. I think she thought a ghost was by her side; or something invisible. Whatever it was, it had lied, and she felt that was impermissible. It was something about religion—myself, I don’t have faith. For Viola, it seemed like hers was the same case. Someone close to her was in a cult, or maybe something like it. She needed help to save her friend. As for the cult, she thought she’d fight it. She caught me peeping on her convo, and stopped right in her tracks. She didn’t seem upset with me, but told me I needed to relax. She did not deny she had had a religious argument, but didn’t want me thinking that she was just intolerant. I assured her that her business was her own, and I’m only telling you right now, since she’s gone off to the unknown. Well, we shook each other’s hand, and parted ways, but I could tell she was still worried. I later found her...stands [sic], by the locker bays, and now she was real hurried. I tried to ask after her friend, but she brushed off any issue. I thought that she would start crying, so I checked my bag for any tissue. By the time I looked back up, she was nowhere to be found. I tried to keep looking for her, but she got lost in the the high school crowd. I went on vacation the next day, so that was the last time I saw her face. By the time I returned, Viola was gone, and out of this lively race.

Microstory 1012: Edith

< > Table of Contents

Death is such a horrific topic, I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s talk about life; specifically Viola’s beautiful, but tragic, one. I spoke with her dozens of times over the years, and the last one was a couple weeks before it happened. I was walking by her in the library, and noticed that she was doing tons of research on religion, which is a subject I know quite a bit about. I was going to leave her alone with it, but she stopped me, since she knew I was an authority. She wanted to know the difference between a religion and a cult. I know the difference, but it’s something I never think about, so I struggled to articulate my truths. We ended up skipping seventh period to discuss it more thoroughly together. She argued that all religious institutions brainwash their members into believing something, but that’s not true. Cults isolate vulnerable people from their support systems, demand unyielding loyalty from them, and do so under the rule of a single individual. A religion is a network of people who have chosen to believe in the same things, through complete free will, and independently of each other. She pointed out that many children born into a given religion end up remaining there, suggesting some level of repression. I noted that this happens a lot, true, but there are probably more people who reject the beliefs of their parents than she realizes. Or realized, rather. Unfortunately, we never really came to an understanding. My faith is so important to me, but I had never really been in a position to defend it. Honestly, this town is so predominantly Christian that I don’t hear much questioning. I had always assumed she was Christian too, but this incident showed quite a bit of doubt in her heart. I didn’t want to push it, but she was starting to make me think she was actually an atheist. It may sound intolerant of me, but I don’t know of anything that would be worse than that. How terrible it would be to go through life not believing in anything? How lonely and sad would it be, not having anything to look forward to? All religions have some form of the eternal soul, but atheists believe that at the end of your life, you’ll just stop existing. They don’t even believe in some perpetual darkness. They think you won’t be at all. I can’t fathom it. It’s the scariest thought I’ve even almost thought. I’ve been praying for her every night since she died. I pray that she found solace, and that she didn’t leave this world thinking there was no other beyond it. Like I said, our final debate was a couple weeks prior, which was plenty of time to see the light. I will continue to pray that she ultimately found herself being welcomed into the Kingdom of Heaven by our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Microstory 817: Fly in the Teeth Part II

< > Table of Contents

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

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

Microstory 794: Racetrack

< > Table of Contents

To say that the Amadesins are despicable people would be the understatement of the aeon. After the Old Worlds fell, the survivors of the religion—which had been increasingly losing followers for centuries—realized that their time was running out. They had one, maybe two, generations to go before their numbers were so thin, they would be considered a true alternative cult. In order to protect their traditions, they decided to hide themselves away in a higher dimension. They were obsessed with growing their army, and had had enough of trying to convince preexisting people of what they believed to be holy truths. They would just make their own people, and brainwash them right from the beginning of their short lives. Armed with technology they stole from others, they figured out how to grow humans, rather than gestate them in living mothers, which could only be done one or two at a time. Their human fields were vast, and had to be separated across new dimensions in their domain, which were collectively known as Thuriama. You could stand on a tall mountain and not see the end of it. In decades, their population rivaled some smaller galactic civilizations. Decades later, they were the largest in the universe. This had the side effect, however, of causing their lives to be incredibly dull. The old ways required a lot of work to go out and proselytize to the people. Without these jobs, they had nothing to do with their lives. They ended up concocting all sorts of untoward means of entertainment, often involving forcing their minions to humiliate themselves. But this grew boring as well, because there was no resistance. The people they had harvested felt no humiliation, for they knew no better than the cards life had dealt them. So the Thuriamen elite grew bold, and started seeking amusement beyond their dimensional home. One particular pastime involved kidnapping people, and coercing their loved ones to participate in a great transdimensional race. It was dangerous and deadly on its own, but racers who failed to win would be killed anyway, and their families would remain as slaves. Winners would also be killed, because they had zero leverage against their oppressors, and needed to  be silenced. Unfortunately for Thuriama, they made a big mistake when they abducted members of Zoey Attar and Amber Fossward’s team. This would be the last race in history, and marked a major milestone in the ultimate and final destruction of the twisted Amedesin megacult.

Microstory 756: Bullet

< > Table of Contents

No one ever accused Kavita Lauritz of being normal, or of conforming to the way most people do things. She always knew she had the gift of foresight, but she could never understand the context of her visions. She was utterly convinced that the things she was seeing in her mind were predictions of the future, but these events were so far into that future that she was also fairly certain that she wouldn’t actually be there to witness them come to pass. She could never predict what was going to happen tomorrow, next year, or anything at all that pertained to her life. And calling them visions wasn’t quite doing her ability justice, because they were more like feelings. She just had this sense of what was going to happen to the universe; major, paradigm shifting occurrences that would seem small to most, if they had any way of recognizing them. The culture she was born into was completely on board with the possibility that there exists people in the galaxy with special abilities, but since she could provide no proof that her truths were real, few believed her. But there were those few, and they followed her—worshipped her, even. Unfortunately, this cult following would not be created until after her death. Though all of her predictions were important, there was one that refused to be suppressed to her subconscious. After careful thought, she realized that she was capable of having an effect on the outcome, even though it would not happen for millions of years. This would not be easy, though, for it required careful consideration, and considerable calculations. She spent years learning extremely high-level math in order to understand the problem, missing the first window in the trying. By the time she figured out what her second window of opportunity would be, it was but days away. She would not have time to plan it out very well. As it turned out, an important galactic leader was speaking on the space station where she needed to fire the weapon. Though she had no intention of harming the leader, or anyone else on the station, she was arrested for conspiracy, and placed in prison for life.

Kavita spent the rest of her life calculating the third window of opportunity, which would likely be the last. She scratched her formulas into the walls, and drew them in the dirt, only later being allowed paper and pen. This one was proving to be far more difficult. The celestial movements would have to line up perfectly in order for it to work, much more so than with the other two chances. Astral travel was increasingly interfering with stellar activity with each passing year, stretching her predictive capabilities to their limits. Before her death, she discovered that the third window would not arrive until long after her death. All hope was lost, and she died believing everything she had worked for was meaningless. Centuries later, however, her plans were discovered. Believing her on faith alone, a cult was born with the sole mission of carrying out her final wish. They purchased land on the moon in question, and remained there so they would not be bothered by anyone. After another few centuries, the cult had all but died out, along with the rest of civilization, which had warred itself into oblivion until there was almost nothing left. Only one member was still alive. Fighting against his death throes, he made sure the aiming instruments were aligned correctly, cleaned his gun one last time, and set it in its place. Sweat dripping from his brow, death calling him to sleep, he waited patiently for his alarm to signal at the exact right second. He fired into the vacuum, and died. The Bullet of Causality started on its journey, which would last millions of years, ultimately hitting its target in a distant galaxy.

Microstory 549: Bellevue Increasing Scope to Utah

< > Table of Contents

Back in the early 1990s—and earlier, for that matter—only a select few people know that there existed those with extraordinary abilities. At first, it was only family and friends, with the occasional passerby catching sight of something they weren’t supposed to. In the midst of the great revelation to the rest of the world, the organization responsible for bringing them together was still trying to figure out exactly what it was. They knew that they wanted to be involved with these powerful anomalies, and they knew that they wanted to be leaders in the advancement of science, but something felt missing. As it turns out, what they hadn’t quite found yet were law enforcement, and even public policy. Bellevue became an agency; one designed at first only to protect anomalies, and people from anomaly dangers. The thing about this, though, was that the scope was far too narrow. The number of Bellevue members far exceeded the number of threats, and intensity, of threats. And so, they gradually began increasing their scope. They offered their abilities, knowledge, and skills to other law enforcement organizations. They were working the Confederacy, national investigators, and local orderkeepers. Pretty soon, most of what they were dealing with had little to nothing to do with anomalies. They were simply a force for good, safety, and equality. This is the Bellevue we know today. Most living anomalies are still active members, technological advancement remains their number one priority, but most of the world accepts them as another group of trained professionals exercising authority over the populace. But this does not cover the entire world. There are still some regions that reject their authority, probably the most notable being Utah.

The country of Utah is one of only a handful of nations that are each geographically within the entirety of another. In this case, Utah is as completely surrounded by Usonia, and is just as large as—and in some cases, larger than—other Usonian states. In fact, Utah began as any other state, just one that was more heavily populated by religious followers of Amadesis. However, things have changed a great deal since then. A nuclear explosion here, a war there, total global nuclear disarmament, and the Amadesins were given control over the majority of Utah land. Historically speaking, the Amadesin Utah has been resistant to any interference or interaction with any other country, maintaining a policy of isolationism. Few visitors are ever allowed on Utah soil, and for the most part, that’s how non-Utahan like it. Bellevue has recently taken a stance against this, stating that they no longer accept the idea that anyone living on this planet has the right to ignore anyone else. In a press briefing this morning, they have officially increased their scope to Utah. This does not mean Utah accepts this declaration, but it does force its leadership’s hands, calling upon them to take some level of action in response. They have so far made no move, and it is unclear what they will choose to do, but experts discredit any theory that any act of violence could seriously threaten the strength, and the will, of the Bellevue authority.

Microstory 548: What Makes Edward’s Haven Special and Exclusive?

< > Table of Contents

Edward’s Haven. Many have visited; few live there. Situated in a secluded, but not remote, part of Roanoke, Virginia, Edward’s Haven is a gated community with perhaps the strictest application process of any. The houses are nice, but they are by no means mansions. Demographic data suggests that residents enjoy healthy wages, but fall nowhere near the highest tax bracket. It would possibly be that the most impressive aspect of Edward’s Haven is the landscaping. The grass is perfectly trimmed to the same length. In every lawn, you can find at least one bush cut into the shape of an animal, or some other magnificent pattern. I was able to secure a tour of this place, and spoke with a few of the residents about their experiences. One, who chooses to remain anonymous, had the following to say about what makes the neighborhood so special. “We are not exclusive because we think we’re better than everyone else. Nor do we belong to some dangerous cult. The majority of applications are rejected because not everyone belongs here. We’re not just a community, we’re a family. We trust each other, and protect each other. That your application was refused does not mean you’re a bad person, just that you belong in a some other family. Remember, it’s not wrong...It’s just different.”

To be sure, the application process is involved. Those who failed to pass mention going through several interviews, all with different people. Some of these applicants report a higher number of steps than others, suggesting there to be some kind of competitive “weeding out” method. Last year, Edward’s Haven suffered a somewhat minor attack as a result of their long process. Evidently, a potential and hopeful resident spent a not insignificant amount of money traveling to Roanoke, sure that their familiarity with one of the current residents would give him an edge over other applicants. Like most others, however, his application was rejected, and he was left needing to quickly find a cheap place to live in the area​. He reportedly succumbed to the call of alcoholism, and ended up driving a stolen car into the security guard both. The guard survived, and it did not cause Edward’s Haven to question their methods. “We know rejection, from anything, can be difficult,” said Joss Arnesen, who sits on the council. “We want to remind everyone that there are plenty of places to live. This is just one.” At this time, no spots are open, and hundreds remain on a statistically near-pointless waiting list.

Microstory 520: Lone Survivor of Plane Crash Missing

< > Table of Contents

Since the dawn of man, there have been two questions that no one has ever been able to answer. The first, what is death? And the second, why can’t people die on the eighth day of the eighth month of every year? For however long in the ancient world, people were not even aware of the phenomenon of The Day of No Death. It wasn’t like people were keeping track of such things. If somebody died, and they weren’t a part of your life, you probably didn’t even hear about it. Long after we had come up with our standardized calendar system, based on the rotation and revolution of the planet, people started noticing, however, that something was different on the eighth day in Asher. Had we noticed before, we probably would have based our entire perspective on time around it. As it stands now, the Day of No Death has become a multinational holiday, set aside to remember those we’ve lost to the devastation of war; a day of observance that we call Verren. It is a day marked by fasting, solemnity, and spirituality. It is also when it’s literally impossible to die.

Most people accept the Day of No Death without question. They go about their lives without thinking about it too much. They drink their tea, get on public transportation, and go to work. Some, however, are more curious. Cults have sprung up here and there, trying to push the boundaries. But most of them end in tragedy. First off, a day without death says nothing about a day without pain. Furthermore, it is possible, and quite common, to ultimately succumb to injuries, and die on the ninth day. In fact, most countries consider mortal boundary testing to be illegal, and will prosecute any violation on life, regardless of what day it is. Still, after all these attempts, not a single person has ever died on Asher Ashto...that is, until last week.

Drummond Breckenridge is a salesman from Oklahoma who was just coming back from a business trip in Jacksonville, hubbing in Kansas City, when something happened that never has before. He woke up in the wreckage of the airplane, having not seen what happened. The plane had crashed, and everybody was dead. Everybody...except for Drummond. One hundred and twenty-one people were on Flight 5683, with service to Jacksonville, and only he had survived, even though it was Asher Ashto. Academics from all fields—from biology to religious studies—have been trying to figure out why anyone was able to die on the one day out of the year when that should not be possible. They have come up with nothing in the last few days. Nor can they explain why Breckenridge survived. Nor can they ask him now.

Breckenridge was being interviewed by a group of reporters near his Kansas City hotel when he suddenly disappeared. Some of the reporters claim to have seen him literally vanish before their eyes, while others saw some kind of flash. Though it was dark at the time, and no one knows for sure what happened, what we do know is that Mr. Breckenridge has not been seen since. Below, you’ll find a picture of Drummond Breckenridge, and a tip line to call if you have any information regarding his whereabouts.

Microstory 506: Amadesin Remnant Hiding in Higher Dimensions

< > Table of Contents

Martian Authorities have uncovered possible evidence that the remaining sects of Amadesis have been hiding out in higher Prime dimensions. The best way to access these dimensions is through Earth, which is why the evidence wasn't readily available before. An unnamed Aviid historian first proposed this theory about sixty years ago. Though his ideas were not dismissed, they were deemed too risky to pursue at the time. During this period, Earth was steadily ramping up its efforts to either prove, or disprove, the presence of alien entities within their airspace. Though visitors from across the galaxy regularly traveled to and from Earth before then, it was decided that a greater amount of secrecy and security needed to be implemented in order to prevent any unwanted attention. It has taken this long for all members of leadership of The Core to agree that a minimal investigation of the uncharted dimensional space could be logistically possible. Details are scarce at this time, but the number of Amadesin descendants are said to number in the millions...possibly billions. A great deal of resources have been allocated to creating, demonstrating, and protecting the Right Eye Papers, but Martian representatives assure the public that a more complete investigation into this second major intergalactic issue will begin within the next few weeks. A source inside the authority has revealed that these Amadesins in particular derive from the Ellaraitch school of thought, and execute a form of indentured servitude and compartmentalization in order to attain their goals. As far as the infiltration mission goes, members of the Isala administration have all agreed that the elite team should be comprised exclusively of humans. Because little is known regarding the current level of Amadesis technology, scientists from Levida have concluded that it would be too dangerous to include Martian Arsenic suiters. Their true nature may be discovered quickly, placing the entire mission at risk. A representative from the Eridani military contingency has spoken up as well, promising the public that preventing war is of the utmost priority for all those involved, at least on our side of the dimensional brinks. The number one priority, however, is...well, Priority One; which obligates any member of deveiled society to act in the best interest of safety for everyone, regardless of cultural or developmental consequences. Specifics on the mission will be released at a later date, possibly following the effort, in order to preserve universal security.

Microstory 504: Why Does the Destruction Destroy?

< > Table of Contents

Separatist, extremist, terrorist. These are just some of the terms associated with the unnamed man known to most only as The Destruction. It seems that every week comes with a new story about one of The Destruction’s heinous crimes. I just spent four months as a faceless minion in The Destruction’s militia, under threat of eventual criminal prosecution, and I can tell you that it is not what you would expect. I’m planning both a long-form article about my experience, and possibly a later book, but I wanted to get out a few points. First of all, most—if not all—members of the militia legitimately believe in The Destruction’s cause, and this cause is not what you’ve probably heard. They do not believe in anarchy just for the sake of it, or so that they can run around doing whatever they want. Nor do they want to dismantle the establishment so that some sort of better society can rise from its ashes. What they really want is to create cracks in the system. He has indoctrinated his people into trusting in some sort of master plan. That’s right, folks, they have what you might call “true faith”. He treats his people well, providing for them food and luxurious shelter wherever they are. He never explains his orders, but they are always followed to the letter. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you why he’s never questioned. I was able to infiltrate his organization after speaking with a survivor from his group who was deprogrammed, and she cannot explain it either. The way she’s talked about it, though, it sounds almost hypnotic, like their minds were being controlled. I can’t speak to that, however. Perhaps I just wasn’t part of it for long enough. What I can tell you is that The Destruction is not as mysterious as he would have the public believe. He’s just a man. He was born of one mother, and one father. He grew up with both pain, and happiness. He sees problems with this world, and like most everybody, he thinks he knows how to fix it. That much is clear. He’s not creating all this fear for no reason; he’s doing it for a purpose. The answer to this article’s question is one that should not be answered, because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is finding a way of combating all that fear.