Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homeless. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 27, 2024

Microstory 2222: Magical Light of Some Higher Being

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Yes, it’s true, I’m back. Hello, my name is Nick Fisherman IV, and I am not from this world. I came here against my will, but I have since given up on any attempt to escape. I’ve suffered from infections, infections, and more infections. I’ve been homeless, on the run, in jail, set free, and hired for a huge job. I’ve gained everything I ever wanted out of my career only to watch it slip from my hands as my tremors got worse by the day. I’m not even typing this out myself. My lifecare assistant, Kelly has to do it for me. Some might not believe it, because she could theoretically write whatever she wants, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her, but I assure you that this is really and truly me. She’s been instructed to transcribe everything that I say, word for word, whether it makes sense to her or not. One day, this disease might start taking over my higher cognitive functions, but for now, my symptoms are all irrelevant. Well, they’re not irrelevant, of course, but they don’t prevent me from thinking, and my thoughts are all that I have ever been. So as long as I still think like me, I’m me, and as long as there is a chance that some part of me is still in there—even everything else is dead—then I still consider myself to be alive. I’m full code, so keep my heart beating until the money runs out. I’ve always felt this way, even before I had heard of DNRs, and all that stuff. My life is defined by a resting state of suffering and discomfort, with a little bit of happiness sprinkled in occasionally. So don’t worry about how I’ll feel about it when I’m hooked up and reliant upon life support machines, and hanging by a thread. I still want to stay in this world, even though it’s the wrong one. I’ve never believed in the afterlife, because honestly, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Death is about the most ridiculous method you could use to be transported from one plane of existence to another, and anyone who believes in life after death is only fooling themselves. When we die, our bodies decompose, our consciousnesses lose coherence, and our souls recede. We don’t “go” somewhere else to start over, or even more absurdly, to live for eternity in the magical light of some higher being. You only think that that’s possible because someone with a grand imagination dreamt it up, not because we have any evidence that anything like that exists anywhere. The arrogance you must have to not be able to tell the difference between reality and your headcanon. I better end it here. Kelly is scolding me for not being nice. I’m told that people are entitled to their beliefs, as if stupid beliefs only affect the people who are clinging onto them, and haven’t caused all kinds of violence and pain in the world. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you about what I’ve been up to, instead of depressing you with my unglamorous philosophical position.

Friday, June 16, 2023

Microstory 1910: Detained

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Street Proctor: Here you are, boys, fresh meat! And look, he’s a cop! Have fun!
Detainee 1: Is that true? Were you a cop?
Leonard: I was—I am—a parole officer. It was my job to keep guys like you out of jail after you left. I’m trying to get back to that life.
Detainee 1: I see. *stands up*
Leonard: Look, I’m not here to fight.
Detainee 1: Me neither. My parole officer kept me out for ten years before she was murdered. I’m in here because I found the dirty cop who did her in, and put him in the ground. I just wanna shake your hand.
Detainee 2: Heh. They probably thought that we would kill you for wearing that badge.
Detainee 3: They’re proctors. Proctors are morons. All they do is observe and report.
Leonard: Observe and report? He arrested me when I told him that I was homeless.
Detainee 2: Yeah, he’s technically not allowed to do that.
Detainee 1: Cops are cops. Since when do they care what the law says? Present company excluded, of course.
Leonard: I’ve barely been here an hour, and I already don’t understand this world.
Detainee 2: What’s to understand? Everyone’s corrupt. That’s all you need to know.
Leonard: *whispering to himself* I gotta get outta here.
Detainee 3: I’m in.
Leonard: Huh? I don’t mean out of jail. I can’t break any more laws. I just mean this area. I’m far from home, and I want to get back to my family.
Detainee 1: It’s not illegal to break out of jail.
Leonard: It’s not? These laws really are weird.
Detainee 1: The only catch is if you get caught, you’ll go back to jail to await trial, and they will probably use your attempted escape against you. Though it will not technically be a charge, the judge will rule based on his personal feelings on the matter. Obviously most of them frown upon it, so if we’re doing this, let’s not get caught.
Detainee 3: Oh, but if you physically harm someone in the process, that can be an added charge. The good news is, as you’ve already seen, the police at this particular station are incredibly incompetent...easily embarrassed. We should be able to slip past.
Detainee 2: Yeah, and they won’t want to open an investigation, or initiate a pursuit, because that makes them look bad. They’re liable to wipe us from the system, and hope that no one else finds out.
Detainee 3: Plus his badge.
Detainee 2: Oh yeah, you have that badge. I don’t recognize it, but if you’re clever, they won’t notice. We’ll just wanna wait until a shift change, so no one will recognize you.
Detainee 1: So how about it, paroler? You wanna break out of here?
Detainee 4: I got somethin’ to say.
Detainee 3: Detainee 4, you’re awake.
Detainee 4: I heard every word, and I have one question. What do we do about him?
Jail Guard: I hate proctors too. Anyway, I need some more coffee. Don’t you go breakin’ out while I’m gone, ya hear? It’ll probably take me about an hour.

Thursday, June 15, 2023

Microstory 1909: An Officer Arrested

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Senior Proctor: Street Proctor, why did you arrest that man in there?
Street Proctor: He told me that he was homeless. My hands were tied. Ha, now his hands are tied.
Senior Proctor: Did you happen to search his person before you brought him in?
Street Proctor: Of course I did.
Senior Proctor: So you noticed that he was carrying this badge?
Street Proctor: I...of course I did. I didn’t think anything of it. It looks fake. I don’t recognize that design.
Senior Proctor: I don’t either, but feel how heavy it is.
Street Proctor: That doesn’t make it real.
Senior Proctor: I think it’s real to him, and I’m interested to find out where he got it, and why he has it. Don’t you? He didn’t identify himself as a parole officer, did he? Why do you think that is? It may have saved him some trouble.
Street Proctor: I have no idea. I probably would have left him alone if he had.
Senior Proctor: Let’s go in there and have a chat.
Street Proctor: His biometric results aren’t in yet.
Senior Proctor: I have a feeling they’re not going to find him in the system. *Opens door* Good evening. My name is Senior Proctor. Can you tell me what your name is?
Parole Officer: Miazga. Leonard Miazga.
Senior Proctor: It’s nice to meet you, Officer Miazga. You are an officer, correct?
Leonard Miazga: I am. I work for the Kansas City Metro Corps Department of Corrections as a parole officer for non-violent crimes.
Senior Proctor: Wow, that’s a mouthful. If you have steady work, why do you not have a permanent residential address?
Leonard: I choose to exercise my right to remain silent.
Senior Proctor: *laughs* What? Your right to remain silent? Never heard of it. Have you, Street Proctor?
Street Proctor: Can’t say that I have, boss.
Senior Proctor: I’ve never heard of the Kansas City Metro Corps either.
Street Proctor: Me neither.
Senior Proctor: Look, I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to pull here with this piece of junk badge, and your made up stories about being an officer of the court—
Street Proctor: I don’t either.
Senior Proctor: That’s enough, Street Proctor. Anyway, Mr. Miazga, my subordinate was right when he told you that he had no choice but to arrest you. If you have nowhere to live, you live in a jail cell. That’s the law. Understand?
Leonard: I understand.
Senior Proctor: Good.
Leonard: I understand that this country created no laws protecting suspected law-breakers, nor any meant to promote a sense of due process or fairness in justice.
Senior Proctor: Get him out of here. Pin that badge on him, and threaten his life if he tries to take it off. Let the other criminals in there decide how they feel about it.

Wednesday, June 14, 2023

Microstory 1908: Proctor, Proctor, Help Me, Help Me

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My Parole Officer: Hello, hi. I’m glad I found you. I seem to be lost. Could you point me in the direction of Kansas City?
Street Proctor: Never heard of it.
Parole Officer: Oh. What is the city we’re in called?
Proctor: Kansas City, Missouri.
Parole Officer: That’s what I said.
Proctor: No. You just said Kansas City. There is no such thing. It would be like calling this country America when it’s the United States of America.
Parole Officer: Okay, well, it’s not the same thing. People call it that all the time, and there’s not usually any ambiguity. You should have assumed what I meant.
Proctor: You’re already here in Kansas City Missouri. Why would you ask to go somewhere when you’re already there? I figured you were trying to talk about something else. It would be like asking for a glass of water while you’re holding a glass of water.
Parole Officer: Umm...
Proctor: If you’ll excuse me, I’m on patrol.
Parole Officer: You’re not moving.
Proctor: That’s why I always get myself assigned a corner. I can see my entire day’s jurisdiction without having to move.
Parole Officer: Something’s wrong here. Who is the President of the United States?
Proctor: The president? There is no such thing. You can have a president of a neighborhood, maybe, but perhaps you mean the National Commander?
Parole Officer: Yeah, sure. Who is the National Commander?
Proctor: Commander Apostle Virtue.
Parole Officer: Apostle Virtue. That’s their real name?
Proctor: Of course it is. Why?
Parole Officer: Yeah, this is definitely the wrong world.
Proctor: What was that?
Parole Officer: Nothing. Never mind. Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’m homeless, and I don’t have any money. Is there perhaps a shelter nearby, or somewhere else I could stay to get out of the elements.
Proctor: Is that a joke? Please tell me that you’re joking.
Parole Officer: I wish I was, but I’m afraid I’m not where I should be, and I need some help. I know the law, I shouldn’t sleep out on the streets, but I don’t know where I can go. I’m obviously very unfamiliar with this area. I’ve traveled from far away.
Proctor: Oh my God. Why did it have to be my corner? Months without incident, and then you show up to make things more complicated. The paperwork, the paperwork...
Parole Officer: I don’t think that’s necessary. Just tell me where I can go. I’ll get there myself, even if it’s far. I don’t mind walking.
Proctor: No, I have to arrest you.
Parole Officer: What? Hey, watch it! Why exactly are you handcuffing me?
Proctor: Homelessness is illegal. You could have gotten away with it, and stayed hidden, but you went and confessed to me. Now I have no choice. Don’t resist.

Friday, September 30, 2022

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 28, 2398

Most everybody is somewhere other than the third floor lofts. Leona and Ramses are in the lab. Alt!Leona and Andile are helping Angela with her new business on the first floor. Heath is giving the McIvers a guided tour of Kansas City. Kivi is off doing something on her own, and Leona Reaver is holed up in her apartment. Marie is alone in her and Heath’s unit, so Mateo takes this opportunity to knock on the door. “When did you last speak with your handler?”
Marie frowns, uncomfortable at having to have this conversation, but not angry at him for starting it. “I’ve been informed of the development. You’ve not told Leona?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I wanted to hear what you had to say about it.”
“You want me to justify my actions?” she figures.
“Some of them.”
Marie sighs. “I had nothing when I first came here. Heath makes it sound like this romantic story where he believed in me the whole time, and we fell in love at first sight. It wasn’t that easy, and it took much longer than that. I was homeless for a bit, sleeping in an empty lot before I ever felt safe telling him anything. I needed money, and I needed an identity. Winona had already set up her forgery operation by then, so that’s who I ended up with. Can you imagine how different my life would have been if I had just found a different forger? I can. I think about it all the time. She asked me a lot more questions than she did you, Mateo, and I didn’t have any good answers. She gave me what I asked for, free of charge, and I should have known right then that it wasn’t just pity, but I was on the hook. She started asking me to do things to pay her back. Little things at first, then more dangerous, and she came to realize that I was far more educated and skilled than any normal person could achieve within a single lifetime.
“I honestly don’t remember how we broached the subject, but I remember I gave her as little information about where I come from as possible. I didn’t just spill the beans about everything all at once. She’s been squeezing more and more out of me ever since. One day, she noticed a few extra people stepping into my condo, and she questioned me about you. It was her idea to have her forge your papers too. She had shut down by then, as it was an only temporary assignment years ago. She finished re-setting up her den just hours before we arrived for help, and you were her only recent clients. That’s what put her on the radar of legitimate law enforcement, because they noticed unusual activity in the system. She’s the daughter of a U.S. senator, but she’s not invisible. She decided she needed help, so she concocted this plan to get into bed with you by upgrading your credentials to SD6. To protect you, I...manipulated the situation to put a greater target on Leona, since she has actual training in the field.”
“This all checks out so far, but it doesn’t explain everything that’s happened to us.” He’s not judging her for what she did to get by. They’ve all done things. He’s only questioning her choice to keep it from them. The government has been weird with them from the start, which doesn’t make sense, given her position. Why wasn’t she honest? “They keep following us around the globe. Why is that?”
She’s seething just a bit. “They don’t trust me to report back on you, which they’re right not to. I’m trying to keep you out of it as much as possible. They’re following us because they hope you will eventually be more forthcoming about our origins and abilities.”
“What do they know about us already?”
“They know that we’re time travelers, and that we don’t have control over it. I’ve told them that you’re cognizant of certain special locations around the world that can give us temporary control. We are now looking for this special water in the hopes that it can somehow get us back home.”
“These claims are rather accurate,” Mateo points out.
“Yes, it’s very easy to omit information, but it’s not easy to lie to them outright. If I make a claim, it better be true, to some degree.”
Mateo nods. Now for the real question. “Why lie to us?”
Marie is reluctant to answer, or maybe she’s unsteady in her self-awareness. “This life; this...secret agent shit, it teaches you not to trust people. You get really comfortable hiding things from others, even when you love them. Heath knows absolutely nothing. I sold my intellectual property, that’s true, which mostly explains why we’re so rich, but it doesn’t account for all the money. I get paid for this work. I get paid very well. I just have to go in the field every once in a while.”
“Field work, doing what?”
“Various things, usually unrelated. At least that’s what I thought, but now we’ve found out that Senator Morton was involved, I’m starting to think there’s some kind of secret civil war in the government, and it’s all connected.”
“If there’s a secret war,” Mateo begins, “our team is at the center of it.”
“Yes. Unless...”
“Unless our arrival here is but a fraction of the story, and plenty of other travelers have made their way into this reality.”
“Yes, we may be only part of a statistic. I’ve been trying to find that out, but Winona doesn’t give without getting.”
“Then let’s give,” he suggests.
“What do you mean?”
“She wants answers, and you haven’t been able to give her very many, because you’ve had to protect us. But the thing is that we’re here, and we can protect each other, so let’s give her whatever we need to in order to get what we want. She may know where my cousin is, and not even realize it. She may know the location of a reality transition point, but not understand its nature.”
“You want to tell the rest what I did?” Marie asks, up to her eyeballs in anxiety.
“Well, only the core group. Andile, the alternates, and the McIvers don’t need to know anything about all that.”
“That’s how it starts,” Marie says, “the lying. You start justifying what you’re saying, and what you’re not. Then it just gets worse from there.”
“You’ve had to carry this burden on your own for four years, and I would love to share the load, but I am not smart enough to help. We need the others. Leona, Ramses, and Angela can tell us what to do. Truthfully, Kivi is literally unreliable, and Heath...”
“Heath is still an outsider to you.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”
“That’s okay, I get that. Either way, can we wait a little while longer?”
“Okay,” Mateo replies diplomatically. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Sunday, June 12, 2022

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 9, 2398

They teleported into the portal just as the time hit midnight, which they hoped would confuse the jump enough to send them where they wanted to go. This way they didn’t have to wait an entire year for something to go wrong with the reality hopper, and extraction mirror. It wasn’t the perfect situation, because it meant they couldn’t use the friend detector in tandem, but if the pattern held, either Marie or Olimpia would be waiting for them in The Third Rail. Neither Omega nor his partner, Valencia had any idea what it was, or what they would find there. Way out here in intergalactic space, there wasn’t anything to do but try to survive. It hadn’t even occurred to them to travel to other realities. They didn’t have much time to discuss it either way; Team Matic just needed to take a leap of faith.
Immediately, Mateo felt differently. He felt more normal; like he did when he was first alive. As for the jump itself, it wasn’t as jarring as the other ones. They all just landed softly on the ground in a big empty parking lot, and began to look around for clues. They were somewhere in a city that looked strikingly similar to early 21st century Earth. His initial thought was that it didn’t work, and they just went through the mirror to the past in the main sequence, but there wasn’t anyone here to extract, so that was unlikely.
“Spread out,” Leona ordered, “but don’t go too far. Let’s just figure out where we are first. Rendezvous point is that corner over there.”
“Do you feel that?” Mateo whispered to her. “That is, do you not feel it?”
“I do. We’re not connected anymore. Our superempathy is gone. That is not a good sign, I’m not gonna lie.”
“Guys?” Ramses asked before anyone else could walk too far from the group. “I recognize this from history class. I feel like it was in San Francisco?”
Leona walked over there, because she could no longer teleport either. A large structure could now be seen between the trees. “No, you’re thinking of the Coit Tower. We have one like that too. It’s the National World War I Museum and Memorial. This is Kansas City, and it’s not midnight. Though, you wouldn’t know it by my watch, which is not working.”
“Where can we go to get help?” Angela asked. “Where would one go?”
“The Salmon Civic Center,” Leona answered. “We’re probably a few miles away, assuming we’re in the right time period. Since I’m sure you’ve all realized by now that we can’t teleport, we’ll have to walk.”
“Poor you!” shouted a voice from a few meters away. “Walking, like a bunch of mortals! No beaming up here!”
“I’m sorry, sir, are you a traveler?” Leona asked.
“Yes, Captain, I am from the U.S.S. Enterprise. Reporting for duty. Beep boop, beep boop boop.”
“The robot is from Star Wars,” Mateo corrected.
“Whatever, nerd.” He started to walk away with his friends. “Don’t cross the streams!”
“I don’t think he’s one of us,” Angela pointed out.
They started their walk too.
“Anything on the friend detector?” Mateo asked Ramses.
“Dead silence, which doesn’t surprise me. Powers and time tech don’t work here at all, which worries me. This place is...”
“Wrong?” Mateo suggested.
Unsettling, I was gonna say, but that too.”
The walk shouldn’t have been so hard with their new bodies, but they were quite quickly exhausted and hungry. Fortunately, they were headed towards Allen and Richard’s restaurant, and if they found it didn’t exist in this reality, they would find somewhere to eat. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any money. Mateo’s magical wallet was completely empty, the pocket dimension inside of it probably having been destroyed when they came here.
That first group of bullies weren’t the only people they encountered that looked at them funny. Everyone was wearing tee-shirts, jeans, slacks, business suits, dresses, and pant suits. Their crew uniforms stood out here more than anywhere they had ever been. They were going to have to find some new clothes too. There was a slight chance they could remedy this soon. While Téa Stendahl’s clothing shop was technically located in The Hub on Tribulation Island, a branch sometimes reached all the way back to Earth in the Bran safehouse on the top floor of the Ponce de Leon condominiums. If such an intergalactic branch existed before whatever destroyed time tech happened, maybe that branch was simply severed, instead of retracted. Some of the clothes might still be in the safehouse. Mateo didn’t like their odds, though.
Around an hour later, they were at the spot. Richard and Allen’s restaurant had two sides to it. One was located on the inside of a secret little mall, where one could also find the club, the post office, the forger’s den, the bank, and a few other things. The outside, however, was accessible to the public, and should be right around—nope, not here. They were beginning to think this reality was generated through some other means besides a recognizable point of divergence. It may have resembled some point in history, but it wasn’t historically similar. They may not be able to find anyone to help them here.
“Excuse me, could you tell me the date?” Ramses asked a random passerby.
“It’s April 9,” she replied.
“And...the...?”
“You wanna ask me the year? Jesus, it’s 2398, cosplayer.”
“Is that a joke?”
She took out her phone, and showed them her homescream. April 9, 2398. Where the hell were they?
“Thank you,” Ramses said, politely, but with a frown. “There’s something very wrong with this reality. I’m starting to understand why we’ve all been warned never to come here. We may be stuck forever.”
“It’s not so bad,” came a familiar voice from behind them.
They turned around to find Marie, holding a bag of clothing in each hand. She didn’t seem surprised to see them, but relieved. They rushed over to her to engage in a group hug. “I can’t believe we found you,” Leona said happily. “You could have been in China, for all we knew.”
“Nah, I stayed around,” Marie explained. “I bet we had the same idea, to look for help in the Civic Center. It’s not there, by the way, nothing is. Someone was living in the Bran safehouse too, but I saved up enough money, and convinced them to sell a couple of years later.”
“A couple of years?” Ramses questioned. “How long have you been here?”
“Since 2394,” she replied. “Realtime. No time jumping here.”
“Do you know why?” Mateo asked her.
“Nope. Don’t know how I could find out. There aren’t any other travelers. This place is clean. I imagine that’s the point.”
“It also explains what’s happened with the technology here,” Leona said. “Without travelers, advancement slows. It doesn’t halt; we didn’t build the pyramids, or anything, but our people have contributed in small ways, and that adds up.”
“That’s basically what I surmised,” Marie agreed, “though I first died in the 19th century, so I’m not cognizant of very much of our secret history.” She looked from each face to the next. “Where’s Olimpia?”
“We don’t know yet,” Mateo told her. “There was a pattern forming, with each of us showing up a year after the one before, in another reality. As it turns out, you were sent to the past, so...Olimpia could be anywhere and anywhen.”
Marie frowned sadly. “Oh.” There was silence for a moment. “Well, you can stay with me, it’s a pretty large unit. We’ll figure something out later, and we’ll do it together...at last.”
“So, we’re not gonna jump to 2399 at the end of the day?” Mateo asked as they were walking across the street, towards the park.
“I don’t think so,” Leona answered.
“You’re not,” Marie clarified with a high level of certainty.
“Mateo and I might,” Leona said.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Marie contradicts. “I’ll give you a million dollars if you do.”
“Is that hyperbole, or do you have that?” Ramses asked. There was still a little bit of capitalism in his soul that came out every once in a while. He was indoctrinated into the belief and trust in it from birth, and that was not something that could just be cured, or surgically removed.
“Oh, I have it,” Marie said. “No powers, no pattern, no time tech, but I retained all of the skills we picked up in the afterlife simulation over the centuries. I can get any job I want. So could you, Angie.”
“I’m sorry you were alone,” Angela finally said something after reuniting with her alternate self.
“I’m not alone,” Marie contended sharply, and without elaboration.
When they arrived at the Bran safehouse—which surely shouldn’t be called that in this version of Kansas City—they discovered what she meant by that. A man was waiting for her in the kitchen, preparing them a meal. “Is this them?” he asked, unsurprised.
Marie smiled. “It is, they finally showed up.”
He wiped his hand on a towel, and shook theirs consecutively. “Very nice to finally meet you—there are supposed to be five,” he said to Marie.
“One’s still missing,” Marie said.
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, but at least you’re here, and that’s a start. Forgive me, I’m Heath Walton.”
They all looked at Marie, who snickered. “It’s a coincidence, but...I admit, it may be what drew me to him. Don’t worry, we confirmed that we’re not related. Though a version of me does appear to have existed long ago.”
“I’m glad you skipped over that time.” They nuzzled each other, and then kissed passionately, but comfortably. They had obviously been together for a while.
“Are you married?” Angela asked.
“We are,” Marie answered her. “We’re very happy.”
“How did you two meet, and how did you broach the subject of where you’re from?” Angela pressed.
The lovebirds looked at each other like they knew something special, which they probably did. “Do you want to tell it?” Marie asked.
“You better start,” Heath answered.
She giggled.
“Sorry, we’ve just never been able to tell this story before,” Heath added before it began.
“Well, when I first landed in this reality, I assumed that I had traveled through time. But that was fine, because I knew you all would be showing up soon. I was in the middle of a parking lot, though, and I felt very exposed, so I walked over to a building that had some stairs going down to the basement, or whatever. I sat there and waited. I waited for hours before another soul came by. It was Sunday, and he told me this wasn’t a good place to panhandle. I told him I was waiting for some friends, but he didn’t believe me, so he handed me twenty bucks. I couldn’t leave to go spend it, so he decided to go buy me a sandwich. I was dressed like a spaceman, of course, so he must have thought that I was just crazy. That food gave me enough energy to spend the night, so that’s what I did. Come morning, a couple of people who worked at that building didn’t take kindly to my being there, so they called the cops, who tried to remove me from the premises.”
“We’re so sorry,” Leona said.
“It’s not your fault. I don’t even blame Dalton anymore. It feels like destiny now. I admit, it was rough that first night, but then Heath found me.”
“How?” Ramses asked.
“Well,” Heath began, “my nephew came over, and started telling us a story about how a lady appeared out of nowhere in the parking lot. He was the only one who noticed and he was, uhh...eight at the time, so nobody believed him. He’s always had such a great imagination, and everyone assumed he was starting to realize that about himself, and make up stories on purpose. I don’t know if I fully believed him either, but he saw someone in that lot, and I just had this feeling that she needed help. I went out there looking, not thinking she would still be there, but I could see a ridiculous number of cop cars out there, and figured it had to have something to do with it.”
“He waltzed right through them and demanded they release me into his custody. He said I was his unwell sister, and thanked them for finding her. They still wanted to take me to a facility, but he insisted. He was so brave.”
Heath laughed. “I wouldn’t call it brave, but when your skin is even this dark, it can cause problems.”
“In the late 24th century?” Mateo questioned.
“Yeah, I think we’ve developed slowly in many ways,” Heath proposed.
“Anyway, I didn’t want to leave, but there was no other way,” Marie continued. “Now we know that you didn’t show up that day either, but we had always worried we missed that small window, because we had a couple years covered since then.”
“What do you mean?” Angela asked.
“I bought a camera,” Heath answered. At night, I snuck over there, shimmied up a lamppost, and attached it to the top. We could see the whole lot where Marie first showed up, and more. We kept an eye on the feed for a long time before somebody noticed it, and took it down.”
“By then,” Marie went on, “I had basically given up. I mean, it had been years, so we didn’t try to put another camera up. I’m glad I ran into you. I should have thought to always check on the days that fall on our pattern.” She shook her head. “So stupid.”
“Again,” Leona said, “we’re so sorry. Fault or no, Heath or no, I feel bad.”
“We need to put that camera back up,” Angela determined, “just in case Olimpia does happen to show up. And hell, maybe every traveler who gets stuck here comes in at the same place. It would be prudent to keep an eye out for them.”
“I can rig something up that will be virtually invisible,” Ramses offered. “You’ll be able to see it if you’re looking right at it, but it should be rather concealed. We could put one up on every lamppost.”
“Okay,” Marie agreed. “For now, Heath, we’ll refrigerate our planned dish for tonight. We’re goin’ out to celebrate; my treat. You should get changed, though.”

Wednesday, March 30, 2022

Microstory 1853: What I Didn’t Do, And What I Did

It’s the saddest thing. When you’re dying, you’re supposed to reflect on your friends and family. Some say they should only be happy memories, while others say everything is just jumbled together. But that’s not what’s happening to me. I’m focusing on a single memory that has kind of haunted me for my whole life since it happened. I guess I’ll start at the end, because it might help explain why that particular memory managed to rise to the surface, and outshine all others. Yesterday, my grandchildren wanted to take me out for what I think everyone knew was going to be a final decent meal. I don’t think they thought I was going to actually kick the buck the next morning, or they probably would have just huddled around my bed, and said goodbye. They knew I would leave them soon, though, and it was important that they see me out with fanfare. Now, I don’t think the incident at the restaurant is what killed me, but I guess it’s not too crazy to think that a part of me decided that my life wouldn’t get better after that, so if I wanted to end on a high note, this was the time to do it. I’m making it sound like it was a happy moment, aren’t I, but I did call it an incident, if you remember, and there’s a reason for that. So there I was, sitting in my wheelchair at the booth with my whole family. They were talking mostly amongst themselves. They don’t know how to talk to me anymore, and the younger ones never did. They’re all into computers, and celebrities I never heard of, but I don’t feel distressed, because I enjoy the company just the same. I don’t hate the future, I just didn’t work very hard to keep in touch. I think I did just fine. Man, I’m going on a lot of tangents, aren’t I? The story is that I lost interest in the conversation, and ended up eavesdropping on a mother scolding her daughter for wanting some cake.

Now, far be it for me to decide what this little girl is allowed to have, but it became clear as I listened in that she wasn’t allowed to have the cake, not because it cost too much, or because it would spoil her dinner, but because the mother thought she was too fat. I just had to say something, even though it was none of my business. And the reason is because about thirty years ago, I didn’t say anything in a similar situation, and I always regretted it. A man came into the restaurant while I was having dinner with my family, not unlike the last lunch yesterday. He was very obviously homeless. Unkempt, many layers of clothing in fairly late spring, with a smell. A businessman in a really good mood had just given him a hundred dollar bill, and he wanted to treat himself. Some people stared, clearly not wanting him to be there at all, but one particular man started scolding him for wasting the money on a decadent meal when he really ought to have been saving up, and being frugal. I was a coward, and I didn’t say a word. I didn’t think I had the right. My youngest daughter spoke up, though, and I was so proud of her. As it turned out, the whole thing had been staged. They were filming a TV show where they set up these stressful situations to see how people would react. I basically failed the test, and it wasn’t that I embarrassed myself on national television. It was just that it could have been real, and in many ways, it was real, because not everyone in the restaurant was in on the act. No one blamed me for not standing up for the man—and of course, no one else did, except for my daughter—but I felt bad about it anyway. So that’s why I felt compelled to inject myself in that mother-daughter argument yesterday. It was like my redeeming moment. Huh, you know what, I guess I am reflecting on my family.

Friday, January 28, 2022

Microstory 1810: Justice Delayed

I’m a killer. It’s not something that I wanted to be. When someone would ask me what I wanted to do when I grew up, I didn’t tell them that I was hoping to one day become a murderer, and almost get away with it. I never wanted it to happen, but it did, and I figured there was no point fretting over it. I couldn’t change the past, but I could move on with my life, and try to do some good with it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. You see, the woman I killed—and I won’t tell you why I did it, because it doesn’t matter anymore—had recently experienced relations with a man. That’s why not I killed her, before you get any ideas about jealousy. His connection to her was the only lead the cops had when they were running their investigation, and instead of looking into the truth, they just selected him as their one and only suspect. I’m not a cop. It’s not my job to confess to the crime I committed. I decided that I would let this play out, and accept my fate, whatever that was going to be. I wasn’t going to actively impede their investigation, but I wasn’t going to go out of my way to help them either. Even after the wrong man was convicted, I convinced myself that it wasn’t my fault. Again, it’s not my responsibility to put bad guys away, and leave the innocent alone. They screwed up, and it was all their fault. At least, that’s what I told myself. Subconsciously, I was a wreck. I already felt guilty about the murder itself, but now I had to contend with the fact that an innocent man was behind bars. I could not live with myself. It just kept getting worse by the day. I honestly believe I would have eventually turned myself in.

The wrongfully accused didn’t stop fighting. He insisted that he wasn’t even in the country at the time, and continued trying to prove his alibi. This was great, I thought; he was gonna go free, and they still had no evidence against me. It would turn into a cold case, and the whole thing would just go away on its own. That’s not what happened. They reopened the case, looked deeper into the clues, and finally found me. It’s actually what got that guy out of prison. They wouldn’t let him go until they knew who the perpetrator was, which I recognize is a ridiculous idea, and all those people should be fired for incompetence. I did as I promised, and accepted my punishment. They arrested me, put me through trial, and threw me in prison. I wasn’t in there long before I died, and that’s where things get interesting. What I haven’t told you is that I am voldisil. I have the ability to form profound connections with others. My cat is 34 years old (older than me), because I linked her to my lifeforce 21 years ago. She can’t die until I do, and neither can the man I let rot in prison for four months...unless something unavoidable happens to him. After I was imprisoned, he came to visit me, hoping to get some closure. I was moved by his words, and decided to give him a gift. He was in his late forties, which means he was maybe about halfway done with his life. In contrast, I was in my mid-twenties. Prison being what it is, I would probably die relatively young, but in the meantime, he would last so much longer. Sadly, my ability has its limits. He never got his life back on track, and he’s ended up living on the streets, where the cold can get him. I feel him more clearly now as the faux warmness overtakes our bodies. I’m grateful that, if he had to die, it was this way; quietly. If my cellmate could tell that something was wrong, they would be able to stop it. He would still die, but I wouldn’t. I wish he was going to live longer, but at least I don’t have to live with the guilt anymore.

Thursday, January 27, 2022

Microstory 1809: World of Injustice

I was in prison for four months for a crime that I didn’t commit. That may not sound like very long, but it was more than enough to ruin my life. I could have stayed for one night, and it still would have been devastating. I’m not talking about being a person of interest, or even being arrested. I could have talked that off as a misunderstanding. No, a conviction, and one that was so highly publicized; that was something that I never came back from, even when they found the true culprit, and let me go. Because that was all they did; let me go, and let me fend for myself. I was out of the country when the murder happened. Yes, I knew her, and yes, we had had sex recently, but there is no way I could have done it. It took three months for the authorities to receive the proof! Countries don’t talk to other countries very nicely, especially not back then, or this all would have been resolved in a matter of hours. My alibi was caught on camera, it was completely ridiculous. Even after they received said footage, the police basically said to me, well, if you didn’t do it, then who did? as if it was my responsibility to do their job for them. It wasn’t until they reopened the investigation, and did finally locate him that they set me free. That is not how it works. You don’t keep someone locked up in case you never find the killer just because somebody has to go down for this. I worked really hard to keep my cool, and not become angry about it, because I didn’t want anything to stand in the way of my exit from that wretched place. I did well in the beginning. I remember being so happy as that gate opened, knowing that it meant freedom. I harbored no resentment—not yet. I didn’t know at the time how bad things were about to get...how much worse life would be on the outside, not just in some ways, but all ways.

I would come to find out that I was never exonerated. They literally just escorted me out of prison, and shut it behind me. According to law, I still belonged in there. None of the proper paperwork was filled out; nothing was done officially or correctly. There was a news story about it, with a clear picture of me walking away from the prison, but that was pretty much the only proof I had. The journalist who took that photo actually gave me a ride back to the city, because I didn’t have any other means of transport. My family had all disowned me, and decided to not exonerate me either. It was impossible to convince them that I didn’t get off on some kind of clerical error. I didn’t do it! Well, having sex out of wedlock was enough for them, so they weren’t hearing any of it. Getting a job wasn’t any easier. A background check showed that I was locked up, but didn’t show that I was released. I eventually realized that I needed to keep a copy of that news article on my person at all times. This would give me a few opportunities, but then a coworker would learn who I was, and that would make them uncomfortable. Maybe I didn’t commit the murder, but I was in prison, so I probably did a lot of crimes in there. I didn’t, the other convicts actually weren’t that bad, but no one believed me. There wasn’t an accurate paper trail. I’m surprised I wasn’t rearrested at some point. I guess the warrant was the one thing they did manage to get rid of. Prison was a terrible place, but at least they had to give me a cot. Now I had nothing. I was forced to live on the streets, which is where I die here today. I’m young in terms of years, having aged quickly due to malnutrition, and lack of medical care. I think I’m dying of exposure, specifically, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I die as I lived, trapped in a world of injustice.

Tuesday, April 27, 2021

Microstory 1612: Absolute Zero

As we’ve discussed, concurrent realities are rare, but they do come up. Salmonverse has a handful, while Area Double Universe has thousands. Today, I want to talk about a brane that has only two realities. There’s no name for it, to distinguish it from others, as far as I know. All I know is that it’s a scary and dangerous place, and I can’t recommend it for vacation if you’re looking to relieve some stress. As a spirit, I hesitate to make a claim about whether evil exists, or if life is just all about choices, but this brane sure makes a compelling argument for the former. From my perspective, one of the realities appears to be the primary, while the other is reliant on the outcome of events from the first. Let’s say you were from this universe, and you happened to be a chef, and restaurant owner. You keep prices low, treat your employees well, and give your day-old bread to the homeless. You’re not perfect, but on the whole, you’re a good person. Your alternate self will be just as bad as you are good—I mean, exactly as far from absolute zero. On the other hand, if you’re a serial killer, your alternate self would be a saint. But their life would be incredibly difficult, because people are good in general, so that makes the alternate reality pretty bad. So that would be terrible on its own, but at least the main reality would be able to move on, and ignore their counterparts, right? Wrong. Whereas most of the time, you have to advance science enough to figure out how to access other dimensions, that sort of thing sometimes just happens to some people in this world. You could walk through your front door, and end up inside the alternate, and would have to hope you survive long enough to make it back home. Fortunately, if you do manage to not die, you will get back home. People remain permanently connected to their reality, and they will eventually be summoned home without having to do anything special. So there’s not a whole lot of interaction between the two realities—not on a large scale—but it does occur in isolated cases, and it does cause problems.

Enough of this back and forth travel happened throughout history that the governments and experts got together, and started trying to come up with solutions. They decided it was their moral obligation to do something about the other side. Could they destroy them? Could they teach them to be better? What if they shared knowledge, or resources, or disciplinary techniques? After years of study, and a whole lot of incidents that did not go well at all, they came to a single conclusion. The only way to stop everyone from being so evil over there was to stop being so good on the main side. They tried to institute programs, which were designed to teach people to just be okay. No more saints, no more sinners, just regular people who were doing all right. Everyone was expected to get average grades in school, and do the bare minimum at work. Don’t make waves, and don’t change the status quo. Just live your boring life throughout the day, and then go to bed. Certain things were outlawed in the hopes of making this easier. There was no more music or entertainment. Everyone ate meal replacements, and cooking anything else was strictly forbidden. All these things made people too happy, and if they were happy, their alternate was miserable. As you might have guessed, these measures did not work in the least. You can’t just make people be different. A rebel faction rose up, and became more and more violent over the years. Before they knew it, the main reality was more evil, and the secondary reality was full of good people just trying to do the right thing.

Saturday, February 22, 2020

Dardius: Cassidy Long (Part VIII)

When most people hear that an individual is a stripper, of course they have a judgment about it. Even if they visit strip clubs themselves, they usually feel a sense of superiority over the people who work there. There is a common belief that exotic dancers are damaged; that their daddies didn’t give them enough attention, or even that they were sexually abused as children. There’s also this joke about them paying their way through nursing school, as if that would be a bad thing anyway. For some, these judgments are true, though that doesn’t give anyone the right to assume them, or to assess them in any way. For Cassidy Long, nothing could be further from the truth. The reality was that she became a stripper, with the full support of her mother, because strippers make bank. Back before she mysteriously disappeared, in a four hour shift, she could make a hundred and sixty dollars. That was if she only managed to do two dances every hour, which was pretty unheard of at her location, even during the day. Even after splitting some of her profits to the bartender, DJ, and waitresses, she was still earning more than a lot of people in fulltime positions. All told, she made six figures a year. The work was relatively easy, and if she could keep it going for a couple decades—though work would slow down as she aged—she could retire with enough money to live fairly comfortably for the rest of her life.
Cassidy Long was happy with her life, and it came with an interesting bonus she didn’t even consider when she began. She met a lot of people; and not people whose secrets she could weaponize to exploit them, but networking contacts. Her connections got her out of parking tickets, into fancy parties, and more connections beyond the ones she made herself. She met all sorts of people, and since she had a loveable personality, they were always willing to help her out without much convincing, as long as it didn’t threaten their own social standing. There was one particular man she needed to reach out to now. He was a private investigator who also happened to be a decent artist. There was someone she needed to find, but the problem was she went missing six years ago, and where she had been wasn’t something she could explain. Still, she had to risk it, because he was probably their only hope of returning to Dardius in the future.
“My God, you’re alive.”
“I am,” Cassidy confirmed by demonstrating her ability to speak, which was something dead people generally could not do.
“I looked for you,” he said.
“Who hired you?” Cassidy questioned. “My mother was dead, and the club wouldn’t have put that much effort into finding me.”
“I looked for you myself. No one paid me for it. I wanted to know what happened to you.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
“So...?” he prompted.
“So, what?” Cassidy was confused.
“So what happened to you? Jesus.”
Pribadium reached into her back pocket, and retrieved a wallet, which she opened and flashed to the PI. “Priya Bragado; FBI. This is my partner, Valerie Crawford. Miss Long has been working with us on some very special cases for the last six years. She’s only returned to her old life because we require your assistance with finding a man whose name she does not know.”
He stared at Pribadium forever, though it did look like he was buying both the fake names she made up for her and Vitalie, and the idea that they were federal agents. He also seemed to want to believe that Cassidy could possibly be involved with them. It was probably more about trusting that Cassidy herself wouldn’t be standing here, lying to him. Though of course she was indeed withholding the truth, she was known to be an honest and forthcoming person. She was pretty famous for it. “It’s gonna be hard to find someone without a name.”
“I have a face,” Cassidy explained.
He still hesitated, but only because he had always irrationally questioned his own skills as a sketch artist. He left the police before Cassidy met him, because he decided he wanted to be an investigator instead, but didn’t like following someone else’s schedule, and adhering to their rules. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”
“Thank you,” Cassidy said graciously. “Priya and Valerie, this is Elmo Barone, but we all just call him The Baron.”
“Please, no jokes about Elmo,” Baron requested. “I’ve heard them all.”
“I don’t get it,” Vitalie explained. She wouldn’t, and nor would Pribadium. Neither one of them grew up having heard anything about Sesame Street.
Baron was pleased with their apparent ignorance. “All right, have a seat. I’ll get my sketchbook.”
After an hour of Cassidy describing what she could remember of the man she last saw years ago, the composite was ready. Baron ran it through the facial recognition database, which he wasn’t meant to have, and the four of them tried to have some lunch. Pribadium stressed to him how important it was that no one knew that Cassidy was still alive, and not truly missing. He got a little bit annoyed at her about this. He understood the value of discretion, and felt no desire to reveal her secret. She wanted to tell him the actual secret, but knew that it was best they leave him out of all this time travel business. They had barely begun their food when Baron’s computer beeped, indicating that his software had found a match.
“That was fast,” Cassidy noted.
“I narrowed the parameters,” Baron began to explain. “The programs you see cops use on TV seem to search through pictures of everyone on the planet. I limited the search to male Lawrence residents of a certain age range, and directed it to search for people arrested for minor offences first, before it would move on to the DMV database.”
“Well, it worked,” Cassidy said. “This is him.”
Vitalie leaned in, and read from the screen, “Gareth ‘Gaz’ Milburn. Fifty-eight years old. Arrested twice for public intoxication, once for assault; bar fight, apparently. And five times panhandling? Isn’t that the gold thing?”
“In this case, it’s just begging for money on the street,” Baron explained.
“That’s illegal?” Pribadium asked. She was from the future, long after begging became obsolete when money itself did. Poverty was a concept she would never truly be able to grasp.
Baron leaned in as well, and looked through the man’s details. “It technically is, but it’s hardly enforced. Officers try to get to know the homeless around the city, which means they know when someone’s lying. Gaz is not really homeless, and never was. He just pretended so people would give him money.”
“Why are we looking for this guy?” Pribadium asked. She had never explained the whole thing to them.
“You don’t already know why?” Now Baron was getting suspicious.
“He has information for us,” Cassidy started to lie again. “Or rather, I believe he knows someone who does.”
“He sounds like a standup guy,” Vitalie sarcasticated.
“His last charge was four years ago,” Vitalie revealed.
“Well, this is his last known address, so we’ll find out if he’s changed in that time.”
“I’m coming with you,” Baron offered.
Vitalie smiled at him condescendingly. “That’s cute. Stay here, and focus on your cheating spouses.” She snatched up a box of rice on her way out. “I’m taking this.”
Baron took Cassidy by the arm as she was trying to follow the other two out. “If you need out of something, I can help.”
“Thank you, Baron. I’m exactly where I need to be.” That was very much untrue, but lying to him was becoming a habit she couldn’t break now. “You’ve already helped so much.”
“You know where I am if you need any help in another six years.”
“I do.” She passed a woman on her way out of his office.
“Fitzsimmons,” Baron said. “Come on in. There’s food left over, if you’re hungry. I know it’s your favorite.”
“My favorite is in Kansas City.”
“It’s a franchise. It’s all the same stuff.”
Gaz appeared to be living in a very nice house in the suburbs. Vitalie insisted she be the one to knock on his door, and be able to stand between the other two should he turn violent. She was apparently wrong, though. A very well-kempt man answered, and greeted them with delight. He looked exactly like Gaz, but there was no way he was in his late fifties; not in 2025. The kind of de-aging technology humanity eventually came up with wouldn’t exist for another decade, at least. “Miss Long, you’re back.”
“Who are you?” Cassidy asked him.
“Please, come on in. I’ll explain everything. Would you like a plate for that rice?”
“I’m good,” Vitalie answered.
“How about some water to wash it down?”
“Thank you. I take my water with no poison,” she added as he was heading for the kitchen.
“Well, that’s weird, but okay,” he joked back.
“Are you going to tell us how you know him, but don’t really know him?” Pribadium whispered.
“Other than Jai, he was the last person I saw before I left work the day I disappeared. I gave him a dance. If I can absorb people’s powers, I think I maybe absorbed his.”
Gaz came back in with Vitalie’s water. “That is close to what happened.”
“So, you knew?” Cassidy asked. “You knew I would end up in the future, on a spaceship, light years away.”
“I didn’t know that, no. That’s not what my power, as you called it, does. It’s not a power at all. I’m salmon.”
“Then what’s your pattern?” Pribadium asked.
He sat down, and picked up the cup of tea he had been steeping when they showed up. I go where I’m needed. Future, past...other planets, theoretically. I don’t control where I go, or exactly what I’m meant to do when I get there, but that’s my life.”
“What are the sorts of things you do.”
“I make people feel things,” he said, creepily and cryptically.
“You dowhatnow?”
He smiled, realizing he didn’t say that right. “People can get in ruts, and they can get really stressed, and they can get underconfident, or overconfident. I level them out. I give them a boost if they’re feeling depressed, or I take ‘em down a notch if they’re alienating everyone around them. You probably found me because you saw my arrest record. That isn’t real. I only got drunk to show someone who was walking a dark path what rock bottom looked like, so he wouldn’t have to go down there himself.”
“That doesn’t sound...plausible,” Pribadium said.
“You wouldn’t think so, but it worked. Channing is a senator now.”
“And the fake panhandling?” Vitalie questioned. “Who did that help?”
“A lot of people, actually. I didn’t speak to most of them, but I didn’t need to. Homeless people give homed people perspective. It makes them think about their finances. Now, they may not want to do that, but it’s important. They need to be aware of how much money they’re earning, and how much they’re spending. Every time they see someone less fortunate, they have a gut reaction that they can neither control, nor ignore. Look, I’m not a Salmon Runner, or The Kingmaker, and I’m sure as hell not The Savior. My job is subtle...nuanced. Sometimes people just need little nudges, and if that comes in the form of the new watercooler guy who talks a little too much about the game last night, I can fill that role for fifteen minutes.”
“So, that’s what you did to me?” Cassidy asked, a little angry. “You call sending me centuries into the future subtle?
He took a sip of his tea. “I didn’t send you anywhere. I bestowed my pattern upon you...accidentally. As far as I know, that wasn’t meant to happen. I didn’t enter that strip club to do that. I had no idea you were an absorber.”
“Why were you there?” Pribadium asked.
“I think we all know the answer to that,” Vitalie snarked.
Gaz chuckled, and set his tea back down. “No, I’m gay. I wasn’t even there for her. I was there for, umm...Jai Quelen.”
“That’s my...” They never really put a label on it. “Friend. What were you doing with him?”
“Sometimes I don’t know. I walked in there, played my part, and left. Whatever he saw, or didn’t see, it changed him in some way. Hopefully for the better.”
“I do remember him acting a little weird at home that night. I didn’t know he showed up at the club that day.”
“He was holding flowers.”
“Ugh. Shit. And then I disappeared.”
Gaz thought about this. “So, maybe I was there for two reasons. Maybe I was sent to help get you get to the future, and also help your friend get through losing you. Like I was saying, I don’t always know what I’ve done. My impact is ripple-based. The people I meet go off and interact with others, and they interact with others...”
“Well, I need you to do it again,” Cassidy demanded.
“Get you to the future?” he asked for clarification.
“Yes.”
“How do you look so young?” Vitalie interrupted. She was still suspicious of him.
“Oh, I hired a man named Merton Casey. He can reyoungify people. I don’t think you need it, though.”
“I’m gonna be verifying your story.”
Gaz narrowed his eyes, but moved on. “I can let you absorb my pattern again, fine. I can’t control it, though, so I don’t think you can either.”
“If it takes you where you need to go, then it will take us where we need to go.”
Gaz stretched out his hand. “I assume you never really needed to give me a lapdance to take my pattern.”
Cassidy subtly tapped on the palm of his hand with her finger. “Nope.” She stretched her own arms out, and let her two friends take her by the hand. “No one can know we were here.”
“Wheedler-client privilege, I promise.”
Once the three of them were gone, Erlendr’s daughter came back into the room. “You see, Salvy? We’re doing good things here.”
“I’m still not convinced, Gaz,” Arcadia replied with airquotes.