Microstory 2503: Sibling of the Savior

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My brother, the hero. Yeah, it’s petty, but I can’t help but be annoyed by this. Obviously I love my brother, and obviously he’s doing good work, and obviously I shouldn’t be jealous. It’s hard, ya know, to live in the guy’s shadow. I’m older than him, and I’ve always been good at what I do. It’s not that I’m immediately great at everything I try. Well, it is, but not how you think. I’m good at everything I try, because I only try things that I know I’m gonna be good at. That’s my real skill, knowing myself so well. I can picture it in my mind, and if I imagine how it’s going to turn out, and if it’s no good, I simply won’t go down that road. I didn’t love growing up being more successful than my brother. I wanted him to succeed. I just didn’t know what it would look like once he finally did. People—total strangers—stop me on the street now. They all ask the same questions, about how I must be so proud, and also whether I have any magical powers too. No. No, I don’t. It’s not hereditary. He received them as gifts from other people. I’m not downplaying how important he’s become, but come on, I had nothing to do with it. Whoever these people were, they didn’t come to me. Why not? Well, we don’t have the whole story, but they didn’t seek Landis out either. He happened to be in the right place at the right time. It easily could have been anyone else who lived or worked in that area. I’m complaining a lot, I get it, it’s just annoying because I feel like I’ve addressed this in interviews, yet instead of actually doing their own research—which would take all of five minutes—they ask me again and again. And the jokes, oh the jokes. I’ve heard them all, and everyone thinks they’re so clever, like they’re the first to come up with them. Give me a break. I had a chance to live at the hotel with Landis. He wants me to. Our parents have their own suite. I just don’t want to be involved in all that. I’m sure they could use someone with my technical skills, but I’m happy where I’m working. They need me there. In fact, we still don’t know what this fabled panacea is going to do to the global economy yet. People like me need to stay where they are to keep the lights on once we conquer death, and people stop spending their money. Do you have any idea how much we spend on health? It drives the whole world, because the death rate has been at a steady 100% throughout all of human history. If the day comes that that changes, no one at that hotel is gonna be able to save you, or will even want to try. You’re gonna need people like me out here. Who will be your hero then? No, I shouldn’t end this on such a negative note. The truth is, that we have a decent relationship. I was always in his corner, and he in mine. We loved playing together as children, back when there was no pressure on either of us. It’s only when we grew up that things really started to get hard. I started feeling the need to be the best of the best, and he started getting discouraged when one little thing didn’t work out. I don’t regret anything, though, because we’re both happy now.

Microstory 2308: In a New Direction

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That was quick! The house sold. I shouldn’t be surprised. Famous people once lived here, and it’s a really nice place. We’ve also done well to keep it up, so there shouldn’t be any repairs, or minimal ones, at worst. Its last inspection was not very long ago. It isn’t a done deal yet, the process is complicated, but I’m sure it will be fine. Then again, the people who put in the offer didn’t even come look at it for themselves. That typically means that they intend to tear it down, and build something new on the land, but this area isn’t particularly desirable, so my real estate agent is assuming that the notoriety is enough for someone wealthy enough to take it. To them, it really doesn’t matter what condition it’s in, because they enjoy collecting things for their inherent value. But that’s just a guess, we don’t know what’s going on in their heads. If this deal falls through, another one will be just around the corner. As for my next steps, I have all of Nick and Dutch’s belongings packed up. I think I’ll keep them with me for sentimental reasons. My new place isn’t too big, but there seems to be enough storage, and I like to find ways to simplify. People have been asking if I’m retaining the security team for my own personal protection, and that is a question that I’m not going to answer. You knowing about my security procedures is a security vulnerability, which has already bitten us in the ass. Yes, anyone who truly ever wanted to hurt us would have been able to find that intelligence on their own, and would have had great incentive to do so, but we shouldn’t have been so open about such information. I’m learning from our past mistakes, and taking my life in a new direction. Please respect my privacy. There’s a reason I’ve decided to stop posting on this site, or create a new one. I just want to go back to the way I was before, when it was safer. There are only six more days left this year, and only four of them will see full posts. It’s time to start thinking about saying our final farewells.

Microstory 2290: Speak of it No Further

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In movies, when someone writes a great book, or is expected to write one, they’ll usually just go straight to the publisher. In fact, publishers are usually asking them to write something for them, generally if the person is already famous, and they think they can make some serious money off of a book deal about their experiences. In the real world, you really need to get an agent first. Sure, publishers have contacted me, but not under the assumption that they’ll be dealing with me directly. They’re all asking who my agent is, so they can negotiate with them instead, just as they’re used to. I’ve not been thinking about it too much, so I don’t have one of those. That’s what I need to do now. But when I say I, I mean Dutch, because I’ve placed him in charge of all that stuff. He’ll talk to the agents, and find the right fit for me, and once he does, the two of them will coordinate with the publishers, and go through that whole process, if anything comes to fruition anyway. Either way, I’m not going to worry myself about it, because it’s not really my goal. Not only do I not have time, and because it distracts me from the art itself, but because I am not doing this for anyone else. I am writing this for me. I can always throw it up on a new website, and let anyone read it. I don’t need it to be published. So other people can go ahead and deal with it on my behalf. If nothing comes of it, or I end up with a bad deal, then whatever. It’s not like I need the money, or more fame. I just need to focus on my work, and let it speak for itself. No matter what, you will have the opportunity to experience it, one way or another, and I’m not a hundred percent convinced that that should come at a cost. Again, I’m not concerning myself with any of it, so I shall speak of it no further.

Microstory 2260: Put it Off Forever

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Dutch’s interview with the talk show went great yesterday. He didn’t lie, but he kind of embellished a little, making it seem like there’s a lot more drama going on behind the scenes at the house. We’ve had our disagreements, but I don’t ever go into detail here, because I don’t think they’re that important. This is more about what’s happened, and how I feel about it. I feel like the rest of it is rather personal, and not my place to say. But you have to understand that we are three people from different walks of life, who have been forced together through unusual circumstances. We’re not gonna agree on everything. But it’s all okay. Anyway, it sounds more interesting than it’s ever been, so now the producers want me and Kelly to go on the show too. I couldn’t tell you how she feels about it, but I still don’t really want to. I’m very quiet and awkward, which you wouldn’t know from just reading these posts, because expressing myself is all I do here. But the written word is a lot different than in-person conversation, which is a far cry from a televised interview. Still, this is what people are asking me to do, and I’ve been getting requests from national outlets since I got sick from the prion disease. I guess I can’t put it off forever, and Hello, KC Metro is a good choice for a first attempt. Yeah, I suppose I would rather start at the local level if I have to do it at all. I won’t have to travel for it, and the pressure will be a little bit lower. So okay, I’ll do it, if they still want me. I’ll let you know more information as it comes in. Dutch’s interview was sort of last minute, but I should think that guests are usually scheduled weeks in advance, so don’t be expecting something tomorrow.

Microstory 2259: Hello, KC Metro

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If you’re a national or international reader, you may not have heard of a TV show called Hello, KC Metro. In this region, we have a local television station that focuses on local programming. It includes the weather, news, documentaries, and syndicated scripted series that feature known Kansas City natives. For five hours from 7:00 to 12:00 every weekday morning, a talk show featuring a variety of hosts and guests discuss all sorts of topics. If you’ve ever done anything noteworthy in the area, or are from the area, chances are you’ve made an appearance in one form or another. They’ve asked me to be on many times, but I’m not great in front of the camera, so I’ve always respectfully declined. Even local content creators have their stuff shown sometimes without them actually being present in the studio, and they’ve read my social posts on there without me having to be involved directly. If you want your story to be seen by the highest number of people, you’re gonna want to get yourself on the program between 7:30 and 8:30 central. This is after people have woken up for work, but before they’ve actually left for work. Of course, people work at different times, but 9:00 to 15:00 is kind of standard. For the show, 11:30 to noon is a decent time to be on too, because people might watch it during their lunch break, but that’s a lot less standardized. You probably see where I’m going with this. Dutch isn’t much for writing, so he doesn’t have his own blog, but people are really interested in hearing his tales of interdimensional travel, so he agreed to go on Hello, KC Metro, where he spoke with host, Cosmina Branković for nearly forty-five minutes this morning. He talked about what he was up to in Stoutverse, even the things he did that he wasn’t super proud of. I won’t get into that here, because it’s 2024, so you can watch the whole thing online. I know that it was hard for him to go into all that. He wasn’t being tormented or abused, but it wasn’t all fun and games either. I’m very proud of him for being honest about his part in what those people wanted to do with something that he could not control. I know none of that makes any sense if you didn’t see it, so I guess you’re just going to have to go hear for yourselves.

Microstory 2122: Sounds So Familiar

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Two months ago to the day, I wrote a tiny little baby post for babies about the beginning of my search for an apartment. I wasn’t ready to put any money down, and by the time I was sturdier on my feet, I was getting sick, and then running away from all of my many, many problems. So none of that came to fruition. Back then, I was hoping to find a place that was close to where I worked, but that’s not liable to be an issue this time around. Organizations are approaching me from all over the country, and one of them is international. Well, it’s Toronto, which we practically share with Canada. It might not matter where I live if I end up being offered a position at one of these places. They’re fully aware of where I’m located, and also that I can’t leave. That’s the best part. I used to be so nervous about having to be truthful during the application and interview process, not that I was always in as bad of a position as I am now, but it’s a relief to have my ugliness out in the open. I don’t have to worry about them asking me if I’m good with people, because I think we all know that I’m not. I don’t have to wonder if they’re going to pick up on my autism, or if I should say something ahead of time, so they don’t interpret my behavior as just being an aloof jerk. They can read all about it and more on my website, so if they let me get to the point where I’m answering questions directly, and they miss something about me, it’s kind of their fault, right? They all know that I’m in intermittent jail right now, and are still offering me to start the process.

Anyway, I’m talking too much about my job prospects. This is meant to be about my hunt for a place to live. While I’m not in jail, I’m still staying in the hotel, but the FBI’s patience is wearing thin on that. Or at least, I assume that it is. No one has said that I’ve overstayed my welcome, but you don’t want it to get to that point, do you? That’s something you fix before it becomes an issue. So I want to get out of here, and start making my own way. God, this all sounds so familiar from earlier this year. Once again, I have a benefactor who I can’t tell enough how appreciative of them I am. I’m looking for a job, and a place to live, and I almost feel like I’m coming down with something. My former employer even says that they’ll loan me last month’s and first month’s rent at a new place once the FBI stops covering, as long as I have a job offer in my inbox. I don’t even have to take the job, though I’ll probably accept one of these soon. I can’t imagine that the interviews are as important as they usually are, because as I said, everything about me is out there for anyone to read at will. That’s why they’re reaching out to me in the first place, because they already know what I’ve been going through. They really shouldn’t be surprised by anything I say at this point. Today is all about finding somewhere to dig in, while tomorrow is filled with virtual interview after virtual interview. No one is making me go in to their offices in person, which will make the process a whole lot smoother. Unlike some people, I’ll be wearing pants throughout. I know that it’s, like, a thing, to make conference calls in only your underwear, but that’s not me. I just wanna put that out there. I don’t find being half comfortable any more comfortable than being totally uncomfortable. That didn’t make any sense, but you know what I mean.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 8, 2399

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Roeland’s little outburst alerted the authorities to his presence at the quarantine hotel. They ran over right quick to place him in his own quarantine, which will only partially overlap Leona and Tarboda’s. It isn’t until late the next night that they’re able to reconnect in the post-transition lobby. “Mr. Roeland. Do you have time to talk?”

“I do if you have time to tell me what this is.” He pulls his shirt away to show the timonite stain again.

“We’re not sure how it works, or really why. My husband was infected with that—that’s not really the right word, he wasn’t infected. It started out as a rock, and he somehow...absorbed its power. It’s what fueled his ability to teleport to orbit, and install something I now call a leechcraft on a preexisting satellite. The leechcraft was designed to scan the entire surface of the Earth, looking for time travelers. Well, it was only meant to find a specific person, but we think it found everyone, including you and...”

“Go on. Including me, and who?”

“And whoever you’re living with on Vulcan Point.”

“I told you, I’m not living with anyone. I’m alone. Your scanner is wrong. And you’ve still not explained why this thing is on my shoulder.”

“It must have gotten on the scanner, and then got transferred to you during the scanning process. It was entirely unintentional, but as long as you don’t step within proximity of my husband, you’ll be fine.”

“What happens if I do get too close to him?”

“It would transport you to another universe. There you would find all sorts of objects that were randomly dropped there from the multiverse.”

“How do I prevent this from happening accidentally? What if we end up sitting next to each other in a couple of bathroom stalls without realizing it?”

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Why not?”

“He’s dead.” She doesn’t believe that, but all evidence points to it, and admitting her true feelings undermines her argument that Roeland is safe, so she’s not going to mention it.

He nods. He’s old, and has seen death, so likely he no longer feels the need to pretend to be butthurt over the death of a complete stranger, like most people do. He’s more honestly indifferent. “So you have one too?

“A timonite stain? I don’t.”

“Why not. Were you not on Earth when it was scanned?”

“No, I was, but...” That’s a good question.

He turtles his head out when she doesn’t finish her sentence.

“You’re right. Why weren’t we also marked? We found eleven errors, but that number was in addition to the people we already knew about, so we disregarded them.” That’s a good goddamn question.

“This kind of implies that it actually was intentional,” Roeland points out. “Who’s the we in this scenario? Who helped you build the thing?”

“No. Ramses would never do something like that.”

“Ramses Abdulrashid? He’s one of us?”

“He’s a time traveler, but he doesn’t have a power or pattern. Or rather, he does have a pattern now, but he wasn’t born that way. He turned himself into it. How do you know him?”

“I don’t know him personally, only by reputation. In my timeline, he was a famous engineer for the Freemarketers in the early 23rd century. Legend has it, he defied them, and defected to the mainstream. They consider him the first domino to fall. The movement did not last long after that.”

“That’s a wholly inaccurate story. The truth is he didn’t defect to the mainstream, he defected to us. How you would have heard about it at all, but not known that part, is bizarre, especially since a great deal of Freemarketers were reportedly killed in an interstellar ship cataclysm, but were rescued by Dardius.”

“Then you and I are from different timelines, because the Ramses Abdulrashid that I learned about in school went on to become an activist for the post-scarcity lifestyle, focusing on educating and rehabilitating the most violent of antiestablishment insurrectionists. He refused most life extension advancements, considering him unworthy of immortality since he rejected handouts prior to his epiphany, so he eventually died. I don’t recall the details of his life; I was born in the 24th.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely different.”

“Is he here? I would not mind meeting him, even if it is an alternate version.”

Leona is staring into space. “No, he’s lost, I can’t find him.”

“Can’t your satellite scanner do it?”

“He designed the thing. I’m sure he has a way to shield himself from it.”

This piques Roeland’s interest even more than the news about Ramses. “Really? How would one go about doing that?”

“Are you hoping to keep us from finding the other ping that we’ve detected on Vulcan Point?” Leona guesses.

“I’m telling you, there is something wrong with it. I live alone. I chose that spot because it’s beautiful and remote.”

She takes out her handheld device, and shows him the data. “My satellite scans every ninety minutes. Whoever was there with you during the first pass is still on the island. See? This is you, this is me, and that is the other person.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya. If there’s another time traveler in the area, maybe it’s, like, a rabbit who unwittingly ate some—what did you call it?—timonite, and ended up there. It’s not a human. I would know. It’s a very tiny island.”

Leona shakes her head. He is showing all signs of lying, through macro and microexpressions alike. If she knew him prior to this, she might be able to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he could be keeping Alyssa prisoner. She could be trying to get away as they speak. It would be irresponsible of Leona to just walk away without investigating. If the other error is fine, she’ll leave without further questions, and try to forget it ever happened, but until then, she is getting on that damn island. It’s up to her to find Alyssa. She’s the only one who can. No one else is capable, and no one else cares. Ramses made that quite clear when he abandoned them. Roeland is looking at her with puppy dog eyes, so she can’t just keep arguing with him about it. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Good. Are ya hungry? I found the quarantine food to be no bueno. Perhaps you and your bodyguard would like to join me for a late night snack. I know a great place.”

She laughs. “He’s not my bodyguard. If anything, I’m his.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 19, 2398

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Vearden and Arcadia are sitting in the car together. It’s pretty cold out there, so it’s still running with the heat on full. They’re not talking, but it’s not awkward. It’s just that neither wants to interrupt the other, and they both feel like they’ll probably start talking at the same time, and make it awkward. So maybe it is a little awkward either way. Finally, Arcadia starts. “You have to pretend to be happy.”

“I am happy.”

“I’m serious, abortion is very illegal here. The ultrasound tech, the receptionist—no one can get the sense that we would consider it in a trillion years.”

“I’m not considering it.”

“That’s good, very convincing. Say it just like that.”

“Arcadia, who are you arguing with; me...or yourself?”

“Vearden, I’m thousands of years old. I’ve never been able to have children; not that I would have wanted to with anyone for most of my life as I was surrounded by my family anyway. This is never going to work. You and me? No one was shipping us. No one even thought about it. Now here we are, pregnant out of wedlock—”

“They don’t care about that here, which is weird, given their backward ways.”

Arcadia looks over at Vearden with a frown.

He nods softly. “I want to raise this baby, and I want to raise it with you. I know that our respective backgrounds are complicated at best, but so it is for everyone we care about. Some of those people are here with us, and will be more than willing to help. You may not be used to people loving you like that, but you have it now. I believe they’ve forgiven you for Tribulation Island. I haven’t even heard whispers of locking you back up, have you? That’s pretty telling, if you ask me.”

That’s a good point. They let her out, and never so much as threatened to put her back. Forgiveness is a strong word, but maybe she’s on the road to one day becoming like her sister, Nerakali. Arcadia takes a deep breath. She’s ready to face this, or hopes that she is. She opens the door, only to pull it back immediately. “Drive.”

“What? Why? Vearden asks.

“Please just go, or you’re going to get Leona in trouble.”

He starts the car. As they’re driving off, he looks back. “Did you see someone?”

“I just saw people,” she explains, shaking her head. “I saw people who will very likely recognize Leona Matic after she killed an enemy combatant on national television yesterday. I can’t go in there, claiming to be pregnant, until I solidify my identity.”

“I thought you did have your own identity,” Vearden says.

“I technically do, or rather Leona Delaney did, which I just sort of absorbed when I took over her body. We never came up with a connection to Leona Matic, though. I’m obviously her twin sister, but were we separated at birth, or what? What’s the story there? We need to regroup.”

“Okay, I agree, but as you said, Leona is going through something right now, and Winona is with her. Mateo and Ramses are still in that other dimension, Kivi is overseeing the prisoners, and Marie is trying to track down other possible time travelers. I don’t think Alyssa can help, so who could we reach out to?”

“Well, I’ve got one idea.”

Microstory 1883: Air Band

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I was just playing around at a college party once. Somebody put on a record with a song that, in my day, we called my jam. I started pretending I was playing a guitar to the music, and since I knew the track so well, people got really into it. Pretty soon I was up on the coffee table, entertaining everybody. I, by no means, invented the air guitar. I did, however, do it my first time without having seen anyone else do it before, nor even having heard of it. Either way, I had no intention of turning it into a career. It was just for fun. I suppose it snowballed into it when I found myself at party after party, being asked to do it. I started having to bring my own records, so I would be better prepared to make it look real good. Not long after that, I was practicing in my apartment; all for the chance to please a few kids who would laugh about it while it was happening, and then go back home to not give it much thought anymore. During one of my weird and fun performances, a guy jumped up on the counter next to me, and started lip-syncing the vocals. It was a particularly voice-heavy song, which was my bad, so I was relieved he went up there to keep the energy up while the guitar wasn’t going. I would normally just keep dancing on my own, but it felt great to have a partner. After we were done, we left the party together to talk. He told me about his life, and I told him about mine. We both loved music, and were enamored by rockstars, but we weren’t musicians. Like, we were both really bad, there was no hope for us. Or rather there was, because as it turned out, there’s money to be made in pretending to play an instrument on stage. No joke.

This story does not involve a down-on-his-luck talent agent who discovers us at one of our not quite impromptu gigs, and decides to take us under his wing, even though his contemporaries laugh at him for it, but he believes in us, or truthfully, he believes in the cash that’ll be coming to him if he plays this right, so he gets so greedy that it nearly destroys us, but we come back stronger than ever, and go down in history as legends, and eventually end up in a sensationalized documentary. No, none of that happened. But we did start a band. We found ourselves a drummer—who was an actual, real drummer, by the way, so we never totally understood why he walked this path with us when he could have joined a legit band. We even got someone to pretend to play bass. It was my job to dance around and look pretty, while he always stayed lowkey. It sounds kind of stupid, but we made it work, and he was a pretty big draw for some of our crowds. And we did have crowds. Our rise to fame was shockingly parallel to what real bands go through. We started with small audiences, which grew bigger and bigger, until we were nationally famous, and then internationally so. Big in Japan, as my air vocalist liked to say. It still amazes me that any of this went anywhere. I guess it happened during the perfect time period. It was late enough for rock to be loud and showy, but before internet video, which might have saturated the market too much for us to make a name for ourselves. I don’t think we had much of a hand in developing the art form. Plenty of others were doing the same thing as us, though mostly as solo acts. We were just kind of this niche act that only made us enough money to keep doing it, but not do anything else with our lives, at least for as long as it lasted. The novelty wore off within a decade, and we each had to find real jobs. We remained good friends, though, and even played a final reunion gig a year ago before our bassist died. Yep. It was a wild life.

Microstory 1856: Civil Servant

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Most of the time, when I was a civil servant, I didn’t feel like I could get anything done. There was so much red tape, and pushback from people who didn’t want to spend any money. The entire purpose of government—even local government—is to use money wisely, not to just hold onto it, and not use it at all. My colleagues kept screaming about wasting taxpayer money, but that’s not what I was trying to do. It’s meant to be for schools, roads, and emergency services. And it’s that last one that always got me into trouble. They wanted to dedicate pretty much our entire budget on law enforcement. Seriously, I think if someone like me wasn’t there to stop them, that’s exactly what they would do. One of them actually believed that there would be no need for any hospitals if cops handled everything before it got to that point. That, of course, doesn’t make any sense; that guy was an idiot. I started out as the City Comptroller. It’s the biggest joke in government. Everyone has the right to vote for it, but no one knows what it is. Fortunately, I was responsible for a fairly well-educated city in that regard, so many people actually did vote for me, and they knew why they were voting for me, instead of one of my opponents. Now, I never thought I would have free reign over the finances, but I thought I would have a stronger voice than I did. The Mayor had all the power, just like the TV shows make it seem. And our mayor was the absolute worst. Slimy, corrupt, impassionate, selfish. So many people tried to get him out of office, but they kept losing. I’m not saying he was rigging the elections, but something fishy was going on, and I decided to get to the bottom of it. Luckily, I just so happened to be a brilliant accountant, and I couldn’t get anywhere with my real duties, so I investigated in secret.

Long story short, he was stealing money. Unlike the movies, he wasn’t lining his own pockets, though, which is interesting. Every cent seemed to be going into his reëlection campaigns. Still wrong, still illegal, but I saw his house, and the car that he drove. He was living a surprisingly modest life. Even so, I had to expose him, and I expected my actions to ruin my life. It didn’t matter, because the people deserved the truth, so if I was going to go down, I would make sure he went down with me. To my surprise, that’s not what happened. The city practically raised me up on their shoulders, I was their hero. He went to jail, and I became the most famous comptroller in the country, which as we’ve established, isn’t saying much. It was an election year, so someone else was going to get the spot soon. So many people suggested that I go for it. Even with him out of the way, there was no guarantee that things were going to get better. It wasn’t like he was the only bad politician in the world. My friends knew that the population could trust me to be competent, faithful, and accountable. All I needed to do was convince everybody else. It wasn’t easy, but I fought a hard campaign, and I did it with a lot less money than my primary opponent. As far as I could tell, he was a pretty decent guy, so after I won, I appointed him as my Deputy Mayor. Together, we were going to change the way our great city was run; most importantly, by reworking the budget to be responsible, reasonable, and fair. Only thing is, we’re not going to get the chance to do that. At first, I think it’s raining on our first public address, but then I touch my face, and realize it’s blood. I look down at my deputy mayor. Headshot, he’s gone. Then I feel a sharp pain in my chest, and I fall down next to him. I shouldn’t have dared to dream.

Microstory 1848: Rehabilitator

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Everyone believes that Landis Tipton was the first open voldisil in the world, but that’s not true. He’s not even the first healer, though we could argue semantics all day. Landis became famous because he knew how to leverage a business opportunity, and grow his brand. But the man I want to talk about to you today didn’t have that. He wasn’t flashy or sexy. What he did was painful, and comparatively slow, and it was a thankless job. It also wasn’t necessarily permanent. His patients had to work very hard to prevent themselves from falling into the same old habits. He cured them of their affliction, to be sure, but whatever caused them to walk down that path in the first place, it could happen again, or something else could do the same. He didn’t have control over their actions. I understand that, in my final moments, I’m meant to talk about myself, but I feel obligated to tell his story since apparently, no one else has before. As I’ve said, he didn’t become famous, and that’s a damn shame. Still, it’s probably reasonable for me to start the tale from a personal place. I was always very curious and experimental. According to my mother, I burned each hand on the stovetop two days in a row. A normal person—even one so young—will not be fooled twice by the same consequences. But I guess I couldn’t help myself. Sure, it burned me the first time, but why would that mean it would burn me again? In the era that I was growing up, it was perfectly normal for a child to go off on their own, on their bicycle, or whathaveyou. I was particularly bad about this, though, getting much farther away from the safe zone than I really should have. I loved to explore, and I never got lost, but my personality is what got me into trouble. I fell into the world of drugs when I was thirteen years old. I didn’t surrender to peer pressure, or need to destress. If I hadn’t tried a drug before, I figured I might as well, because what was the worst that could happen? Obviously, a lot. I was an addict.

Notice that I say that I was an addict, because I’m not anymore. Normally, that wouldn’t be accurate; someone like me would be in recovery, but would live the rest of their lives with that mark, and at a greater risk of backsliding. I don’t have to worry about that, because I rid myself of all temptation. Rather, I should say, The Rehabilitator did it for me. He had the special spirit ability to alter the neural chemistry of a client, as well as any physical dependence that they were experiencing. He could remove any addiction from you. I would know, he did it for me. I won’t tell you how I hit rock bottom, because I like to focus on the positive, and he positively fixed me. No more urges, no more second nature routines. I wasn’t disgusted by drugs, like other addiction therapies try to do for you, but I felt no need for them anymore. I returned a few weeks after my very cheap session to thank him for what he did for me. My life was on track. I was rebuilding relationships with people I had pushed away, and I had just gotten the perfect job. We were never great friends, but I stopped by to say hello and chat over the years. He kept doing his thing for other people. He would charge them pennies for a service that literally only he could provide. He could barely make ends meet, but the way he explained it to me, his clients were at their lowest, and charging them a premium would have needlessly made it harder on them. He died a few years ago. His obituary was short, but hundreds of people went to his funeral. The paper didn’t bother investigating why. He was a great man who deserved so much better. I owe him the last forty years of my life.

Microstory 1844: Extra

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People often ask me what made me want to be an actor, but I can’t point to anything. There wasn’t a moment when I was enthralled with a character on screen. There wasn’t an emotion I had never felt before. I don’t remember the first three years of my life, but it was that version of me who made the decision for the both of us. As far as I know, I have always been an actor, and I never could have been anything else. I begged my parents to move to Los Angeles, but they refused. I honestly believe they would have agreed to it if we had lived in, I dunno, Tennessee, or something. They were so supportive of my dreams, but we were in New York, so I guess they looked at it as a lateral move. “If you want to act, you can do it here,” my mom would tell me. I didn’t want to do stagework, though. I wanted to be on the screen. I wanted to shoot something once, and have anybody in the world be able to see it again forever and ever. As the years went by, I didn’t let my living situation get in my way. I went to auditions for things that were shooting in the area, and while I didn’t get any roles, I think I gained a lot of great experience. That’s how I saw it. Every failure was just a step towards success. Then I got the audition that changed my life. I can’t remember what the role was exactly. I think I was a little too old for it, but the casting director was handing out little flyers calling for extras. There were going to be huge crowds in the movie, so they were trying to fill out the streets. It was an alien invasion, so we had to run from spaceships flying down to kill us. I thought, all right, it’s just more experience, right? It was so great, being on set around all those people. We were all there for the same thing; to support the main cast, and we all understood our jobs.

I had to join a talent agency to get more parts like that, and I found myself preferring it. I suddenly realized that I no longer wanted to be an actor. Yeah, that’s how I got started, but I ended up enjoying staying in the background. I wasn’t getting noticed, but I met a lot of really cool people, including celebrities, and it was always fun. It was pretty steady work too. Film crews always needed people like me to make it look like their story took place in the real world, instead of a snowglobe, like Waiting For Godot. Then my career changed again. I was in a movie about a demon who could possess recently deceased bodies. In one scene, he was having a menacing conversation with the hero on the battlefield, so there were plenty of fresh bodies to possess. Several of the extras were elevated a little bit to actually say a few lines before crumpling to the ground, and making way for the next possession. Luck of the draw, mine was the last body used before the protagonist realized how to kill the demon permanently. So instead of just falling down like the others, I had to pretend to die. I was given no direction for this, I had to figure it out myself. Everyone on set was extremely pleased with my performance. We nailed that thing in one take, and the audience received it well. People were talking about it online, trying to figure out who I was, because I wasn’t credited for it. This was my big break, and I didn’t even see it coming. Talent agencies started reaching out to me, hoping to book me auditions for speaking parts, and I ended up choosing one out of L.A. By then, I had enough money to get out there on my own, and get back to what I originally wanted. I die today with 56 titles on my résumé, the last of which will have to be released posthumously. My agent says she’ll get me a dedication credit.

Microstory 1827: Built on Sandeaters

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I’m famous in certain circles. You may think that every species of animal has been discovered by now, but that’s not true. No, the legends of massive monsters hiding from cameras in the forests are not what I’m talking about. Nor am I talking about microscopic organisms, which we may never catalogue comprehensively. I found something in between...something very special. As remote as the region is where I discovered it, I’m surprised that no one had noticed it before. Well, I’m guessing that people centuries ago knew about it, but didn’t think to write it down. That’s probably what happened. I chose to name it the marsupian sandeater. It doesn’t really eat sand, but it really does live in the desert, and it really is a marsupial. That’s the first thing that was so special about it. This species is the only known marsupial to exist somewhere besides Australia or the Americas. Nothing like this has been found on the continent of Africa. The assumption is that they were transported here at some point, but scientists have yet to find evidence of that, or similarly that they aren’t indigenous to the region, as crazy as that sounds. Like the kangaroo rat, this thing can survive on an incredibly low amount of water. It actually recycles it throughout its system a few times before crystalizing the waste, and passing it. It doesn’t sweat, but uses blood flow to regulate its own temperature, and cool itself in the hot climate. It’s an amazing creature, and I feel such pride for having been the first to find it, and realize what I had. It was totally by accident. I enjoy learning the sciences, but I don’t have a degree myself. I guess you could call me a lifelong learner, because I love to read, and I know how to do research on my own. So I wasn’t super involved in the ongoing research into it, but like I said, I was given the honor of naming it, and I received general credit for the achievement too.

Sadly, my fifteen minutes of fame didn’t last very long, which is surely why they call it that. I spent my life after that trying to recreate the magic, whether it was a second new species in the Amazon rainforest, or a new method of detecting exoplanets. Nothing came of my efforts. I wasn’t able to make a single significant accomplishment since. As it turns out, it was only a fluke. I wasn’t special, I wasn’t skilled. I was a nobody that time would eventually forget. I took that trip to my ancestral lands to find my true self somewhere on the journey, but I ended up just finding a fabricated version of myself. He was special. He mattered. But he died long ago, and the world was left with this lesser facsimile. My obsession with bringing him back to life drove me deeper and deeper into obscurity, and truthfully, mediocrity. I should have found my true passion. I should have focused on figuring out my skill set, and contributing to the world in my own way, instead of giving up on anything that didn’t produce results immediately, like the one time it did. My family and friends could see it. They kept trying to get me to settle down, but I didn’t listen, and there is nothing I regret more. There is nothing I could regret more, because it was my entire identity. I defined myself as someone who was going to do great things, rather than someone who was going to do his best, and try to be happy. I had the opportunity to go see the healer in America, but I decided the last thing I needed was more time. It was probably only going to come with more disappointment. I’m like that little marsupial in the Sahara; self-reliant to a fault, uninteresting but for one thing, with nothing better to do than burrow in the sand, and not drink water.

Microstory 1681: Dark Studies

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An Efilversal survivor named Nils Nilson was the one who ultimately taught the Ochivari how to start their antinatalistic movement. It was he who believed most passionately that the only way to protect life was to destroy it. He saw no irony in this. “To prevent suffering, one must cut the threads of existence before they get too long,” he was once heard saying. He was insane. But he was an excellent orator, and a very moving teacher. In exchange for his words, he asked the Ochivari to transport him to a new universe. He didn’t specifically say that he was going to continue to spread his message, but that was definitely what he wanted to do. His people were becoming extinct, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. If he wanted to mould a civilization into his image, he had to find one still with a significant population. That was what he really wanted, to turn people to his side, and convince them to do whatever he wanted. It probably didn’t matter much what he convinced them to do, as long as he would go down in history as the most influential voice of all time. It worked. The world he ended up on was falling apart. Wars and unregulated technology were threatening everyone in some way. There weren’t really even rich people who could protect themselves against the consequences. It was just a huge mess, and from just about everyone’s perspective, a lost cause. Nilson saw potential in them, though. If he could condition them to despise technology beyond a certain level, he could have his notoriety. He got to work. He used his charm to gather a few followers, and with the power they gave him, he was able to gather more. And more, and more, and then after that...more. It was never enough.

No one could stop him, even if they wanted to. Any government still standing at this point in time was wholly ineffectual, so there was no one willing and able to oppose him. Anyone who had some kind of principled stance against his ideas didn’t give him much thought. The reality was that he was not only the loudest voice in the crowd, but one of few who had any interest in using that voice to enact change. With little resistance, he banished sufficiently advanced technology, and killed anyone who did actively operate against him. Most people were too scared of him to argue. Yes, he was violent, but he was ending wars, because people no longer had the suitable resources to try, and they were all coming together under one banner anyway. Eventually, no one was left to fight, because they were either dead, or on the same side. Now, the Ochivari promised never to enter the universe where they left Nilson to start a brand new life. They had every intention of keeping that promise. Unfortunately for all of us, that kind of attention to detail can get lost when you’re dealing with bulk travel. Nilson died not too long after he arrived, which only augmented the mystique surrounding his philosophy. When the Ochivari finally did arrive, it was nearly thirty years later, and no one on the mission who made the original promise to him was even still alive. Despite their ability to travel through time, a generation for the Ochivari goes by quickly. Each time an individual tries to make a jump, there’s about a fifty percent chance that they’ll die, and past successes hardly increase those odds. Anyway, since their outlook was transformed, these humans were happy to welcome the Ochivari to their home, and were more than willing to join their cause. The loop is complete. The Ochivari gave Nilson to these people, which made them the confederates they would end up becoming to the Ochivari.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 31, 1608

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“This was not a win for you,” The Cleanser argued. “My girl was the one who actually rescued all the people from the boat.”

“My team provided the cuff necessary to complete the task,” The Warrior volleyed. “Your girl would have failed without us.”

“Uh, without us,” Mateo jumped in.

The Cleanser and the Warrior looked at him like he was even more of an idiot than he was.

Mateo held firm. “More specifically, without Leona.”

“Just so I can understand this,” Leona began, “are you two fighting over who manages to save the most people?”

Zeferino laughed. “Yeah, let’s go with that.”

“Ha, yeah,” Anatol agreed.

“Anyway, we agreed no mixing,” Zeferino said. “We’re supposed to be operating within different timelines.”

Anatol shrugged. “I’m still getting a handle on my new powers. I honestly didn’t realize this wasn’t a different reality. You normally do that for us.”

Zeferino seemed content with this response. “Then we’ll call it a draw, and move on to the next one.”

“Okay, but I don’t like your chances with this one,” Anatol said. “She seems...green.”

“I am green,” the young woman agreed.

“Well...” Zeferino began.

“You wanna split the teams again,” Anatol figured.

“I’ve already worked with some of these people,” Zeferino said. “It could be fun.”

“So, what? Three against three?”

“There are seven of them.”

Anatol shrugged again. “I don’t really know why this Olimpia person is here, or what she contributes.”

Olimpia didn’t seem bothered by this remark, and no one wanted to come to her defense, because all it would do was lead her to being just as much of a pawn in their chess game as the rest of them.

Leona cleared her throat pointedly. “There aren’t seven of us, there are six.” There had been this unspoken agreement that everyone would pretty much stay quiet while the gods fought with each other, but Leona hated bad math, and she couldn’t let it go.

Anatol looked around. “Wait, where is Dalton?”

“I didn’t use him for this one,” Zeferino explained. “These two haven’t met yet.”

“What are we doing with the numbers?” Anatol questioned. “Are you bringing him on, or what?”

“Let’s do boy versus girls,” Zeferino suggested. “I have a fourth man to bring on who could be on your team, and that will make them even.”

“Hold on,” Anatol said. “I have to take the guys? They’re all morons.”

“D.B. isn’t that dumb, Anatol.”

“You have Leona and Angela. That’s crazy.”

“You have the primary cuff,” Zeferino returned.

“Well, it doesn’t work without it, does it?”

“You do have two to spare, according to my maths.” Zeferino looked directly at Leona.

“I do. But you still have the dream team,” Anatol reasoned.

“I’ll tell you what, your team can have any powers you want them to have. My team can have none.”

They both thought over the proposal, to make sure there weren’t any issues on either side.

“Deal,” Anatol said.

“Deal,” Zeferino echoed.

They both looked over at the group. No one was preparing to argue or complain. Mateo was smiling.

“What are you thinking?” Anatol asked. “You believe this will give you some kind of advantage?”

Mateo’s smile widened. “Not as of yet, but it will present itself. That’s a major lesson that I don’t think I realized I learned until now. You see, you are so powerful that you can think ten steps ahead. But you always miss one thing.” He used hand gestures for emphasis.

“What’s that?” Zeferino asked.

“You always miss at least one forking path. We’ll play your game. We’ll let you break us up, and compete against each other across two timelines. While we’re doing that...we’ll wait. Despite your immortality, you both possess an obscene amount of impatience, and regularly demonstrate a high capacity for boredom. I give this...nine missions before it all falls apart.”

Zeferino and Anatol smirked, and simultaneously said, “deal.”

Leona, Angela, Olimpia, and newcomer Siria went their own way with the Cleanser. Mateo and Jeremy, meanwhile, went off with the Warrior to meet back up with Dalton, as well as meet some guy named D.B. Mateo was surprised to find out that they were talking about the D.B. Cooper; famed plane hijacker and folk hero. He reportedly made off with $200,000 in 1971, though according to Anatol’s introduction, this was just a ploy to get himself to altitude. His time traveling ability only worked when he was falling from a great height, and he was actually just trying to get home. The Cleanser apparently screwed with his attempt, and forced him so far in the past that this goal would be impossible. He recently spent some time working with Mateo’s once-mother, Laura Gardner, and her partner, Samwise Bellamy. Even though he was still centuries in the past, being in 1608 was sort of a break from that harsh life. There was a reason that most travelers didn’t spend too much time before the 20th century. Toilet paper was a pretty big factor.

“All right,” Anatol began. They were in some kind of salon, or meeting room for rich people, who didn’t want to spend too much time with the less fortunate. Everything was made of leather, or wood. “Now that everyone knows each other, it’s time to begin. Today is May 31, 1608. You are in Timeline One. The ladies are in Timeline Alpha. Most of the time, these timelines won’t be running concurrently, but access to The Parallel has given me the ability to keep one from collapsing under the weight of the other. For now. You’re in a competition. Not only do you have to complete the missions we set before you, but you have to do them better than the other team. Whichever team ends up with the best timeline will get to live on in their timeline. The losing team, on the other hand, will remain in the defunct timeline until such time that it finally does collapse.”

“Wait, what?” Jeremy questioned. “You didn’t say anything about that before.

“Oh, it didn’t need to be said,” Anatol joked. “Zef and I knew that was part of the deal all along. Don’t worry, we’ll be all right. Only the four regular people on the team will die. He and I will get out and survive no matter what.”

“Yeah, we were worried about that,” Mateo said sarcastically. “I guess it’s okay now that we know you two will live.”

“Quite.” Anatol was just going to pretend they were all being genuine. He handed Jeremy a slip of paper. “This first one is pretty straight-forward, just to dip your toes in. They’ll get more complicated as you level up. That is the address of a young boy. Rescue him from his abusive uncle, who ultimately accidentally kills him today. I’m not even gonna give you access to my time power library, because I don’t think you’ll need it. In fact, I’ll be suppressing both Dalton and D.B.’s powers, in case you get any ideas about escape.”

“Thank you,” Mateo said. “You can go now.”

“Very well.” Anatol disappeared.

The four of them looked around at each other. Then they all sat down. “Obviously we can’t do this,” Jeremy decided.

“No, we can’t let them die,” Mateo concurred.

“I don’t understand how this works,” Dalton noted. “When it kills us, will we go to the afterlife simulation?”

“I don’t think so,” Mateo guessed. “The simulation is in whatever timeline wins out over the others. That is, it’s not like it exists outside of time. Every version of it that exists in a collapsing timeline should collapse along with it. Otherwise, everyone would have infinite alternate versions of themselves in there, and I don’t think that’s how it works. We won’t even really die, it will be more like we never existed.”

D.B. nodded understandingly. “What is the afterlife simulation?”

They explained it to him.

“So, if we don’t save the boy,” D.B. said afterwards, “we just have to hope your friends on the other team do? Our version of the boy will be erased from history regardless, but one of them will live on?”

“That’s the way I understand it,” Mateo said.

“I feel a little weird letting him die even though it won’t matter,” D.B. lamented with airquotes.

Mateo nodded. “He said you’re a time traveler. You’re not a time looper, though, right? You create an alternate reality every time.”

“Yes, I see where you’re going with this. I’ve killed an infinite number of people already. I suppose it’s just that I’ve never been asked to save a particular person. My God...” He reached over, and took the paper from Jeremy. “We know his name.”

“The answer is..don’t think about it,” Mateo instructed. “He will be saved. There’s no way Leona doesn’t figure out how to do it in the best way possible.”

Meanwhile, in Timeline Alpha, the girls were sitting around in their own salon, but it looked more island tropical than stuffy cigar club. They were getting to know their new member. Siria was like Angela in that she didn’t have powers, but she knew about it all. She worked at a special place that was simply called The Time Clinic. People with time illnesses were sent there to be treated, or just made comfortable. Her job was primarily that second part, as she didn’t have any medical training, but she also seemed to have a knack for coming up with permanent solutions that helped the patients lead semi-normal lives. Many of the illnesses were the result of the Cleanser’s petty retaliations, which was how she ended up on his shitlist.

They too had decided that they couldn’t let their friends die in the other timeline just to save themselves. Unlike them, though, they realized that the guys would come to the same conclusion, and that the boy would not be saved in any timeline. They sat there for about an hour before someone knocked on the door. When Leona opened it, she didn’t find a person, but there was a movie theatre on the other side. That was about three hundred years too early, so they all walked through, and took their seats. The guys came in from the other entrance shortly thereafter, and found their own seats.

“Did you win?” Mateo asked his wife.

“I didn’t play.”

“Me neither. I was hoping you would. Were you hoping we would?”

Leona shook her head. “No.” She didn’t elaborate.

The house lights dimmed, and the curtains moved. An image came on screen. It turned out to be a trailer for a movie that featured most of the people that were in the auditorium right now. It was about a team of time travelers who very specifically found themselves on a planet a hundred and eight light years from Earth. They had a ship that could only take them a light year at a time, so they had to have adventures with crazy alien cultures in the meantime. It sounded more like a TV show, but either way, the audience couldn’t tell if this was prescience, or a joke. Once it was over, the feature presentation began, but it was shorter than the trailer they just watched. A drunk man was beating a young boy in his room, and ended up taking it too far with a lamp. This was the boy they were meant to save, but didn’t. These were the consequences.

The house lights came back up, and Anatol and Zeferino climbed on stage. “As part of this sneak preview,” the former began, “my co-director and I are hosting a Q and A session. Ask us any questions about...oh, I dunno, why the hell you should agree to participate, and what’s going to happen if you don’t, and...how many innocent people are gonna die?”

They waited. “No?” Zeferino asked. “No one wants to know those things?”

Leona stood up. “I don’t know what you thought you would accomplish by forcing us to become complicit in each other’s deaths, but good people don’t do that. We don’t choose to save ourselves. And if you can’t understand that, you shouldn’t be in charge of an outhouse, let alone all of reality. We’ve all asked you to help us save lives, and in exchange for that, you’re asking for us to kill each other. That’s not a thing, that’s not a thing! You can play it straight, or you can watch us sit here and do nothing. You have the power here, so either do the right thing, or perpetuate this macho psycho-killer bullshit reputation that you’re apparently so afraid to lose, you can’t see that all of your sadistic games are completely goddamn pointless!”

The two of them stood on stage for a moment. Then Anatol reached over, and placed his hand on Zeferino’s shoulder. They disappeared for a second, then returned in different positions. “All right, no games,” Anatol agreed. “One team, one timeline. Save the people we tell you, don’t ask questions, and we’ll let you know what the point of it all is in the end. This is our final offer. Either take it, or we’ll make you wish only half of you had been erased from existence.”

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