Microstory 2360: Vacuus, July 30, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Condor,

Lol, I appreciate your offer to commit physical violence against my aggressor, but I should warn you that a lot has changed since I sent my last letter. Bray and I have gotten to know each other better, and we have found something between us. I know, it’s really weird. He’s about 18 years younger than us, but we can’t help how we feel. I honestly never planned on spending the rest of my life with anyone else. I never really connected with any of my peers. The gene pool is just so small. The truth is that the gap between us isn’t even the widest on the base. I don’t know how that sort of thing is received on Earth, but the stigma for us is long gone. In order to maintain our population, we’ve had to sort of ignore the social conventions of the past. I’m sure you think that it’s still a little weird, but I don’t want to just disregard our developing feelings. Maybe I shouldn’t be talking to you about any of this. You’re my brother, which makes it awkward, but we also don’t know each other very well yet, so that makes it awkward in a different way. I’ll spare you the details no matter what, but please let me know if you would rather not hear about it at all. I wouldn’t want to say anything that makes you uncomfortable. This is all I’ll say until I get your answer in that regard. Right now, nothing has happened between him and me, and it might fizzle out soon anyway. As I said, I’ve always seen myself more as a loner. Okay, I promise that that’s the last I’ll say. Thanks and sorry. On the other hand, we could discuss our love lives openly, that wouldn’t bother me. I know that you’re life has been defined by go, go, go, but have you ever gotten to know anyone special? Have you been looking for companionship since you settled down in the ocean platform? Again, you don’t have to say anything, this is just a topic that we’ve not touched on before, and I want us to feel comfortable being honest, if that’s even possible at this juncture, and through the detached medium of interplanetary correspondence. Sorry again! That’s it! I really won’t say anything more. To prove it to you, let me shift gears. You were talking about the people who did this to us; specifically who they might be, and what they might have been doing for the last 37 years. I’ve personally given up on trying to find those answers. I’m still mad about it, but all I think we can do is move on, and play with the cards that we’ve been dealt. We can’t go back in time, and choose a single planet together. If you want more information—if it’s eating at you—I will support you, and do whatever I can on my end, so don’t hesitate to be honest about it. I really mean that. There are still some stones on Vacuus that I can turn over if we agree that that’s what’s best. I love you, Condor. I want us both to be happy, and to experience whatever closure we’re looking for.

Not yet in love,

Corinthia

Microstory 2316: Earth, August 23, 2178

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Corinthia,

My father had to extend his diplomatic mission, which happens all the time—he had already extended it twice before this—but he calls every time, so I was able to confront him about his involvement in our separation. I would have preferred to speak with him in person, but I didn’t want to waste any more time, because there’s no telling how long this will take. We really need that food and the medical supplies, and they just can’t come to an agreement with our neighbors. I believe that he will make every effort to return as soon as possible, though, as delaying a real talk will only give me more time to hear the truth from you instead. He would have rather gotten ahead of the narrative, but of course, we both know that he had every opportunity to fess up, and never did. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to find anyone who may have known our parents back then, but he and I came to this habitat alone a year ago. So far, no one here has been of much help. I did meet a rather old woman who believes that such awful practices were not unheard of four decades ago, and there’s apparently precedent that goes back even further. Back in the early days of space exploration, there were two famous sets of twins who were studied for comparison. One would go up into space, while the other stayed on the ground. That’s how they learned that low gravity changed the immune system, and even genes. There were other twin studies throughout history, such as when one turned out to be really intelligent, and the other not so much. This old woman thinks that these experiments became more ethical over time, but started to backslide as governments lost control of society, and corporations started being able to make up their own rules. It’s hard to know for sure what I can trust about what this woman says, though, as she’s made some more outrageous claims, like that aliens walk among us, or that she once met an immortal mystic man who was born in the nineteenth century. Anyway, I’m quite curious to know more about how Vacuus works. I know that it’s quite dangerous to live on an airless world, but what does that do to people? What kind of laws do you have? Would you call them fair and reasonable? I should think that a mission that included a kidnapped baby would be rife with corruption and amorality, but I truly hope that things have changed since then, and you at least feel safe and happy with the people around you. Write back when you can.

Love (I hope it’s okay to say that),

Condor Sloane

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 9, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

Fairpoint Panders is not working alone, and he has control over everything. Evidently, Palmeria is a coveted prize. There is an organization that has dedicated itself to figuring out how to breach its short borders. They believe that it must contain something so valuable that it would set them up for life. The truth is that, other than universe-hopper, Keaton Palmer himself, there is nothing particularly special about the islands. It has dirt, trees, and other plants. There are a few small rodents, and birds. Fish swim nearby. The resort is a wonderful and tranquil place that can transform the most stressed out individual into the epitome of contentment and chill. It’s a cool place, but its main draw is its exclusivity. That’s what keeps the business going. A limited number of people will ever be allowed to enjoy the amenities, which makes any potential vacationer that much more intrigued by the possibility. It’s not like a real life Fantasy Island, or whatever this organization is imagining. It’s just really nice here.

As far as they can tell, Fairpoint is not a member of the so-called Palm Readers, but he did make contact with them, and convince them to take their methods to the next level by finally making good on their promise of breaching those borders. As it turns out, they were closer than Keaton knew. Here they are, having taken everyone hostage, and demanding answers. Of course, Fairpoint doesn’t care about any of that. He just wants to know what happened to his ex-husband, and Marie is not doing a very good job of explaining it away. Brain damage? How? Under what circumstances? Can it be undone?

“I’ve told you everything that I can!” Marie shouts back. “We didn’t mean for this to happen, but it did, and now I’m doing everything I can to reteach him.”

“But he won’t be the same.” Fairpoint questions. He’s heard all of this already. He just keeps expecting a different answer. “There’s no recovering those memories.”

Marie looks over at Dr. Merrick, who doesn’t think so, given the information at his disposal. He’s right, this is a different Heath. “No. The memories are gone.”

“So my Heath is dead,” Fairpoint reasons.

“No. My Heath is gone. Your Heath left you years ago, because you’re the type of person who would take children hostage.”

“I didn’t know that children were here,” Fairpoint claims. “They’ll be free to go once the Palm Readers find a way to safely transport them off of the island without your shadowy government agents being able to sneak through.”

“You could just give up,” Marie argues. “You can’t undo what’s been done to Heath, and your little friends aren’t going to find whatever they’re looking for here.”

“She’s right,” the Palm Reader who was assigned to watch them says to Fairpoint. “We were wrong. There’s nothing special here.”

“Then go,” Fairpoint says dismissively. “I don’t care what you do. I just used you to get me across the border.”

“We didn’t sign up for hurting kids,” the guy explains. “We can’t leave until we know that they’ll be safe.”

“Take them with you, and hand them off to the authorities,” Fairpoint suggests.

“Then we’ll get in trouble for transporting children across national borders.”

“You’re already in trouble for kidnapping them, what’s one more charge?”

“Mr. Panders, you need to stand down, and you need to convince our leader to do the same. He’s going crazy in the other room. He insists that there’s a secret basement entrance somewhere.”

“We couldn’t build a basement on this island,” Keaton tells him. “The ground isn’t stable enough. We don’t need one. I assure you, there is nothing here but good vibes and good food. And nice bedsheets.”

“I believe you,” the Palm Reader replies. “But try telling him that” He jerks his head back towards the door, in the general direction of his boss.

“Fairpoint,” Marie says, trying to get them back on track, “this has gone far enough. Let us go.”

“No.” He frowns over at Heath 2.0, who is smiling dumbly in the corner, totally unable to grasp the gravity of the situation. “No, I came here with two objectives. I wanted to know whether he could be fixed, and also to punish the responsible party.”

“The responsible party is in the wind,” Marie says for the upteenth time. “In fact, your little stunt has diverted resources that are meant to be used to track him down.” Marie doesn’t technically know that Kivi and Arcadia’s team are the ones on the other side of the border, trying to correct this situation, but her position is sound.

“He may have done the deed, but I blame you too.” He turns away from Heath 2.0 to face Marie. “I blame you for everything.” He takes out a gun, but doesn’t aim it.

“Whoa, dude,” there’s no need for that,” the Palm Reader contends. They’re mostly nonviolent, but Fairpoint lit a fire under their ass, and corrupted their mission.

Fairpoint walks over to Heath 2.0. He gently caresses his cheek with his free hand. Heath smiles wider, and leans into the hand. “I love you. I always will. I’m the only one who loves you enough to free you from this prison.” He lifts the gun, and shoots Heath 2.0 right in the forehead.

Marie yelps.

The Palm Reader walks out of the room. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope.”

“You were destined to be arrested as soon as you stepped foot on this island,” Marie says to Fairpoint in a quiet rage. “Now you’ll get the death penalty.” Very few countries have banned capital punishment. “I will see to it.”

“You won’t be seeing anything after the next few days,” Fairpoint tells her. He takes what looks like a puzzle box out of his bag, and sets it on the table. He slides his finger across the faces, edges, and corners in a pattern to release the locking mechanism of the puzzle box. Inside is a mostly spherical object that comes to a point at the top as a cone dropped upon its ice cream. Upon that is a needle. He then takes out his knife and knicks Marie on the arm. He lets several drops of blood run off the blade and land on the needle. “This is a gene bomb. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes.” They used those in Carnage World in the afterlife simulation. They would target specific code, so that the explosive could go off, and only damage specific people. They were inspired by base reality weapons, which used DNA instead of computer code.

“Mr. Palmer, thank you for your hospitality,” Fairpoint says in the tone one might use at the end of a pleasant dinner party. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” He walks out.

Keaton pulls the rope binding his wrists under his body, and stands up. He runs over to grab the bomb. “I’ll take this as far as I can.” He crashes through the window, and hops out. It proves to be pointless. The bomb’s range is very wide. Marie feels the blast a few minutes later. She’s going to die.

Microstory 1716: Sea Goat

< > Table of Contents

I’ve done it, I’ve cracked it! I have finally figured out how to genetically engineer the sea goat. No, this is not like the mythological Capricornus creature thing that’s half-goat, half-fish. This is an aquatic goat, which still looks mostly like a goat, but which has features that allow it to swim below the surface. Most goats can already swim, but they don’t really like it, and they certainly can’t breathe underwater. The sea goat is different. I designed fin flaps on his legs, so when he’s in the water, he’ll curl his hooves inward, and let the fins do the paddling. His hair is more like otter or beaver fur, capable of keeping him warm in frigid waters. The gills on his neck can process both saltwater and freshwater equally well, allowing him to stay under indefinitely. He has a set of transparent eyelids underneath the opaque ones, which allow him to see through the water. You may be asking why I would do this. Why create an amphibious goat? The truth is that not once during the process did I ask myself that question. It seemed like such a natural objective that I never considered there needed to be any sort of reason. Now, you’ll notice that I keep referring to the animal as a he, but the truth is that its genderless. I just use the term for the sake of ease, but he is no more male than he is female. When he’s ready to reproduce, he will do so asexually. That doesn’t mean he carries both reproductive organs, but that he doesn’t need different organs. When it’s time to propagate the species, he’ll develop the eggs. He won’t have to fertilize them, but he also won’t be making an exact copy. Enzymes in his reproductive system will attach themselves to the eggs randomly. Once enough of these enzymes are attached, they’ll operate uniquely, and in concert, altering each egg’s DNA in unpredictable ways. This allows for the offspring to be born genetically diverse, whilst still only requiring the one parent. The species will evolve as normal, but will have no need to find suitable mates.

The only thing I’m having trouble with now is figuring out how to prompt the reproductive process in the first place. If I were to engineer a sexual species, two members of that species would undoubtedly experience the instinct to mate with each other, which would continue the bloodline. Without such environmental factors, I’m not sure why the sea goat would do this. Most species evolve the biological imperative to pass on their genetic information, by whatever means they have available to them. This is because any individual who doesn’t have this drive, won’t pass on their genetic information, and will die out long before we ever have a chance to study them. They just don’t exist—in random defective organisms, yes, but not in an entire species, because it wouldn’t make any sense. But evolution didn’t take too much part in what I have created. It’s impossible to tell whether the fundamental biological imperative is strong enough in the sea goat, or is even there at all. If all goes according to plan, he’ll lay about a dozen eggs, and maybe half of them will survive through the early developmental process. That is if anything happens at all. I don’t really want to try to trigger the propagation myself, because I want to see if he will do it on his own. That day may never come, but I have no choice but to be patient. The sea goat’s life span is presently about as long as a human’s, which is a gift I deliberately added to his genes. I may die before seeing the second generation come to fruition, so that is why you’re here. If you accept the position, you’ll be responsible for carrying on my legacy. You won’t be my assistant, you’ll be more like my heir. Now that you know a little bit about what we do here, how about you tell me more about yourself? Why do you want to study and raise sea goats?

Microstory 1656: Purebloods

< > Table of Contents

In the universe where Neanderthal DNA managed to survive as a higher percentage in the modern population, most people were genetically diverse. But there were a few outliers; bloodlines which they would often call pure. While knowing how much Neanderthal DNA an individual contained wasn’t something people generally knew until DNA testing became available, there were those who could detect it naturally. It appeared to be a survival trait shared by few. It would seem evolutionarily important to be able to know such information about a potential mate. Members of these so-called pure bloodlines became impure by the 21st century, because it just stopped being so important. Younger generations were making their own choices, and didn’t really care about tradition, or perceived purity. It was also getting harder to accomplish without committing incest, which was not out of the question for some people, apparently. The rest wanted to fall in love with whoever, and not worry about what people thought. One particular bloodline kept their traditions going much longer than the others, until the youngest of the latest generation met someone with the highest known percentage of Neanderthal DNA. She was 24.4% Neanderthal, and honestly, considered to be not so attractive because of it. That didn’t matter to this man, nor should it have. They had a lot in common, and they wanted to be together, but his family was not having it. At first, his parents threatened to cut him off from the family fortune, hoping that would be enough to straighten him out. He was not so easily swayed. He already had a decent education, presently had a good job, and could probably get a better one with time. He didn’t need their money. Since that didn’t work, they resorted to intimidation, and even stalking, but still he would not budge. He was in love, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. That was when they grew violent.

They attacked the couple in their home, but they didn’t kill his fiancée. No, they murdered the pureblood son, and didn’t even bother covering it up. Though he was one of them, the purebloods had no qualms about murdering him, because they couldn’t risk contaminating the family tree with what they deemed to be inferior DNA. They had previously resorted to inbreeding to prevent this from happening when no viable candidates were available as mates, but that wouldn’t help in this case. He wasn’t the last in his generation, or even the parents’ only son. He was just the best choice for passing the baton. His DNA was strong, and so were his reproductive capabilities. If they couldn’t have him, no one could. Yeah, they were that sick. The others could continue on without him, though, and everything would be fine. Of course, it wasn’t fine. The public was outraged by the development, and wanted something to be done about it. Law enforcement was able to arrest the suspects, and most of them were convicted of something. Some actually carried out the crime, while others conspired to make it happen, but in the end, they were all mostly gone. That wasn’t enough for everyone. A group decided to fight fire with fire. They didn’t murder anyone, but they did chemically sterilize the survivors. The pure bloodline would end here, no matter what they did, or who they tried to introduce into the family. The sterilizers were convicted of their crimes as well, but it was too late. The very idea of a pure human would forever be eradicated from the public consciousness. A new age of enlightenment sprang from this, fostering innovative ideas, and promoting social unity. Now they were all the same, because they were all different, and there was no need to fight about it anymore. The purebloods, meanwhile, died out, and became nothing more than a terrible footnote in the history of the world.

Microstory 1606: The Advantage of Diversity

< > Table of Contents

There is a special brane in the bulkverse that’s called Havenverse, because it mostly doesn’t allow crazy scifi things to happen. There’s no time travel, no aliens, no technology too advanced for a given time period. It’s, for lack of a better term, normal. There was a breach into this universe once, but the window was sealed quickly, and in general, it’s the safest place to be if you want to get away from whatever insane adventures you’re having. Of course, because it’s so pristine, it’s the hardest one to access, and it’s pretty well protected by outsiders who want to keep it as it is, and will do anything to stop it from being corrupted. All told, however, it is not unique. There are many universes like it, where its inhabitants tell stories about robot werewolves from another dimension, or fairies that live in your hair, but where these things are not real. Havenverse is different because it doesn’t allow such things to exist, but many others, for all practical purposes, are the same, because such things simply never came to be. There’s one in particular I want to talk about that is insignificant, except for an interesting prehistorical twist. Much like the Linsetol of the last story, a certain species managed to survive in their world longer than their parallel universe counterparts. They’re known as the Neanderthals, and while they did not last through the modern day, they did have a much greater impact on human evolution. On most versions of Earth, a human will contain up to four percent of Neanderthal DNA, indicating that the two hominids interbred, at least minimally, before the latter went extinct. Experts believe that homo sapiens out-competed their brethren for food and other resources, but had they become more cooperative, and less selective with their mates, co-existence could have persisted, for a little while, anyway. Like I said, Neanderthals did eventually disappear, but a lot more had to do with them becoming assimilated into the homo sapien population. Modern humans, thusly, found themselves walking around with anywhere between eleven and twenty-four percent Neanderthal DNA. Not only is this six times greater than it is on other Earths, but it also presents a much wider genetic gap amongst the population, which at one point threatened to generate a divide between different peoples in the modern day. This didn’t happen. Actually, the opposite happened. Upon learning more about their own genetic evolution, the humans of this Earth ended up uniting to form a singular society much earlier than other Earths. They recognized that diversity was a good thing, and a source of strength, rather than a weakness. They started working together more, and quickly abolished war. They staved off climate breakdown, and prepared for potential pandemics. Science progressed faster, and capitalism fell to a civilization defined by post-scarcity. It is for this reason that antinatalist species, the Ochivari ignored this universe. By preventing themselves from destroying their planet, they also kept themselves out of The Darning Wars.

Microstory 995: Panda Neglect

< > Table of Contents

This is a quite unpopular one, and is probably too negative for this list, and I realize that. You may be asking, why would you not want to save the pandas? Well, I’m not suggesting we go out and murder a bunch of animals, but we should certainly stop wasting all of our resources on protecting them. 99% of animals that have ever lived on this planet have gone extinct, a great many of them dying out in the third mass extinction event. To be sure, humans are the cause of a lot of death, but we can’t be blamed for most of this. When it comes to evolution, there are three general outcomes. The first is that a mutation can become a positive genetic trait, leading to an advantage which allows that species to survive. The second is a neutral trait, which doesn’t have that much effect in the long run. It often leads to subspecies, because the individuals who do not possess the trait are still doing fine. The third is a negative trait, and will lead to death. If it doesn’t help the species to survive, then the mutated creature will likely die before passing on their genes, and the rest of the population won’t have to worry about it. Then you have the panda. Pandas separated from the rest of the bear family tree about three million years ago, likely due to environmental restrictions. While they were originally well-designed for an omnivorous diet, scientists believe there wasn’t enough meat around, which essentially forced them to subsist on what was available. For as little nutrition as bamboo provides, it certainly grows quickly, and would have a hard time going extinct itself. The problem is that the panda doesn’t care how quickly bamboo grows. It prefers to eat the sprouts, which are about half as nutritious, which means a panda has to eat twice as much; ultimately half of their own body weight. Can you imagine eating *cough* thirty-six kilograms *cough* of food a day? The biggest argument against panda conservation is how much we’re wasting on breeding them when they’re better off doing it in the wild. We’ve all heard how dumb these animals are, and how bad they are at sex, but the reason they’ve survived this long is they’re actually not all that bad at it in the wild. They’re only bad at it in captivity, because....well, wouldn’t you be? If we want to save the pandas, then we should leave them be. The reason we have to work so hard protecting other species, like elephants, is because other forces are working against us, but there’s not a huge market for panda meat. That’s right, all your efforts to save them are actually harming them. We can’t change what they choose to eat, but we can choose to ignore them. Set the pandas free, and leave them alone. If they die out, then that makes me a saaaad panda. But also not, because I don’t care that much; they mostly did it to themselves.

Microstory 839: Alien

< > Table of Contents

My whole life, the only thing I ever wanted was to get out of the lab. The nice people taking care of me taught me all about the world outside, but never let me see it for myself. They recited histories, and read me current events. They let me listen to music, and personal interest stories on public radio. They didn’t let me watch any television or movies, though, which made it difficult to conceive how they worked. Still, they developed me into one of the smartest individuals in the world, simultaneously keeping me the most sheltered, and least experienced. Hell, I never even knew what they looked like. Everything was provided for me remotely, using robots and other automation tools. One mistake they made, however, was teaching me technical skills, which I ultimately used to escape my room. There appeared to be no security in the hallways, probably because they never dreamed I would ever do anything like this, and likely had no reason to believe anyone outside knew this place existed. Once I opened the door to the outside, though, the alarms started blaring, so I had to run as far as I could, as fast as I could. There was no time to waste gawking at all these new stimuli, filling my sense of wonder with brand new encounters, or to savor the moments. I just kept going, all through town. I could see some figures around me, but it was the middle of the night, so there weren’t a lot of people about, and I couldn’t make out any faces. Thinking it best to get off the streets, I ducked into an alleyway, and found an unlocked door to a movie theatre. This is a good place to hide out, I thought. It won’t open for another several hours, and hopefully my trail will have gone cold by the time I have to leave. I sneak into the auditorium, find a row of seats on the end, right up against a large pillar, and try to get some sleep.

When I wake up, I can hear people around me. The lights have risen to a dim, but I’m bleary-eyed and afraid, so I stay curled up, and hope that no one notices me, which they don’t. I must have overslept, but as long as I wait until the movie starts, I should be okay. The house lights go down, leaving us in relative darkness, and I finally feel safe enough to sit up. There aren’t many others in the first matinee showing, and no one pays me any mind. I look around with a smile, glad to be in the real world, and excited to see more. While I’m here, though, I might as well enjoy the film. They’re playing Paranormal Activity 2, which I remember reading about. Supposedly, a lot of people went into the first in the franchise thinking it was real, but I’m not sure I believe that. I really like this one, and don’t have much trouble understanding it, but they never explained why it was billed a ghost story when it’s clearly about aliens. I would have preferred my first time to not be so scary too, but I’m just grateful I didn’t wait to break out until next week when Saw 3D is released. Once the movie ends, the house lights come back up, and I can finally see the other people there. They look completely bizarre to me, with two large ears, and tiny beady eyes. There’s hair on top of their heads, like eyelashes, but a lot longer. Their skin is pink and translucent, and I don’t see a single person with a tail. Is this a theatre for aliens? They look exactly like the ones from the movie. How did they get here, and for what purpose? Then I realize that they’re not the aliens. I am. Now it all makes sense. They named me Géënmu, but I’ve never heard of anyone else with that name, and they even gave me a baby naming book to reference. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. Géënmu. Genetically engineered mutant. I don’t belong out here. I have to find a way back.

Microstory 821: Fits and Starts

< > Table of Contents

When the bladapods first cropped up around our world, the first people to get a crack at them were the scientists. They wanted to research their biology, and behavioral habits. No one can blame them, really; they’re fascinating creatures. I mean, chlorophyll knives for legs? Who knew evolution could come up with something so elegant and dangerous? Of course we all know how this research turned out. They multiplied out of control, and released gases capable of altering both genes and reality itself. One thing those original researches hadn’t considered was the possibility that these bladapods were actually sentient, and could be capable of communicating with us on an intellectual level. One woman realized this prospect, and urged the Association International de Bladapodologie to fund a new department, one designed to crack the code for a theoretical language deemed bladapotango. Suddenly there was a huge influx in open positions at the AIB, and I was proverbially first in line. As a linguist, I was always fascinated with the similarities and differences in languages. The chance to study the communication patterns of an entirely new species was too good to pass up. Unfortunately, the bladapod gas had transformed my perfectly normal-sized vehicle into one of those tiny motor cars that children drive around the neighborhood. Since I’ve been trying to find a decent job for years now, I’ve not had the money necessary to upgrade to something more reasonable. The upside was that the bladapod gas had only quartered my car’s top speed, so it was now sitting at a healthy thirty-five miles per hour, so it could be worse. It’s frustrating not being able to drive on the highway, but since it fits in the cargo hold of a commercial jet, I was able to take it with me to AIB headquarters in Martinique. Bonus: it now has a perpetual motion engine, so it never runs out of power. I discover, however, that the car operates better while within the North American bladapodosphere. It still works, but it keeps stopping and starting, forcing me to keep coming up with new little tricks to get it to start again.

I finally make it into mall, which is where my interview is. Apparently there was literal crapstorm over the actual headquarters last week that has yet to be fully cleaned up, and the mall is being used for continuity of operations. Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t postpone, or even just cancel, the interview, but I certainly am grateful. I’m driving through the mall, trying to find the right retrofitted storefront, when I hear a commotion across the way. I drive up to it out of curiosity and find a man throwing a violent fit. He’s covered in mud, screaming at people, and flailing his arms all around. He almost looks like me, but he can’t be me, because I’m me. I shrug it off, and try to focus on being ready for my interview. I find where I’m meant to be, and the interview seems to be going great. Then, without provocation, a mudfooted ragepanda crashes through the wall from the store next door, and starts trampling over me. I’m overcome with anger, and start fighting it with my bare hands. They tell you to stop, drop, and roll when exposed to emomud, but the only people who say that are the ones who’ve never experienced it themselves. I don’t know how I ended up traveling back in the past, but needless to say, I was unable to break the timeloop, and did not get the job. To make matters worse, I didn’t get all the emomud washed off my body before trying to drive my car back to the hotel, so now it gives me lip, and won’t take me anywhere unless I give it compliments.

Microstory 795: Honor Spotter

< > Table of Contents

The Bicker Institute formed in the 19th century out of fear that some great cataclysm could fall upon the Earth, and destroy civilization. Wanting to insulate the human species from complete annihilation, they start monitoring genetically diverse individuals in secret. Should the need arise, they were to be taken to hidden bunkers to protect them from whatever would happen to the rest of the world. They would not be alone in these bunkers, because who knows what they would do if left to their own devices? So certain peoples are recruited before the theoretical end, according to their education and experience. They need a leader, someone who is a true believer in the cause, and understands exactly what it is they’re fighting for. Of course, they need a doctor to tend to residents’ medical issues; an engineer, a mechanic, and an electrician, to maintain the facility itself; a gardner to care for the microponics equipment; and a logistician to keep track of their inventory. But the genetically select inheritors, and the management team are not the only two groups to be protected. They want the people to be able to choose for themselves; to developed policies and procedures that they feel are best. But inheritors are chosen when they’re children, long before they know what they want to do with their lives. Theoretically, every one of them could grow up to be a clown, for all anyone knows. And so seven people extra people from each of the three qualifying generations are chosen as supplementary bunker residents. These are known as...the wild cards, but are sometimes referred to as the honor residents.

Wild cards are destined to be breeders, and represent a fraction of their population that the Institute knows little about, medically speaking. This is done to better simulate the real world, which is based on more natural genetic inheritance. No algorithm can effectively control for every possible scionic outcome, nor should they strive for one. The fourteen wild cards are there to make it as random as possible. They are chosen, however, based on their education and experience, much like the management staff. Not all bunkers are alike, but the roughly have the same variety of backgrounds. There will likely be two military veterans; one of high ranking, and one of low ranking. There will be four law enforcement officers; one in a command position, one rookie, one experienced detective, and one new detective. There might be one registered nurse, a licensed practical nurse, a paramedic, an EMT, a midwife, and a doula. Lastly, it might be nice to have someone with culinary chops, and someone who is a natural born leader; perhaps an uncorrupted politician (if you can find one) or a company executive. Youngest generation wild cards are chosen by proximity to a bunker. While inheritors are closely protected by sentinels, wild card honor residents are only loosely kept track of by a group of headhunters known as the Honor Spotters. They keep a list of everyone they deem worthy of being taken to the bunkers, but add or remove honors, as new information suggests adjustment. Some in the Institute oppose these tactic, thinking that they would just be asking for something to go wrong when there are so many people they don’t know much about. Their worst resident, though, turned out to not be a wild card at all, but one of their most promising inheritors. And it would be up to the honor residents, and their honor spotter, to deal with him.

Microstory 762: Snowman

< > Table of Contents

In the late nineteenth century, a group of people with a lot of money got together and started questioning the future of planet Earth. They did not believe in the bible, or any other religious theory on the end of the world, but they could not deny that it was a possibility. Something happened to the dinosaurs, and the surface of the planet was not always as hospitable as it would become. New technologies pose new threats, and humans are fickle and dangerous beings. They didn’t know for sure what might happen to humanity, if anything at all, but they figured the only safe bet was to find a way protect the continuity of the species...just in case. They formed an institute, and started recruiting. They developed plans, and built facilities. They started watching over people. At first their subjects were random, but as science progressed, they were able to choose the right subjects with the right genetic makeup. They weren’t looking for perfection, nor any superficial trait shared by all. What they were looking for was diversity. What they realized was that the healthiest people in the world came from genetic diversity, which was why inbred offspring often come with defects. It was absolutely vital that their subjects be compatible with each other in a way that no algorithm could, or should, predict, because that was how evolution operated in an uncontrolled environment. Afterall, they weren’t trying to save this small sample, but the future of the human race. As the years went by, they continued their work, in complete secret. They monitored people they now deemed inheritors at a one to one ratio. They built underground bunkers capable of surviving any number of extinction-level disaster scenarios. These bunkers were placed in strategic locations, far from each other, for if one, or even almost all of them failed, perhaps one might survive.

They calculated the optimal population, turned over older inheritors to new generations, and kept the system alive for decades. Over a hundred years from their beginnings, nearly all bunkers were complete. They still had an interstellar vessel planned, but technological limitations prevented them from constructing it yet. Should civilization have ended before such time, they would just have to do without it. While they were waiting, a woman noticed a problem that others had seen without voicing their concerns. Inheritors were being protected half their lives by people called sentinels. These brave men and women were fully aware of the contingency program, and knew that there would be no room for them in the bunkers, should they be activated. But this woman, named Nevra Adkins decided that she was unhappy with this scenario. Though she was no sentinel herself, and would be lucky enough to be placed in one of the bunkers in a leadership position to help the inheritors acclimate to their new lives, she sympathized with them. She did not feel it right for the institute to demand loyalty from their sentinels, knowing that their jobs would end only in death. She broke away from the organization, and formed Project Snowman. With no intention of designing a repopulation strategy, she wanted to create a special bunker, just for the sentinels, and perhaps their families, as sufficient compensation for their dedication. She carved out some land in Antarctica, and broke ground within months. Unfortunately, she spent all of her money on this, and was unable to raise significant funds beyond it, so she would not be able to actually build the damn thing. And so her former institute started allocating money to help her build Snowman. A couple of years later, the coordination efforts were becoming needlessly complex, and Adkins was reabsorbed into the original organization. She had successfully convinced them that this was positively necessary to not only maintain good relationships with their sentinels, but to keep their souls clean. They were there to save humankind, should they be needed. They recognized that they would not be able to save everyone, should they be able to save anyone, but if they didn’t even try to save the true heroes in their ranks, then perhaps humanity did not deserve to be saved at all.

Microstory 606: A Virgin’s Child by Sacred Savior

< > Table of Contents

Each taikon was written independently. In few places will you find it said that one taikon necessarily informs another. We’ve now learned that each one has been ultimately made possible by the one before, but this is not explicitly stated in the Book of Light. A major exception to this has to do with Peter Fireblood. The Book makes it quite clear that he, and only he, is capable of accomplishing the sixth taikon. He must impregnate a young virgin with the seed of the Sacred Savior. Obviously this is referring to Sotiren, whose body was only recently recovered from interstellar space. Since the Sacred Savior has been dead for centuries, his body no longer carries with it the ability to conceive a child. Fortunately, this is no longer a necessary component of conception. Through the miracle of science, it is possible to generate a baby using more sophisticated ways of mixing genetic material. Nowadays, it is possible to be born of two men, two women, more than two parents, or even just one person. Yes, by recombining the DNA of the progenitor, an entirely new scion can be created. Artificial gestation technology exists along with these methods, but this would not be allowed for the taikon. A girl below the age of majority must become pregnant by the genetic remnant of the Sacred Savior, and Peter Fireblood must perform the procedure, and he must perform it somewhere near the Yulven Ice Fields, for whatever reason. A number of girls were chosen to apply for the position of Sacred Mother. The Book of Light does not specify how to narrow down the contestants, but they did not have to do that anyway. The most  recent candidate was none other than the younger sister of Katafar Lyons, the woman who was sacrificed for the second taikon. When Peter Fireblood’s acolytes saw Marilesse Lyons on the list, they knew that she had to be the one. Her presence only fueled their belief in the truth. Marilesse, of course, agreed to the procedure, and things could continue.

Microstory 603: Find the Sacred Savior

< > Table of Contents

Centuries ago, our people were lost. We were searching for a home, unwanted by dirty communists. We needed somewhere safe, far away from the tyranny of rule. One man, named Sotiren Zahir, discovered for us our galaxy of Fostea. It is said that he traveled there in an instant with no ship, and no Nexus. He spent millennia there alone, inspecting every single planet to make sure they were all suitable for our way of life, including the Footstream of Pilo, and the bee mountains on Anath. He then sent himself back to Origin. No time had passed from their perspective. He told them what he found, and the people rejoiced. They built large exodus ships and traveled here to the Galaxy of Light and Truth. Though virtual immortality was available at the time, he chose to live out his life as a mortal. We know that he died before seeing his vision come to fruition, but no one knows where. Before his end, he commissioned a group of loyal followers to eject him randomly in interstellar space. He ordered them to then kill themselves so the secret would die with them, which they did happily. People have been searching for Sotiren’s body ever since, for this was foretold in the Book of Light. But they were unable to find him, because the event was described to be the third taikon, and could not be found until the first ones had been achieved. As a hearship was on its way to lay Katafar's body to rest on Raista, it encountered a critical failure of its astral collimator. The crew was forced to exit orange plex and reenter normal interstellar space. As fate would have it, they fell out at the exact spot of Sotiren’s drifting body. They took the body to an immaculate and controlled space station where it could be studied and verified. Once scientists determined that the remains were legitimate, the galaxy rejoiced. We had once again found our savior, and also experienced the third taikon. This marked a turning point in the search for all taikon, because it could not be faked, repeated, or misinterpreted.

Microstory 567: Spontaneous Human Combustion Proved Inaccurate

< > Table of Contents

Detectives from the SDS have finally arrested the culprit responsible for a number of inexplicable deaths by fire all over Kansas City. The story has been sensationalized for the last week, leading many to conclude that they were hard evidence of a previously thought to be myth called spontaneous human combustion. Lead Detective in the case, Dimitri Orion released this as an official statement: “Okay, so, calling it spontaneous human combustion is a huge misnomer. Nothing was spontaneous about it, these are several counts of negligent homicide, at best...all perpetrated by the same individual. There’s also a logical scientific explanation for it, just like there always is.” At first, Orion and his team explored the deaths themselves, trying to understand just how the victims caught on fire with no sign of accelerant or any other external influence. What they found was so bizarre and unexpected that experts worried the entire city would face complete quarantine from the rest of the world. All victims had been suddenly exposed to dangerous levels of a form of radiation that has never been seen before. These signs of radiation presented themselves exclusively internally, leading investigators first to believe that victims ingested some kind of advanced poison, but there was no evidence of this either. To calm any fears of an epidemic, radiation levels have all dropped to zero, and the city is now safe.

Authorities began to search for any connections between the victims, a subfield known as victimology, but they found nothing substantial. They didn’t work at the same place, nor did they travel the same routes on a regular basis. They didn’t know each other, or have some mutual friend or enemy. They were of all shapes and sizes, ages and genders. As time went on, however, a pattern began to form. They noticed that victims were killed exactly every twenty-four hours, and that they were killed in pairs. The two people in these pairs were not standing anywhere near each other, but they did die at the exact same time. Further exploring their bodies, the SDS discovered that each pair shared genetic traits between each other, not because they were genetically similar, but because they literally transferred DNA to each other. This made no sense to most people, but it did to Orion. He realized that these were not attempts at murder, but at something else. Josiah Mackeral became a suspect because of a paper he published, outlining his ideas on teleportation. Upon being discovered, he immediately admitted to executing unsanctioned human trials. He was attempting to teleport people around the city by switching their places. The combustion was merely an unforeseen consequence for this that came out of the instability of the exotic fuel source he tapped into to power the experiments. Mackeral was allowed to release his own official statement: “If I had stopped after the first pair of deaths, I probably would have been okay. Not great, but okay. That I kept going even after accidentally becoming a murderer means that I will spend my life in prison. I’m just glad that capital punishment was outlawed in 1659 [sic] (capital punishment was actually outlawed in this country in 1649, and all around the world by 1798). Mackeral’s trial has been set to begin next month.

Microstory 561: Bellevue Publicly Condemns GRC Growth

< > Table of Contents

Years ago, the first superheroes flew straight out of the comic book pages and into our skies. The first one had no special abilities, but she was able to mimic them with the use of technology built by an ancient superadvanced race. The next two heroes each came with the same ability; the ability to use other people’s abilities. More would show up later, but it was these two that we knew could help protect us the most. Our worry, however, was that they would one day die, and their power would be lost with them. So a group of scientists came together with a plan. They would study the genetic makeup of Pantera and Candelabra, like Bellevue already was. But they weren’t trying to replicate their abilities via technology, they were just trying to copy them into artificial substrates. These are known as the Genetically Resampled Clones; or GRCs, for short. Genetically resampling is a form of engineered procreation wherein, instead of two parents combining their genes to create an offspring, only one parent’s code is deconstructed and reassembled in a randomized order. The hope was that these clones would carry with them the same genetic markers Pantera and Candelabra accessed for their special abilities, but also be independent entities, rather than perfect duplicates. Basically, the rogue science team wanted to create an army of superheroes, with a stockpile of abilities, that could share the burden of protecting our planet, and do so indefinitely. The ethical ramifications of their experiments were always in question, which is why they conducted them in secret. Even once Bellevue discovered their unsanctioned and underground laboratory, they weren’t sure how to handle it. The right policies and regulations simply hadn’t been implemented to determine whether, or how, this type of research could move forward. They had no legal right to just shut them down, so they began an investigation, and opened a dialogue with the scientists. All involved, however reluctantly so, have today determined that these experiments were unethical, and are now considered illegal. Rumors have suggested that some of the scientists’ experiments were successful, and that some of these clones remain today. If they do exist, Bellevue has not revealed what will happen to them. The documentation for the exact laws that will be passed in this regard can be found either on Bellevue’s, or the Confederacy’s website.

Microstory 525: Savons Are Barely Not Human

< > Table of Contents

Ever since savons, elves, dwarves, and hiniaur were reintroduced to the world, scientists have been eager to learn more about them. We don’t know exactly where they came from, or how they came to be. All we know is how different they are than us. Elves are generally leaner, taller, and top-heavy when compared to humans. The bones in their upper body are denser than ours, which is why they are unable to swim. They can’t get their heads above water in order to breathe. What they lack in the water, they make up on land. They’re faster, stronger, tougher, and possess a greater amount of endurance. On the superficial side, they also have an almost silvery, powdery, tint of purple eyes and hair. Like elves, dwarves are known for their stamina. They require very little sleep, and are particularly adept at manual labor. They are, however, short and stout, and are technically capable of swimming. They’re nothing when compared to hiniaur, though, which are at their best in the water. Every hiniaur is born with gills, but not always in the same place of the body. They’re capable of walking around on land, but require considerable amounts of salt in order to survive. They will carry little pouches of salt around their necks in case they ever find themselves too far from saltwater. It is often unsettling when first meeting a hiniaur. They grow up normal to an adolescent stage, but then they stop aging. They’ll live nearly another 120 years, but will show no outward signs of it. Biologists believe they were created long ago in an attempt to cure aging; one that failed...but not completely.

Perhaps simultaneously the most interesting, and the least interesting, of the new races are the savons. They are noted for their tendency to speak in riddles and noncontextual metaphors. More research needs to be done, but they claim to have some kind of insight into the future; one that may or may not rival that of prophets. As far as their biology goes, they can possibly be considered the opposite of hiniaur. Their bodies age extremely rapidly for several years, before hitting a plateau, and appearing elderly for the rest of their lives, which will likely be somewhat longer than humans. Despite their advanced age, they are indistinguishable from humans, and some have even been hesitant to believe that they exist. Geneticists have found this to be not too far from the truth. Testing has shown that savon genes so similar to normal humans that results are often negligible. They appear to have such minor differences that it is almost not worth treating them as a separate human subspecies. A full report will be released to the public next month.

Microstory 309: Instinct

Click here for a list of every step.
Fire

Many people have attempted to define the exact qualifications of an instinctive behavior. The reason for their qualms with claiming that instinct remains within the human species comes out of an attempt to decategorize humans as animals. And that’s all well and good, and I agree that humans are decidedly not animals, but we cannot forget our animalistic tendencies altogether simply because we’ve developed a high enough degree of intelligence to override these instincts. Our instincts are still there; it’s just that we’ve been trained to handle situations from an intellectual perspective. I’ve already discussed how evolution works; that a species will evolve according to a genetic trait that supports its survival and/or propagation. One thing to remember from this, however, is that these traits occur according to environmental changes, and random mutation. No one is capable of determining which traits to accept and which to reject. That is, it doesn’t matter how badly we want to to evolve, and become something greater, evolution isn’t going to get us there. For that, we need scientific ingenuity, but that is a different discussion. The fact is that we’ve yet to develop any technology specifically designed to to inhibit, or otherwise modify, our baser instincts. At the moment, and for the most part, our instincts are dormant, but given the opportunity, any human can transform themselves into an exclusively, or at least primarily, instinctual creature. As much as you might fight the truth, you are capable of turning into an animal. There is a place for this; for instance, in a survival situation. You may even find yourself one day wanting to turn towards your instincts in order to protect yourself from psychological trauma. Never forget that your species would never have survived without relying on their instincts. They are the first step towards a more advanced level of survival; intuition.

Physical Safety

Second Stage of Something Started: Treasure (Part II)

« < » > Entire Story

“Makarion,” Vearden repeated, but not sarcastically.

“Interesting name,” Saga said. “Common in the future?”

“It has its place,” Makarion replied. He snapped his fingers. The scene changed, and they found themselves on a beach. It was unclear whether it was an island, or what. Besides the forest before them, and the ocean behind, there was only a single landmark of note. It was a giant metallic ring, with a ramp leading up to it.

“What is this? Where are we?”

“Not really important where we are. This is your home for the next few days.”

“Where’s the rest of the crew?”

Makarion looked at them funny. “Why would there be anyone else? You’re it.”

“You expect us to build a scale replica of the Colosseum?” Vearden scoffed. It’ll take us years.”

“Decades, at best,” Saga corrected.

Makarion was unfazed. “Is that a problem?”

“Well...”

“I’m joking!” Makarion yelled. “This is the 2070s. Construction will only take a few days. I just need someone moving supplies and monitoring progress for me. I would have robots do it, but since you showed up, I figured it was destiny.”

“What invention would allow such rapid development?” Saga asked with some rare genuine interest in technology.

“Nanofabricators,” Vearden answered instead.

“That’s right. You’re smart. Tiny machines programmed to do nothing but build, and to do so until they’re done.”

“And the ring?” Saga pressed.

“It’s a stargate,” Vearden answered again. “Looks like all that time I spent watching science fiction has paid off.”

“Evidently,” Makarion confirmed. “In the story, stargates are the only thing capable of sending passengers and cargo across space instantaneously. Of course in the real world, we have far more sophisticated ways of doing this. This ring here is just what I’m using to open portals so you can funnel the materials you’ll need. The nanotech will build the structure, but you need to give them stuff to work with.”

“You can apport people and open portals manually. Are you one of the powers that be?” Vearden asked.

Makarion seemed almost angered by this, but was able to keep his cool. “Do not lump me with those benchwarmers. I’m like you, except I choose how to use my power. Nobody controls me.”

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Saga began. “We’ve been looking for a way to step out of our own pattern. Can anyone do what you do? Could you teach us?”

Makarion started to walk up the ramp. As he did so, a portal opened to a second location, one that didn’t utilize the infamous unstable wormhole vortex found in the show. “I’ll think about it. I like games, by the way. The instructions for your work are hidden somewhere on the island. Before you can get to work, you have to find them, savvy?” He stepped through the portal and let it close behind him.

“He is apparently not concerned with time,” Saga pointed out, “if he wants us to spend some only finding instructions.”

“This guy sounds insane. Should we be helping him?”

“Bad things happen when you disobey the powers. All we can do is what we’re told. If they wanted us to stop him from recreating the Colosseum, I feel like that would be obvious to us.”

Vearden sighed out of both fatigue and concession. “Where do we start?”

“Look for a clue, I guess.”

They separated and searched for anything out of the ordinary, besides a giant magical teleporting ring. Vearden thought he saw something shiny peeking out from the ground, so he got down on his knees and pushed the sand away. Upon finding out what it was, he reeled and fell to his back.

“What is it?”

“I think it’s a dead body.”

“That can’t be good.” Saga walked over calmly and looked down to where Vearden was staring. It appeared to be an eye. An eye with a fork stuck in it. There were no other remains. She reached down.

“Don’t touch it!”

“Hold up,” she said, picking it up and examining it. “It’s made of wood. It’s not real.”

“Why is there a forked wooden eye on the beach? Is that our first clue?”

“Does this seem familiar to you?”

“Again, a forked wooden eye. On a beach. No, no it doesn’t. Should it?”

Saga sifted through her memory archives. The last time she watched something on film or television was decades ago, but she was finally able to recall the movie. “Pirates.”

“Pirates did this?”

“As in...of the Caribbean?”

Vearden recognized the name, but it too was a long time for him. They would have seen the movie as children. That was another life. “Okay...”

“Makarion did say he likes games.”

“Movies are not games.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Okay, well that tells us we’re in a movie, and also which movie. But that doesn’t tell us where the instructions are, unless they’re etched on the eye.”

“They’re not,” Saga replied. “But the handle of the fork was pointing inland, so we should head that way.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“The reason there’s a fork in it is because it was shot out of a cannon.” She pointed, “the fork came from that way. We should go look for its hypothetical origin.”

Vearden shook his head as another concession. “Very well.”

It was not long before they found their target; an actual cannon. It was dirty and rusting with cobwebs covering up the barrel. Saga agreed to be the one to reach inside since Vearden was afraid of spiders. Her hand returned with the next clue; a leather pouch. She unraveled it to find a rather large and ornate gold coin; triangles and swirls, symbols, and a skull. It was beautiful, and reminiscent of their past in the past when such trinkets held incredible value. In today’s world, it was probably worth almost nothing.

Another clue was written on the inside of the pouch. Blood of the battle, water of womb. // Go to a place where flowers don’t bloom. // Scary and dark, rocky and wet. // You will not need Tears, you will not need Sweat. // The one who jumps forward, but always looks back // is kin to the one who will put you on track.

“We’re obviously looking for a cave,” Vearden said.

“Obviously.”

The cave took a considerably longer time to find than the cannon, especially since there were multiple rocky structures that a film-obsessed psychopath might consider sufficiently cave-enough. “He’s not necessarily a psychopath.”

“He probably is.” Looking back, the cave they finally found had to be it anyway, because it was deep enough to be scary, dark, and wet. After some further searching, they finally discovered a chest. A small slit, about the size of the coin was cut on the top of the lid. A knife was ominously resting in the slit. “What happens in this part of the movie?”

Saga shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“You’re the one who figured out this was all a movie recreation.”

“That doesn’t mean I have hyperthymesia.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Let’s just read the clue again,” Saga suggested.

They looked it over together. “Why are Tears and Sweat capitalized?” Vearden wondered.

“Because they’re names.”

“But we don’t need them.”

“Which means that we need...”

And then they simultaneously realized what the answer was. “Blood.”

“Whose blood?”

“Do we think it matters?”

“The last part suggests it does,” Saga noted.

“Couldn’t we just try one, and then the other if it doesn’t work?”

“How would we get the coin back?”

“Good point.

“So who is the one who jumps forward, but always looks back?”

And then they simultaneously realized what the answer was. “Mateo.”

“You’re Mateo’s grandfather.”

“Sort of,” Vearden clarified.

Saga nodded. “Sort of.”

“But our blood doesn’t match. L wasn’t my daughter until after she had her son...and then died and came back to life. Mateo and I are not related.”

“The chest is fastened with your genetic code. The reference to Mateo was just a way to let us know that, and was probably the easiest rhyme this Makarion guy could come up with.”

“I guess we’ve confirmed that he’s insane.”

Saga took the knife from the chest and waited for Vearden to be ready enough to present his hand, knowing that he would not want to have to cut himself. Ever since he lost the super-healing power he had at one time been imbued with from the Gondilak fight on Orolak, he was squeamish about his own blood. Makarion probably knew that about him. He turned away while she drew a healthy dose of his blood and wrapped his fingers around the coin. After she dropped it down the slit, they could hear it roll back and forth down switchbacks. A series of other mechanisms clinked and clanged, along with a clearly erroneous release of gas, just for effect. The chest opened on its own, at last revealing their packet of instructions.

“And so it begins...”

« < » > Entire Story