The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Year 62,398

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When Mateo went back inside, and rode the elevator back down to the Constant, he found himself once again alone. Danica had apparently come out of stasis long enough to recall him, but didn’t want to stick around for any longer. That was ten thousand years ago, and Mateo has come out of his own stasis, determined to get her alone, so they can have a real conversation.

“Constance, what is the location of Danica Matic?”

“Unable to convey that information,” she replies.

“What is the location of anyone else in this facility?”

“Unable to convey that information,” she repeats.

Perhaps he ought to go about this a different way. “What is the location of the greatest current power draw?”

Constance pretends to sigh. “That would normally not be that much of a problem to answer, but I’m not an idiot; I know what you’re going to do with that information.”

“Constance, please alert Danica to my request for an audience.”

“She knows. She’s declined.”

It’s time for Plan Z. Mateo starts to teleport all over the place, kind of like how he was planning to evade capture when he first woke up, except now he’s trying to get people’s attention. If they truly don’t trust him, they can come out and prove it. He doesn’t just jump from one room to another, though. He goes into the swimming pool pump room, and starts draining all the water. He goes into the gym, and wraps tape over the bleacher controls, so the engines don’t stop turning even once the bleachers are good and extended. He goes to the master sitting room, and just drops books onto the floor.

“None of this is going to work,” Constance claims.

“Well, if you have any better ideas, I would love to hear them.”

Constance waits to respond. “Try this.”

Mateo suddenly finds himself in an area of the Constant he has never seen before. He doesn’t even know what level he’s on right now. Before him is only one room. He opens the double doors to find what he can only assume to be, “a time machine.”

“That’s right.”

“Can this get me back to my time period?”

“It can only take you across its own timeline. I am not cognizant of the temporal limitation, but as I understand it, it doesn’t exist that far into the future.”

“What’s the point of me trying, then? A billion years from now, three billion years from now, I would still need stasis to make it the rest of the way.”

“You won’t actually be using it. You’re just trying to get your cousin’s attention, correct?” Constance asks.

“Good point. Thanks for your help.”

“I didn’t help you at all, I’m forbidden.”

“In that case, screw you, I found this place all on my own.”

Constance doesn’t give him any more guidance, for her own protection. He spends a little time examining the machine. He has to figure out how to activate it without accidentally sending himself to some other time. He was never one of those drivers who could repair his own car. He tried changing the oil once, but didn’t care for it, so he started treating the process of going to the mechanic as a business expense. Still, he’s learned a few things about fuses and wires, and he believes he’s found a solution. This switch right here is blocking the time machine from getting power from the wall, because it’s not in use. All he should have to do is close the circuit, and hopefully that’s enough to set off all kinds of alarms. It’s dormant for a reason, because it goes against Danica’s decrees, of which the no time travel thing is the only one he’s heard so far. Why they didn’t take this whole thing apart upon agreeing to these rules is presently low on his list of questions for her.

There, it’s on, and making a noise. He stands back in case the transport field can extend beyond the confines of the chamber, and waits. After about a minute, he does hear alarms, so he continues to wait for a response. Finally, Danica herself teleports into the room with an angry expression on her face. By now, the sound of the time machine operating has increased. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she shouts.

“I’m just trying to have a conversation!” he shouts back.

“With whom, Benjamin Franklin!”

“With you! You keep avoiding me!”

“What?” Now it’s too loud for them to hear. It doesn’t sound like it’s that great of a time machine, that’s for sure.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

She shouts something intelligible.

“It’s hard to nardle bardle zouz with all these marbles in my mouth!” Not really what’s happening here, but Mateo makes himself laugh anyway.

She yells something at him again, but he still can’t understand her.

“I’ll go turn it off!” he cries. He goes back to the switch, but it won’t budge. Yeah, he really shouldn’t have turned it on. Constance was wrong about this being a good idea. He tries to get some leverage with his foot, but he still can’t get it to move.

Danica bends over, and places a finger on the switch. She twists her wrist, and looks at him inquisitively. He nods back. She evidently doesn’t know how it works, but yes, turning it down should turn it off. She tries to move it herself, but can’t either. She takes a flashlight out of her back pocket, and starts trying to hit the switch with it. Strike one, strike two, strike three, and they’re gone in a flash.

The force is strong enough to knock them both on their asses, but not enough to knock them unconscious. When the energy recedes, they stand themselves up, and make sure each other is okay. The alarms are still going off, but nothing else has changed. Just then, someone else teleports into the room. After Mateo’s eyes adjust to the change in lighting, he can see more clearly who it is. It’s another Danica Matic, which is no big surprise. This is a time machine, after all.

“Report!” she demands.

“Danica Matic, Concierge to the Third Rail Constant, Day 56 of Year 62,398 after first activation Hadean.”

The other Danica loosens up. “Danica Matic, Concierge to the Fourth Quadrant, December 7, 2398 by standard advanced inhabitant phasing.”

“Well, you got your wish, Matt. You’re home.”

“Not quite.”

“Let’s go talk in the master sitting room,” Quadrant!Danica suggests. “I’ve been alone for so long.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Year 12,398

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One second. That’s how long Mateo spends in the stasis pod that Danica forced him into. As soon as that door closes, he teleports out, and lands on the other side of it. To his left is Past!Mateo’s pod. This is the version of him that first came back here after falling down the main elevator shaft. He’s destined to remain here for the next few billion years until his team rescues him with a sledgehammer. For now, though, this room has not yet been sealed up with concrete and wood. He could walk right out that door, assuming it’s unlocked, but that may not be the best way to handle this. She obviously doesn’t want him wandering around The Constant unsupervised. He might learn a secret that she doesn’t want getting out. He has to be smart about this. He tries the door anyway, and finds that it is indeed locked from the outside, so that’s a no-go.

Mateo jumps around to loosen up his joints. He’s assuming that each section of the Constant has its own set of alarms. If he can teleport to each one of them in succession, he’ll be able to choose one at random, and hide out there while Danica is scrambling, searching through the rest. It’s not the most brilliant of plans, but that was never his strong suit. He doesn’t usually do well on his own, but he’s all he’s got right now, so there’s no point in dwelling on that. He starts going over the sections in his head one by one, formulating a route, when the handle turns, and the door opens. He peeks his head out, and looks around to the other side of it. There was someone there, but he doesn’t get the chance to see who. He catches a glimpse of a silhouette before it disappears, either teleporting or time traveling away. They’re either trying to help him or hurt him, but either way, they have more information than he does, so worrying about it isn’t going to do him any good. All he can do now is try to gain some kind of advantage that will prevent Danica from being able to just throw him away like garbage.

First off, he wants to find out where she is, and where there might be others lurking about this facility. Though, if there is anyone else here, they’re probably fully invited, and he’s the only lurker. He steps out of the stasis room, and immediately regrets it. His shoes are too loud. What are they designed for, tap dancing? After he closes the door behind him, he takes them off, and starts walking with them in his hand, but he doesn’t get far before changing his mind. He feels like a heroine in an action movie who had to go undercover at a fancy party where the villain is entertaining a bunch of freeloaders to hide the fact that he’s really there to host a black market auction in the wine cellar, and now it’s time for her to run and fight. He decides to tuck them away underneath the couch, and move on.

He slinks down the hallways, hugging the walls, and trying to avoid the cameras, but he didn’t exactly memorize their locations, and there probably aren’t any blindspots anyway. He just keeps going, and hopes that his presence doesn’t trigger the artificial intelligence to sound that alarm after all. He could probably breathe easy, because the person who let him out of the stasis room surely knows whether they would be a real issue or not. No one is in the kitchen, no one’s in Danica’s office. No one’s in the security room, or the small film screening room. There’s no one in this library-looking place that is apparently called the master sitting room. “Wow, look at all this seating!” he exclaims to himself. The gym looks empty, but it has lots of spots to hide, so he gets himself a better look to be sure. No, it’s clear. Man, this is a big place for only a few visitors at a time. Only one person is meant to work here, except for Danica’s current posse, which Mateo assumes consists of Bhulan, Aquila, and maybe Tamerlane Pryce and Dalton Hawke?

“Tryna get swole?” a voice asks from behind him.

Mateo turns around to find a man who he doesn’t recognize. “I’m just trying to get answers,” Mateo admits.

“Aren’t we all?”

Mateo sizes him up a little. “Report.”

The man smiles. “Asier Mendoza, father of The Concierge. Some people call me Corporal Mercy.”

“Never heard of ya. Danica never mentioned her father, and Daria never mentioned her baby daddy.”

Asier nods. “You were probably talking to the wrong version of Danica.”

“I thought there was only one.”

“It’s complicated when you’re the way that she is.”

“Is that why we’ve never met before?”

“I guess.”

That’s not surprising, when Mateo thinks about it more. This is not the Danica he knows and loves, and that’s the point. Nerakali was always trying to explain that alternate selves are not identical. The fact that everyone is unique isn't just something to teach your kids; she called it a metaphysical maxim. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Do to you? What do you think we are, monsters?”

“Honestly, I don’t know anymore. Danica can’t take five minutes to have a conversation with me before she either erases my memory, or throws me into stasis.”

“If your memory was erased, how do you know how long the conversation was?”

“Does it really matter if my memory is gone? It’s like it never happened anyway.”

“Good point,” Asier muses.

“Interpret my question however you please, I would still like an answer. What is going to happen, and how can I prevent you from putting me back into that stasis pod?”

“Stasis is a gift, Mateo. For you and me, it’s a way for us to skip time, and reach the future. For the others, it’s a way to avoid the boredom of the aeons.”

“I understand its value, but why did she force me into it without saying a word? She took my friend, Alyssa away, claiming that she was going to send her back to the future, but I don’t know if that’s the case. Why is she being so cagey?”

Asier considers his approach to this. He’s obviously not allowed to answer all of Mateo’s questions. “This version of my daughter has caught glimpses of the parallel realities, which most versions never see. Each one is only meant to be responsible for one reality, and are meant to fend for themselves. The insight she gained from this information has changed her. She’s decided to make this reality different. She’s decided to protect it in a way that all other Concierges were never asked to do. It was a hard decision to make, and she’s incredibly stressed out about it. I would kindly ask you to be patient with her while she figures out how to proceed. Can you do that for me?”

Mateo considers what’s been asked of him. “If I’m going to support her, then I’m going to need to speak with her personally. Can you promise me that?”

“She’s not scheduled to come back out of stasis for another ten thousand years.”

“Then I’ll be back in ten thousand years,” Mateo responds.

“Okay, then. I’ll escort you back to your pod.”

Microstory 1851: Transitivity

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I would get in a lot of fights growing up. I was one of those kids who hated to see injustice, and also who saw injustices everywhere. Bullies, racists, bad boyfriends. If I found out you treated someone poorly, you were going down. Back then, I thought I was lucky to be going to a school that didn’t have the time or energy to deal with someone like me. Sure, I was violent and disruptive, but the teachers and staff had to prioritize disciplining the ones who were the actual bad guys. I’m talking about the bullies I was standing up to, and the kids who came to school with weapons. I managed to skate by, which looking back, did me a disservice, because I struggled to learn basic social skills. It’s not like I grew out of it just because I graduated from high school. I just kept fighting the injustices, and in the real world, people do care about that, and they make the time to punish you for it. I went to jail so many times. If I had had different parents, they probably would have sent me to military school, or something, but they never wanted kids, and that didn’t change when they met me. Since they didn’t care about what happened to me, or even their family reputation, they never bailed me out, so as long as I kept them out of it, they didn’t worry about the jail time. Eventually, the cops remembered who I was, so they knew they couldn’t keep me in the same cells as other people. Jail, and the police station holding cells, were great places to find people who I felt needed to be taught a few lessons. One night, I got in another bar fight—with a guy who just couldn’t take the hint that the lady wasn’t interested—and I learned where the jurisdictional borders were. I was taken to a police station I had never been to before.

They put me in with the general population, where I managed to encounter a rapist who kept getting away with it. The only thing my daddy ever taught me was to never pick a fight with anyone I couldn’t beat. I usually remembered this advice, but not that night. He beat me half to death, and left me in the corner of the cell, next to a drunkard who just so happened to own a boxing gym. He decided I needed someone to teach me how to channel my instincts into something productive. You’ve heard this story before, so I won’t bore you with the details, but yes, he trained me to be a better fighter, but to do it for money and honor, rather than anger. I guess someone important took notice, because that is not even the most interesting part about my life. I found myself being recruited by a mysterious group with rather unclear intentions. They said that a war was raging on other worlds, and that they needed fighters like me. I was hesitant, but curious. It sounded too crazy for me to just walk away from. I couldn’t just forget about it. They put me on this giant spaceship that looked like a train, and said they were taking me to another universe. I ended up fighting in something called the Transit Army, against an alien race who was trying to sterilize billions and billions of people across the multiverse. Again, I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve seen them, I fought them, it happened. I was basically in the infantry on the front lines, because I didn’t have any education, or leadership skills. This is what killed me. The enemy served a fatal blow, and the doctors said they couldn’t save me. My only request was to be returned to my home world. They said they didn’t have the resources, but an individual capable of crossing over himself took pity on me, so here I am, taking my final breaths in the alley behind the gym. I’m laughing, because I know the cops will never solve my murder.

Microstory 1079: Ada

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I have seen first hand what Viola could do. She never used her gifts to help me directly, though one could argue that being included on some of her missions was exactly what I needed. She was capable of transporting herself, and others, to far away locations. It wasn’t quite instant, but it was a hell of a lot faster than flying, that’s for sure. She would later tell me she actually could indeed teleport instantaneously, but it took too much energy, and it wasn’t worth it. She chose to travel all over the world, solving other people’s problems, but she didn’t have to wait for them to cry for help, or anything. She could also see the future, so she would be able to be at the right place, at the time time...mostly. For my second mission, we helped a guy who got stuck in the snow when his wheelchair seized up. He was buried up to his waist by the time we found him. Her orientation skills weren’t always perfect, otherwise we might have stopped it before it even got that bad. I didn’t understand why Viola chose me to be part of what she used to do. She implied I would take up the mantle once she was gone, but I wasn’t born with powers, so how would that even work? It works...because I absorbed her gifts upon her death. She never said that I wasn’t meant to reveal myself to the world. Of course she never said anything, but you must be one hell of a field reporter, Alma, because I just can’t lie to you. Right now, I’m in training. Viola didn’t leave any instructions on exactly how I was meant to use my new abilities—mostly because she didn’t tell me about this at all—so she also didn’t do much in the way of instruction. When I was on those missions, I had no idea she was grooming me to be her replacement. I’m actually working with Martin, Margaret, Mae, and Mattie, since they apparently have some experience with this kind of thing. I guess we’re going to start a team? Maybe I am giving away too much. No, people should know about this. Viola’s story deserves to be told, and if my story is part of hers, then I’m just going to have to deal with those consequences. Now I’m getting all worked up about this. I’m headed to the gym to blow off some steam.

Microstory 1076: Nettie

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Before we get into this, I would like to extend my gratitude to you for taking this huge project on. I know that it doesn’t impact me all that much, but Viola was a good friend of mine, and she obviously can’t show you appreciation herself. Now that we’re seniors, we’ve branched out into our own preferred subjects, but over the last four years—in a school this size—there was no one in your grade level you didn’t share at least one class with. There was one exception to this. Throughout our entire respective school careers, I didn’t take one class that Viola was also in. Sometimes we were taking the same course at the same time, but we weren’t in the room together. If nothing else, there’s a strong possibility for two students to be in physical education together, because they only have a couple giant meeting sessions, but we didn’t have that either. I broke my leg in the summer before high school began—slipping on the rocks, trying to cross a stream, like an idiot—so I had to wait to take it when I was a sophomore anyway. Of course, I haven’t exactly conducted any scientific studies, so maybe this sort of schedule happens all the time, but it certainly doesn’t seem to. The only reason any of this is important to my story is because Viola was the kind of person that you couldn’t miss. If you never shared a class with someone else, it might have escaped your attention, but if you never got to see Viola, you noticed. She seemed to notice as well, because near the end of last year, she started making a point of visiting me at my locker. This behavior continued all through the following summer break, and up to her death. She became a quite important confidante for me. I could tell her any and all of my secrets, and know that she wasn’t going to abuse her power. I think she helped a lot of people in this way; just by listening to them. I always imagined she would grow up to become a therapist, or something. It wasn’t until after she was gone, and you started working on this series, that I learned there was a lot more to her. She never showed me any magic tricks, or proved she knew things about the world that she shouldn’t have. I’m still not sure I believe all the supernatural stuff people claim about her. There was no single instance where she changed my life forever, or altered my perspective. She was just a good friend. She seemed to always know what the people around her needed most, and I guess all I needed was someone to talk to.

Microstory 1049: Shea

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I’m going to tell you my story about Viola, but you’re not going to believe it. You’ve probably heard a lot of miraculous stories about the supernatural things she’s done, but all of them pale in comparison to what she did for me. All of those other things can be explained away. I remember what happened to Warren and the poison sumac when we were younger. That traumatic experience might have changed him for the better. It doesn’t mean she magically transformed his core personality. I know that it did, but it can’t be proven. But six years ago, she healed me in a way so literally that no amount of rationalization can deny it. I actually do have proof. See this here? And this? And these? There’s a reason why I wear long sleeve shirts, even in the summer. I had to suffer through a meeting with my parents, my pastor, my gym teacher, and both principals, to have myself excused from class. I substituted it with rigorous coursework on the history of health and fitness. In a small town, people talk, but no one talked about why I didn’t have to take gym with everyone else, and I’m convinced that that was just one more thing Viola did for me. These scars are not from an accident. They are the result of a heinous act of rageful violence, from an older boy we all now realize was very mentally unstable.

I don’t remember everything from the first day, but I remember her rushing into the room, as if someone had warned her what he was trying to do to me. I never saw her face rightside up, but I remember watching her walk straight up to him with no fear. He was prepared to use force against her as well, but she simply placed her three middle fingers on his forehead, and he fell to the floor. I thought she had somehow killed him, with, like, a poison needle, or something. But it turned out she had just made him go to sleep. Like you, I dismissed this as an exaggerated memory of the ordeal. I didn’t tell anyone what I saw, mostly because my mind was kind of focused on other things at the time, like the invasive rape kit I was in the middle of getting. Three months later, the boy I won’t do the honor of naming, was out of the treatment facility. The judge didn’t feel it was right for him to have to serve any more time than that for a wee little mistake. Well, it’s true, he didn’t rape me again, and as far as I know, he didn’t do it to anyone else either. He did, however, try to kill me in anger. He used a lawn mower, which is why I was hurt in so many places, all over my body. The only reason he didn’t get my face is because he accidentally let go of the safety lever. Once again, she was there. This time, she didn’t take any chances. She placed both hands on his head, and he hasn’t woken up since. The wounds opened me up good, and I should be dead right now, but she wiped them closed, like they were nothing more than packing tape that needed to be flattened out. She told me she could get rid of the scars in a couple weeks, but lots of people had seen them by then, and I didn’t want to expose her. We came up with the lie that when she found me, she drove me to a hospital several towns over, so I wouldn’t run into anyone I know, but that is a lie. And the only reason people believed the lie is because the truth is even crazier. A lot of people owe that woman a lot, but I owe her everything. I only wish I could do what she could. I would have used those powers to bring her back.

Microstory 479: Floor 6 (Part 2)

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Trainer: Oh, dude, I didn’t see ya there.

New Writer: Yeah, I got lost. This is my first day, and I don’t really know where I’m supposed to go.

Trainer: We’re on lockdown, though. You shouldn’t have been let through the lobby.

New Writer: Yeah, I was actually here about a half hour before that announcement came on the speakers. I’m really lost. I assumed the guard would make me be escorted, but I guess they were too busy to worry about those kinds of things either way.

Trainer: Well, you can’t leave now, but I could tell you what floor you’ll be on. What’s your job?

New Writer: I’m the new writer?

Trainer: Oh, you’re the replacement. Man, you couldn’t have come at a worst time in general, ya know because of all the window problems, but it’s even worse because you didn’t get to meet the guy before you.

New Writer: Why, will he be a tough act to follow? Is everyone gonna keep comparing me to him, or something?

Trainer: No, quite the opposite. Well, I guess they will compare you, but you have a pretty strong advantage against him. He was—and keep in mind that this is coming from a personal trainer, I know my stereotypes—kind of a douchebag. No, scratch that, he was a pretty big douchebag. I don’t know why they hired him.

New Writer: Was he really that bad?

Trainer: Yeah, you would think I wouldn’t know him that well, but he only came here to talk. He didn’t even ever workout. He just sat on one of the machines to tell me about his life story. Apparently his portfolio was this blog he still writes for. He writes paragraph-long stories, and posts one every single day. Guy was damned proud of it too. Thought he was the next Stephen King. Along with publishing the next great American novel, he says he’s gonna be working on his website for fifty-two years...but, I don’t know where he came up with that number.

New Writer: There are fifty-two weeks every year. Maybe he just likes squares?

Trainer: Oh, that musta been it. Honestly, I love getting to know my clients, but he was the kind of guy who just never. Shut. Up. Which is ironic, I know, ‘cause here I am goin’ on and on.

New Writer: Oh, it’s fine. I like listening to people talk as well. I already know what my own thoughts are. What I need is to understand how other people work.

Trainer: That’s...that’s really beautiful, man.

New Writer: Thanks. They’re just words. I’m not here for the next great American novel. I’m just happy to have a job with benefits.

Trainer: Yeah, I feel ya. But hey, I thought they were stuck at a hiring freeze, because of the whole window thing.

New Writer: That’s what I heard too. Everything’s becoming more and more automated though. Maybe it was a clerical error?

Trainer: That wouldn’t surprise me. Between you and me, I don’t see this company last through the end of the year. In fact, if the place is still up and running on December thirty-first, I’ll give you my last paycheck.

New Writer: Deal.

Microstory 436: Floor 6 (Part 1)

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Ever since the company I contract with found out that some of their products might have been responsible for a few deaths, gym attendance has dropped dramatically. I am the in-house trainer and recreational manager. The entire sixth floor is dedicated to health and well-being. Most of the employees who came here didn’t need full exercise lessons, but they liked that I was around to give them advice. Most organizations with exercise rooms just have machines laid out with no one in charge of them. My half-brother works here as an administrative assistant, and suggested I lobby for a position that didn’t exist. I had never done anything like that before, but I have the right personality to put myself out there and take a risk. Our mother helped me come up with a pitch, and well, here I am. I absolutely love working here. In fact, if I ever won the lottery, I doubt I would quit. It’s much more laid back than my job as a regular trainer at a gym franchise. I didn’t hate it there, and I did earn better pay, but here I’m in charge. I get to decide what I do with my day. I make it easier on my clients by wiping off equipment for them, and even cleaning up their trash. I chose these duties to help relieve their stress, which is the whole point of exercise. Well, that’s not its only purpose, but mental health is important. That’s why it’s so frustrating that people have stopped coming by. It would really help them get through their problems. If they would just trust the system, their lives would be better. I’m thinking about developing some kind of program to encourage exercise. I don’t know what it would be; maybe a step-tracker contest. It just has to get people to think about enriching and maintaining their lives.

Frenzy: The Night Before (Part IV)

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I immediately regret not taking time to put on my uniform. It’s made of a special material that partially protects from hard falls and crashes, and also beads water. We both reach the balance beam at the same time. Unlike in the Frenzy, you can’t just find the fastest way through the course. When you’re doing the Gauntlet, you have to do everything, and only one person can be on the beam at a time. Theoretically one could get on behind the other, but it bends and wobbles enough with only one person. Braxton shoves his shoulder against mine and lets me fall into the Pit of Lava. No, there isn’t any actual lava, but it is filled with a slimy goop of some kind that’s colored a reddish orange. It’s like a golf course sand trap; extremely difficult to get back out of. It does dissolve quickly in water, and there is a showerhead nearby for this reason. Normally that would be perfectly fine, because it’s near the end of the course, but since we’re going the wrong way, I have no choice but to run the whole thing wet. Have I told you how much I hate water?

I take off my shirt and shoes, because at this point, that’s the only way to continue. I can hear the cheering again, along with several cat calls. Nudity never bothers me, but I try to be careful about making others uncomfortable. I throw my clothes behind me as I’m getting back in the race. Here’s one thing Braxton probably didn’t know. There’s a sweet spot on the beam where, if you hit it just right, it’ll bend just enough so that it can propel you forwards and land you safely on the other side. This works going the right way, and I take a chance that it does backwards, and am rewarded for it. There is an uproar in enthusiasm as I stick the landing and quickly move on.

The next obstacle is a halfpipe with a very specific route between posts. You can run through it incorrectly, but then an alarm is going to ring out nonstop until you go back and correct yourself. Again, apparently everything is fine going backwards. The trick is staying balanced on a curve without holding onto the posts, unless that is, you like being mildly tased. I’ve finally caught up to Braxton after getting through the halfpipe. He’s having trouble getting up to the catwalk. You’re supposed to climb up a rope, and then jump down a series of platforms, finally ending up back at the bottom by dropping into a pit of foam. He’s still trying to figure out how to shimmy up the wall, which is not part of the course. “Betcha wish you weren’t so muscular now, huh?”

Braxton is strong but heavy, which can be an asset, but something like this requires agility and nimble dance moves. With this I have the advantage. I hop back and forth between two load bearing columns against the wall and make it to the first platform with relative ease. From there I jump to the next platform and pull myself up. The Dark Knight ain’t got nothin’ on me, risen or not. I race down the catwalk and slide down the rope. It burns my hands, but I can’t think about that now. I’ve just realized that I actually have a chance of winning, and I can’t let that go to waste.

Behind me I hear a scream. Braxton finally managed to get up to the first platform, but he’s stuck on the second. He’s just hanging there by his hands, unable to lift his own weight high enough to reach safety. The crowd is shocked but unmoving. The bystander effect is preventing anyone from running out to rescue him. Where are the adults? Each one thinks that someone else will do it. He’s my opponent, which makes him my responsibility. I have to get back over to him, but it would take too long to climb back up to the catwalk, and they built a canyon under it that’s far too wide to jump over. There’s only one way, and it’s insane. This could kill me, seriously. While holding onto the rope, I run in his general direction, but not quite towards him. It’s just long enough to reach the edge of the floor. I start running on the wall itself, following the swing radius of the rope. Is this going to work, or am I going to die? The radius pulls me away from the wall and I have to start hopping across posts, poles, bars, and other obstacles intended for completely different purposes. But I’m able to keep going. There’s always something close enough to hold my growing momentum.

Finally I’ve reached critical mass and have to throw myself forwards through the swing so that it will direct me to the other side of the canyon. My heart races, not only to keep oxygen to my brain, but because remember that part where I could die? The room is completely silent as I continue through my side swing. I don’t make it to the second platform, which was my target. Hell, I would have even taken the lower platform. No, my body smashes into the wall and I fall to the floor. The shock of what I had just done presumably causes Braxton to lose his grip. Now normally he might die from a fall this high, but I’m there to break it for him, and we both somehow survive.

“Are you okay?” he asks as we’re struggling to get to our feet.

“I’m not dead at least,” I answer.

He can’t put any weight on his right leg, and I’m in some pain myself. “Betcha wish I weren’t so muscular now, huh?” He asks rhetorically.

I laugh, but the pain is growing by the moment

Finally the audience runs down to tend to us. Andrews and Rutherford push their way through the horde of racers and take over the situation. “Let’s get them to medical,” Andrews says.

I don’t spend long in the medical bay before my mother comes to pick me up. She spends the whole ride back home scolding me for what I did, saying that Braxton’s problem was the result of his own choices, and that I shouldn’t have risked my life for him. “I mean, you could have run around the canyon to get to him.”

“That would have taken too long. You wouldn’t understand, you haven’t seen the Gauntlet.”

“Oh, I understand. I saw the whole thing on Miss Buchanan’s video feeds.”

“You were watching me?”

“What, you thought your mother wasn’t hip enough to watch that sort of thing? I was one of Agent Nanny Cam’s first subscribers, even before you were a Frenzy runner.”

“I just...I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.”

“I know, and God knows nobody else was doing anything. But you know how much we hate when you leap across buildings. You do it for your city, and we can appreciate that sort of dedication. Running the Gauntlet in reverse came out of nothing but pride, from the both of you.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Okay, well we’ll probably talk more about your behavior next week, but for the rest of the day, you need to study and rest.”

“I still need to do a dry run.”

“The Gauntlet will just have to be your dry run.”

“Mom!” I complain. “That’s not the same thing!”

“You should have thought about that before.”

“You were the who wanted me to register for this race. I wasn’t even gonna do it!”

“Oh, don’t put that on me. I know you better than you know yourself, and you wanted it more than anything. You just needed someone to push you so you didn’t have to take responsibility for your own guilty pleasures.”

“That’s not it at all.” No, that was pretty much spot on.

“I’m not having this conversation.” They were back home. “Go to your room, study the map, and go to sleep.”

“What about dinner?”

“No dinner, I’m starving you.”

I stomp down the hallway.

“And no going to the bathroom either!”

I slam the door.

“And stop breathing!”

I forego the studying and go to bed extremely early instead. The only time I’ll be able to get to the city is if I sneak out at night when my family’s asleep. Alim catches me slipping out the back door, but he lets me go because he gets it. I grab my bicycle from the porch because it’s quieter than opening the garage, and I need the warm-up anyway. It’s mighty cold outside, and clouds are once again threatening rain. As late as it is, there’s still a not insignificant amount of traffic. I would normally weave in and out of it as part of practice, but more and more cars are adapting to it in a way that makes things even more dangerous. You can’t teach a driverless car that I know what I’m doing.

I reach downtown and lock my bike up on the corner. I look at it this way, if I had a school test tomorrow, and I hadn’t been studying, then I would need to take some risks in order to compensate. They say that cramming isn’t all that helpful, but when it’s all you have, it’s what you accept. So I take out a special pair of electronic training goggles. One of Andrews’ competitors built the prototypes this year, and wanted the Frenzy kids to test them out, but the council would have none of it. Still, a few of us managed to steal them, so we could try them out.

They were supposed to be for training purposes only, because these kinds of modifications are against the bylaws, but the adults don’t think they should be used at all. The screen is a special kind of augmented reality called controlled reality. Instead of enhancing your vision, it hinders it. This is supposed to teach you to move around the world without seeing where you’re going too well. It’s been programmed to delete potential hazards, replacing them with what the program thinks it looks like behind it. If you don’t use your instincts, and your other senses, you could just run into it. If you think this all sounds dangerous, then you would be entirely correct, and probably now understand why it was banned by the council. There’s bravery, and then there’s stupidity.

In the darkness, it’s even worse. I can make out the outlines of the buildings and other objects around me, but I’m having trouble pinpointing their location. Either it’s designed to flicker like that to keep me guessing, or it just has rendering bugs. I take a deep breath and start my dry run, or rather I start a wet run. As I knew it would, it’s raining. No, it’s pouring, and I just know that this will not end well. I start by springing myself off of a first floor window sill and reaching out for a fire escape ladder. The second to the bottom rung appears to be in my hand, but then the goggles flicker and show me that I’m about a centimeter short. I have to think quickly, so I open my fist again and try to take hold of the bottom rung; also known as my last chance. I make it, barely. But that rain, though. I swing forward once, then backwards, then forwards again. With this, I lose my grip and fall down for the third time today, this time to my back. That’s all I remember.

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Frenzy: Child’s Play (Part III)

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I was never much of a dancer in my youth, but I got more into it when I realized how beneficial it could be for my running form. They said that I should either do that or swimming as supplement, or even both. But absolutely not. I mean, I can swim. I wouldn’t drown if someone threw me in a pool, but I don’t like water. It’s...well, it’s too wet. I deal with it okay, and I even sometimes run in the rain on purpose in order to overcome my weaknesses, but I like it dry. And I like dancing. I know, could I be any more gay? Sometimes on the race, when I’m waiting for a traffic light to change—and yes, there are times when it’s too dangerous to cross, and illegal either way—I’ll dance for the cameras. I like to put on a show to generate viewers and revenue. It’s kind of my job, though it would be nice to get paid for it. The crazier the dance, the better, so I generally do the Wobbly Walk, the Donkey Roll, or The Creep.

At parties, however, I do disco dances, even though I’ve literally never heard a DJ or playlist master put on the right track. Whatever, I’ma do me. After a bit of hustle, I take a break and grab some water at the bar. Keilix has her elbows on the counter, watching Feingold and Tick Tock spar with some kind of martial art. I’ve never been much into fighting either. Unlike swimming, it’s not that I don’t like it, I just don’t quite see the value in it for my purposes. Feingold and Tick Tock seem to enjoy it, though. “Come here often?” Keilix asks as a joke.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be weird.”

“I don’t think we’ll notice.” She takes a sip of her chocolate milk. Studies have determined that excessive amounts of milk don’t really help build stronger bones, which would be useful to Frenzy runners. Still, a dairy manufacturing company is one of our largest sponsors, for reasons of the myth, so we get free milk.

“Well, I know we won’t individually see fewer people on the battlegrounds, but the city’ll feel different. Fewer people will be watching, little children probably won’t be allowed to chase after us. All I’m saying is that it’ll be a very different kind of race this year.”

“Brave new world,” she replies melodramatically.

“You know what I mean.”

She affectionately taps her head on my shoulder. “Listen, I’m about to leave so I can study before a nap. I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad you’re here. I know I was giving you a hard time about registering late, but it wouldn’t be the same without you. We’re a team.”

“Thanks Keilix. And hey, next year your parents won’t be able to stop you from joining the Tracers, so we can keep running together.”

She exales a breathy laugh. “I’m going to college, Serkan. Probably out of the country.” She turns her hips to face me so I know to pay attention. “I’m not going to be in a gang. I’m gonna get an education, and I’m gonna move on from this.”

“You’re going to stop running?” That would be surprising.

“I’ll run in the mornings before class, and then before work, like any health-conscious individual, but this will be my last race.”

I massage my stubble. “But your feet keep the planet spinning.”

“You’ll just have to run twice as fast.” She wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and a wink. “Well, more like three times.”

I take one of her hands and plant a chivalrous kiss. “Keep in touch, just the same.”

“I will. One more thing before I leave. Braxton is about to ask you to run The Gauntlet.”

I turn back to watch the crowd and say, “shit” under my breath.

“You haven’t been to HQ lately, otherwise he would have asked you weeks ago, and you’d be safe today.”

I gesture towards Braxton with my hand as I’m talking about him, “he’s gonna beat me. The Gauntlet is the one thing I can’t do.”

“Well, he wants you to prove it.”

Braxton is the kind of guy who isn’t satisfied with being the best. He needs evidence of that, and he needs everyone to know it. He would rather lose then never know for sure. Fortunately for him, there’s almost no way he’s losing. The Gauntlet was installed two years ago, but I’ve always avoided running it in front of others. It’s a fantastically tough maze of obstacles that I just can’t wrap my brain around. Two-foot steps, three consecutive four-foot gaps, a winding rock wall, and a rope to a catwalk are some of the easier obstacles. It was constructed in a completely new gymnasium built as an extension to the original headquarters building. For now, it’s used exclusively for training purposes, but the council has plans to make it a performance venue so that smaller parkour events can be held throughout the year. They’re just trying to work out the legal issues now since no one really knows what that’s gonna do for the economy. It will certainly help, at least in the short run, but the local government is worried it will cause a loss of interest in city landmarks. Tourism was the main reason the race was founded, so if that was ruined, City Frenzy might lose all support.

Seeing me talk about him from across the room, Braxton literally runs over. “Are we doing this or not?”

I take a drink from my water. “Or not.”

“Get the hell in that room, bitch!”

“Your taunts aren’t gonna work on me, Braxton. I’m an adult.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know you need to get your ass in that gym and show me what you’re workin’ with.”

I laugh. “Oh, if that’s what you’re interested in, then I would be happy to oblige. But I would rather do it in a bed.”

“Please, you know what I mean! Bitch!”

“Call me bitch one more time and see if you get what you want.”

“Please, sir, Mister Serkan, sir,” he says more politely.

I pause for dramatic effect. “I don’t want you boasting and flipping around when you inevitably beat me.”

He slaps his hands together out of pure joy. “My man!”

“I’m serious, Braxton. You have to learn to be a gracious winner.”

“Yeah, man, I got you,” he says, but he’s distracted by his own excitement about the whole thing. “Yo, Tick Tock! Start that clock! Serkie and me are ‘bout to drop a rock!” Dropping a rock is a tracer idiom for running a course you’ve never done before. It refers to landing on a boulder you didn’t know was unstable, and it falls out from under you. Of course, we’ve both run the Gauntlet before; we’ve just never run it together. Braxton mainly wanted to show his rapping skills while he was at it, because he’s that kind of guy.

As Braxton moves off to gather a posse, Keilix throws out her empty milk carton. “Like I said, I gotta go. Make sure Agent Nanny Cam films live on her channel so I can watch in the car.” Agent Nanny Cam is a nineteen year old former racer who only ran the Frenzy once. She became so much more interested in the broadcast aspect that she quit so she could operate one of the drones. She moved up the ranks rather quickly and is now in charge of the whole broadcast department, managing all camera equipment, and directing the live presentation.

“Will do, love,” I promise her.

Braxton yells to me from the doorway as he’s filing everybody through. “What did I say about that ass?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

By the time I make my way into the gym, everybody’s already sitting in the bleachers. Even the kids who are now too young for the Frenzy are in there. Agent Nanny Cam is nearby. “What’s going on?” I ask her.

“I knew you were going to agree to Braxton’s challenge,” she explains. “So I told all my subscribers that I would be going live soon. Some people came back to watch in person. Kind of makes me feel bad, really, like I couldn’t give them a good show online.”

“What have I gotten myself into?”

“Come on, dude, you’ll be fine. This is child’s play. I know you’ve never been happy with your results, but you run it better than you think. Your standards for yourself are just too high.”

“How would you know how I run it?”

“There are cameras all over the place. I’ve been able to see every time you’ve tried it.”

“And you never put it on your website?”

“Of course not.” She looked mildly insulted.

Braxton runs up again. “Let’s go, we’re burnin’ daylight!” Not only is he always running, but he’s always yelling too. In the end, he’s a pretty annoying person, and I should try to distance myself from him. I head for the starting point, but he stops me. “We’re starting at the back.”

“Are you crazy?” It might not seem weird to start a race from the other end, but some of the obstacles are designed to go one way. It’s possible to reverse them, but it makes it difficult. Not to mention the fact that the intended direction gives certain muscles in your body a break at certain times. Going backwards will force you to go hard at all times.

“I told you that we were droppin’ a rock. What, you thought I didn’t know what that meant; that I just wanted it to rhyme?”

“I’m not doing this.”

“That’s your choice.” He motions to the crowd as he turns his back. “I would be more worried about disappointing them if I were you.”

Agent Nanny Cam sidles up to me with her master controller. “We’re not live yet, I still have time to cancel the show.”

No, this is important, because a show is exactly what it is. I don’t have to win, I just have to try, and I have to make it interesting. “Let ‘em fly, Cambria.”

Minidrones shoot out of their nest and start flying around the room, each one looking for a good angle. She activates her shoutcaster microphone. “And we’re hot! Welcome to the First Annual Gauntlet Death Match. Our contestants today are Serkan Demir and Braxton Cosworthy...” I stop being able to hear her as I’m walking towards the finish line, and she’s pacing in the opposite direction.

The crowd cheers as Braxton puts his index fingers over his temples and slides his feet on the floor one by one, mimicking an angry bull with horns. Then they wait, because I’m supposed to do something too, so I harken back to earlier in the day, and present them with a few nice curtsies. They cheer even louder for me than for him.

“You win this round, Serkie.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

He ignores me and takes his action camera from Agent Nanny Cam’s cargo drone. I take mine as he’s fitting it around his chest. “I’m ready.”

“Same,” I say.

The buzzer goes off and we’re gone.

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