Microstory 2492: Mythodome

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This is a very complex dome, and it’s due to the interconnectedness of world mythology. As I’m sure you’re aware, Earth is home to many a myth, which people once believed, or at least found value in the stories that described them. Since there have been so many cultures in our history, these myths often contradict each other. Lots of them, for instance, came up with a god of the sun, but they could never all be true. That’s where this dome takes liberties, because they are all “true” insomuch as they coexist here. There are indeed multiple sun gods, and they operate as a sort of council. Don’t ask me what they do, though, because as I’m sure you’re also aware, this is all made up. In real life, God doesn’t exist, elves don’t exist, trolls don’t exist. This is an immersive world where such creatures and beings have been engineered out of the specifications presented in the various source materials. It can be hard to track. Some myths even contradict themselves, as told by different authors, and diverging translations. So, Mythodome does its best, but the interesting result—which I’ve been trying to drive at this whole time—is that it is more than the sum of its parts. It has spawned a new mythology, which includes that sun-god council I mentioned, and various factional alliances that never existed in the original stories, because they weren’t culturally related. Part of the experience is learning the new story that has come out of this, which could have hypothetically been its own franchise in traditional media, if someone had thought to be quite this comprehensive before. There are different kinds of elves, for instance, because there have been different interpretations in the stories, and these elves are aware of each other, and have developed complicated relationships with each other naturally. That’s my understanding anyway, which is that their dynamics have taken on a life of their own to form this fresh society, and I think they were doing it before any Earthans came to visit. That alone is interesting enough, not just that these mythical creatures can be genetically engineered, but that we end up with unpredictable consequences as a result of so many variables. I’m rambling now, but suffice it to say that it would not be difficult to spend years here. You could even spend an entire lifetime, making your own way, and finding your purpose. Because very little about this place was prewritten. It’s all been developing on its own, and who knows where it will take us next?

Microstory 2433: Tokyo 2077

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Did you ever go to Tokyo, Japan in the year 2077? Well...welcome back! I don’t know exactly why they chose this year for their recreation. I looked it up, there’s no Tokyo 2042, or Tokyo-Yokohama 2115. Maybe it’s random, or maybe the creator has some particular affinity for this city in this time period. They may have just as easily chosen 2075 or 2078; I dunno. I did find something when I searched for answers in the central archives that the year 2077 was used in a surprisingly great number of media, but they were all set in the future, because they were created before this. So maybe it’s just a nod to that, because the robot staff aren’t telling me anything. They just say, this is Tokyo 2077, have at it. I think I may know why Tokyo was chosen, though. At the turn of the 22nd century, there was a huge push towards population overcentralization. They figured out how to create megastructures that could fit hundreds of thousands of people each. They were nicer, newer, and allowed the rest of the land below to be returned to the plants and animals. They built these things several miles away from the population centers of the time, so people didn’t have to move very far, and once the old cities were emptied out, they could start to bulldoze them over. Tokyo was one of the last holdouts, and not because they hated pandas. There were a number of reasons, but the main one was that they were already so densely packed. There was no room to build the damn thing nearby, especially when competing against other priorities, like preexisting wildlife preserves, and historically protected settlements. They also wanted to build it near the ocean, because people love the water, and all that space was taken up, because like I literally just said, people love the water. Plus, the population by then in the Tokyo Metropolis was already so huge, one of these arcologies barely made a dent anyway. They needed a lot more to make any bit of difference. As I mentioned, it eventually merged with Yokohama, forming one gigantic city that wasn’t going anywhere soon. People eventually did move out, to seasteads, orbitals, interplanetary and interstellar colonies, and to just other parts of the world, but it took longer than anywhere else to find room to construct the megastructures. Anyway, if you have some particular interest in seeing what Tokyo looked like a few decades before this great transition—or in reminiscing—come check it out. There’s plenty to do here, but the theme isn’t any narrower than the city as a whole. It’s only a replica with robots simulating people living their everyday lives, so no one’s going to give you anything specific to do. People are starting to treat it like a violent video game, and destroying the androids like criminal thugs. I don’t know why it’s a growing trend in this particular dome, because the planet is riddled with non-self-aware droids, but you can try that if you have a lot of pent-up aggression. Be yourself, I guess.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 23, 2475

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They programmed the Vellani Ambassador to travel at slightly lower than maximum reframe speed. There was no specific reason for this. They just felt like letting the ship arrive at Castlebourne at the same time they did. It took exactly 365 days to cover the distance of about 108 light years. The Ambassador fell back into subfractional speeds only moments after they all returned to the timestream. Elder had been kept in stasis the whole time, and they wouldn’t wake him back up until they scoped out the area. He was not in good shape mentally, and they were neither equipped nor prepared to help him deal with whatever demons he was fighting.

“Wh—what am I looking at here?” Mateo asked.

“Another unusual and unexpected thing,” Angela noted.

A few centuries ago, people were getting bored with regular old golf. Again. Of course, pioneers had already developed other forms of golf that went beyond the traditional, like speed golf, and arguably, frolf. Tricky Golf was a new iteration, but the only difference was the design of the ball. The course was the same, the rules were the same, but the strokes were a lot harder to keep low. Instead of dimples, the ball had bumps. Poor aerodynamics dampened the lift, and shortened the range, and accuracy was much more difficult to pull off. This resulted in a great deal of frustration, and even anger. But players knew exactly what they were getting into. There was a reason why normal golf balls were made with dimples in the first place. It was never random. The bumps were just as intentional, but this time, to make it a greater challenge.

Tricky Golf was more fun to watch for some, especially when players started tossing their clubs around, and cursing the wind gods. It never really took off—pun intended—for obvious reasons, but there’s a market for pretty much everything, so it never died out either. Some serious professional players even used it as a tool during their training. If they could sink a Tricky Golf ball, they could handle a regular one with ease. That was the idea, anyway. And it would seem that someone who had access to this world took inspiration from Tricky Golf. Maybe it was only a coincidence, but as an ironic occasional viewer of the alternative sport, Mateo chose to believe in a connection. The entire surface of the planet was covered in geodesic domes. Though, to be fair, they weren’t all the same size.

“Ram, open a channel; all frequencies.”

Ramses tapped a few buttons, then pointed to her.

“Vendelin Blackbourne, are you there?” She waited, but received no response. “Kestral McBride? Ishida Caldwell? Anyone on the Stateless Mothership Jameela Jamil, or one of its capital ships, please respond.” Still nothing. “Is anyone receiving this signal?” Not a peep.

“I’m picking up an ACS band,” Ramses declared. “Would you like me to play it?”

“What’s that?” Olimpia asked.

“Automated Control Signal,” Leona explained. “It’s essentially what independent robots and AIs use to coordinate their efforts. Go ahead, let’s here it.”

 Ramses shifted the signal to the speakers. It just sounded like white noise and beeps to them. R2D2 would probably know what they were saying.

“Can you translate?” Marie asked, smiling a bit, hoping that it didn’t sound like a dumbass question.

“Sort of,” Ramses replied. “Largely...build. They’re saying build to each other, over and over again. There are a bunch of other embedded messages layered on top of each other. It would take our computer some time to convert the specifics, but...”

“Don’t bother,” Leona ordered. “Just send one back. Translate...don’t build. Override anything that interferes with this new directive.”

It took him hours to complete what sounded like a simple task to the less knowledgeable in the group. There were a ton of security protocols preventing exactly what they were trying to do; hacking into the system to change its behavior. He only managed to do it by locating the emergency shutdown procedures, which were there to prevent something catastrophic from happening. According to the data that Leona was pulling at the same time, that was exactly what had happened, though the consequences were probably relatively minimal, at least for now.

There was an old thought experiment called the Paperclip Maximizer Theory. The question was, what if you commanded an automated machine to make paperclips, and programmed no other objectives or subroutines into it? What could stop it from fulfilling its mandate ad infinitum? What would happen once it ran out of the usual materials? Would it eventually decide that humans would make good paperclips? From what Leona could tell, that was basically the trigger. Before he left, Vendelin must have commanded his automators to make more dome habitats. In his unexpected absence, they found no reason to stop. He probably forgot about it, and had never come back since leaving, dying, and ultimately ending up working with Team Keshida.

While they were gathering all of this information from the construction logs, the Ambassador was in orbit. The sensors detected 83,839 domes in total, though one of them wasn’t finished when they stopped the robots, so Mateo decided to call it an even 83,838.3. Actually, several of them weren’t completely finished, but the last one wasn’t even airtight yet. Once they were confident that there was no danger on the planet, the whole group teleported down to just outside the main dome. This was the one that was already present when they first came to this world over a century ago. Other automators had built up this dome beyond the castle that was there before. There were now four stone walls to protect it against the approximate zero threats here. There were towers, a keep, and a trench for a moat, though it was not filled with water. Vendelin was clearly into medieval times, because this was what he chose for his own dwelling, but other domes had their own themes.

The dome on one side of the first one was modeled on feudal Japan, while the one on the other side appeared to have been inspired by The Wizard of Oz, or maybe Wicked, complete with a green palace, and a yellow brick road. Another one nearby appeared to be a giant golf course. They teleported into Castledome to see if they could find out more information from the local computers. While the smarties were deep in the complicated data, the other four each grabbed a tablet out of the dispenser, and started looking through what was evidently a visitor’s brochure, which stored a directory of all the domes. Roughly 3,000 of them were indeed designed as their own special getaways, leaving the other 80,000 so far undesignated. Some of them were based on historical periods, while others were inspired by fictional media. A few of the concepts were too large in scope, so they combined multiple domes. There was a Westworld analog, which Mateo went straight to in the directory just out of curiosity. It boasted a full complement of robots, just as the source material did, though it was unclear whether they had actually been built, or if the full amusement park was planned for the future.

It was Marie who realized that a lot of the domes weren’t in the directory, because they were planned for traditional residential units. These were typically less exciting, though they were still meant to house like-minded individuals. Many hundreds of billions of people could pretty much move here starting today. Even though this rock was uninhabitable on its own, Vendelin had big plans for it. Maybe he really had been trying to destroy other planets, to get rid of the competition.

“Found it!” Leona suddenly shouted.

“You found the master code?” Ramses questioned.

“What? No, that’s...encrypted,” Leona replied. “What I found was Vendelin’s personal quantum identifier. This can reach him wherever he is, as long as she’s sufficiently near a quantum computer, even if it’s not his.”

“How does a PQI know where he is if it isn’t his device?” Angela questioned.

“If he’s logged into one of his accounts on any device, or if he has an implant, it will send a near-field signal to any and all quantum computers to identify him.” Ramses sighed, and redirected his attention to Leona. “I thought you were looking for the master code. I want control over all these things.”

“Vendelin can give us that,” Leona explained. “He already has it; we wouldn’t have to hack anything.”

“Wait.” Ramses looked away from everyone. “So do I.” He unceremoniously disappeared.

No one bothered to ask him where he had gone. They just went back to their devices. Mateo was particularly drawn to a dome that purported to simulate a zombie-infested city. He always wanted to test his mettle in such an environment. But what kind of safeguards were in place for something like that? None?

Ramses returned with some kind of portable storage device. Mateo recognized it, but couldn’t quite recall what it was used for. He knew that it wasn’t just for transferring any ol’ files, though.

“No,” Leona decided. “Is that him? No,” she repeated.

“In all likelihood, the Jameela Jamil is still in the Dardius galaxy,” Ramses began to reason. “He’s not gonna get your message. He hasn’t even responded to the one we tried to send him before. This is our only hope...unless we just wanna bug out, and forget the whole thing.”

“No!” Olimpia cried. She wanted to try the citywide escape room dome, if it was even available already.

“What is that?” Angela asked, nodding towards the device.

“Who is that?” Marie corrected. “I’m guessing it’s Vendelin. Why do you have it?”

“We rescued him from the afterlife simulation,” Leona answered instead of Ramses. “We then downloaded his consciousness into a new substrate. We shouldn’t still have this q-state, though. It’s unethical to keep extra copies of intelligent beings without their permission.”

“I didn’t keep it intentionally,” Ramses defended. “I was busy, I forgot.”

“That’s no reason to use it now,” Leona argued. “It would still be unethical. He has not authorized a duplicated emergence.”

“Isn’t he good now?” Olimpia asked them. “I’m sure he would understand.”

“Part of what caused his improvement was his exposure to Team Keshida,” Mateo said. He faced Ramses again. “The version that you have stored in there hasn’t experienced any of that. I agree with Leona. I say we find another way.”

“You could always ask me for the code.” It was Hrockas, standing in the doorway. While Vendelin Blackbourbne had laid claim to what would come to be known as Castlebourne in what he believed to be a game called Quantum Colony, Hrockas managed to unlock access to Pluoraia, which was one of the rare populated worlds. He was devastated to learn that he was not just playing a game, but messing with real people’s lives. He was part of the team’s effort to locate Vendelin, and bring him to justice. What the team didn’t know at the time was that this justice was in the form of an execution.

“How are you here?” Leona asked him. “I thought they shut everyone out.”

“Teagarden opened the quantum terminals back up in a limited capacity,” Hrockas answered. “They gave me permission to come here. They did that with a few of their top players.” He used airquotes. “As long as we don’t travel to any of the populated worlds, they’ve allowed us to continue our construction efforts.”

“So, it was you?” Ramses pressed. “You built all these domes?”

“No, I couldn’t control the automators in the beginning, so I leaned into it. I only designed most of the themes. I hoped to open it up to visitors by the end of the century.”

“We scanned for both human and mech lifesigns,” Leona divulged with suspicion. “You didn’t show up.”

Hrockas laughed. “This is a castle?” he said in the form of a rhetorical question, like she was an idiot. “They’re for defense? It’s shielded,” he finally clarified after she failed to see where he was going.

“Anyone else here we should know about?” Marie asked.

“No, just me. Like I said, I was planning for a Grand Opening in 2500.”

“Are you telling me that Zombie City is ready to go, or at least nearing completion?” Mateo asked, hope in his eyes.

Hrockas debated the answer in his head. “It would take me a few hours to initialize the sim, but yes. I mean...kind of. I’ve programmed all the enemy NPCs in those worlds, but then I realized that something like that would need other survivors, unless enough real people sign up at the same time. Trust me, I’ve tested it out on a smaller scale, and it’s boring unless you can run into other people trying to win.”

“Why do all this?” Leona asked. “A virtual simulation can accomplish all the same things in a fraction of the time.”

“There’s something very exciting about getting your own physical heart pumping,” Hrockas replied. “They’ve done studies. People tend to prefer real world simulations over virtual constructs if they can help it. VR is best left for worlds that break physical laws. They don’t need to co-opt everything.”

“Well...” Leona began, hesitating. “I need this planet.”

“For what?” Hrockas asked.

“Yeah, for what?” No one else knew what she was thinking.

She wasn’t sure how she would be received. “There are some people living under an oppressive regime about 16,000 light years from here. I would like to set this up as a sanctuary world; the final destination of an underground railroad.”

Hrockas chuckled. “Did you see how many domes there are? I don’t know how many people you’re worried about, but I’m guessing there’s plenty of room. The way I see it, anyone who ends up here is a potential customer, so go ahead, and bring ‘em on down. Whenever you’re ready.”

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Microstory 2279: Fine to Be Discharged

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Guess who surprised me with a visit today? That’s right, it was my old parole officer, Leonard Miazga. He’s been so busy, so we’ve only been able to text occasionally, but he’s felt like a bad friend, not checking in on me until now. It’s okay, I didn’t even think about it. It was nice to see him again, though. Other than that, I have nothing to update you on. Besides the medication issues the other day, my life doesn’t really change that much anymore. I lie in the hospital bed, and stare at the TV most of the time. I do my physical therapy in my own room, and out in the hallway, and sometimes do my exercises on my own without the therapist. Then I watch more TV. The nurses come in to give me meds, and check my vitals. It’s all very routine and unexciting. The hospital, my security team, and the police are not letting anyone come in for interviews, and trust me, they have been trying. Apparently, Leonard had a hard time getting through the human barricade, even though he was on a list of approved visitors. Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of here. I’m not one of those people who say that they “hate hospitals” as if that’s some kind of unique or rare personal characteristic to have. You’re not special. I know that’s mean to say, but no one likes death and disease. I just wanna go home because I’ve been here long enough, and I’m ready to sleep in my own bed. I think I can swing it pretty soon here. A normal person under these circumstances might struggle, but we have a little hospital of our own in our house, and a small medical staff, so it shouldn’t be too hard for me to convince the administrators that I am fine to be discharged.

Microstory 2268: Change is My Status Quo

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Welp, yesterday, while you thought all I was thinking about was my meeting with the President, I was actually out doing volunteer work. I was once again rolling up my sleeves, and building houses with Homes for Humankind. I didn’t tell anyone that I was going to do that, because I didn’t want there to be yet another media frenzy, and I’m happy to report that it worked. I put in the work with everyone else, and for hours, didn’t have to worry about all these threats to my life. My security team was there, but instead of standing around in suits and sunglasses, they wore regular clothes, and volunteered too. All of the other volunteers knew who I was, and who my friends were, but they didn’t give me any crap about it. They didn’t give me preferential treatment, or ask me a bunch of questions. Everyone has a story, and it was nice to listen to other people’s, instead of thinking about my own. Some of them really understand a desire for anonymity, so no one leaked information. Still. I feel lucky that we never got caught. Wow, saying that, it makes it sound like I was doing something wrong. This is stressing me out, seeing threats at every turn. I don’t know that I’ll be able to pull it off again. Is that part of my life just over? Will I never be able to just go out and contribute to my community without it ending up on the news, or having to avoid that by going in disguise? Kelly says that I should accept that my life is different than it used to be, and pointed out that change is my status quo. She’s probably right. I’ve complained about rich people only helping others by donating money, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe that’s all I really can do without simultaneously shifting focus to me instead of the cause.

Microstory 2266: Those Little Lifestyle Differences

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Things are changing again. Dutch is totally okay, but none of us wants to go to the hospital again for any reason, whether it’s from overreacting, or something serious. Our security team has all but insisted that we find a doctor to come to our house whenever we need it. We will not be advertising this person’s name, nor any support staff that they’ll find themselves in need of. I didn’t want to take money away from the charities for ourselves, but I don’t think we have any choice. We went to the hospital for Dutch in secret, but we still got caught up in a media frenzy. Now I know why generational wealthy people have always paid others to do things for them. It’s not because they’re incapable, but because everything seems to paint a target on their backs. I never thought that I would become this person, even with all the money in the world. I believe in the common good. But we’re all still in danger from the outside world, so if we have to be a little isolated, then these are the things that I’ll accept. I’ll have security guards operating down the hallway. I’ll have a medical professional either live here, or come to work in this house—every day, or however it ends up working. I can’t start sliding down the slippery slope, though. I have to find ways to stay grounded, and connected to regular people. I don’t want to become everything I hated about the richest people in my universe. Sure, there’s plenty they did that was just despicable and ruthless that I’ll never have to worry about, but it’s those little lifestyle differences that I’m now realizing are what you really have to be on the lookout for. Don’t let me become a jerk, please.

Microstory 2255: A Public Nuisance

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I’m still recovering, but I’m moving around the house just fine on my own. It hurts, but I’m used to pain, so it’s not the end of the world. This is Nick, by the way. It looks like full payment is going to be transferred into our joint bank account sooner rather than later. With that high of a sum, and the legal things that Kelly told you about before, there’s just some regulatory hurdles to jump through. It’s not like I’m depending on that money to get me through the week, so it’s fine. There are still a bunch of news people on our lawn. Some of them left, disappointed that they would never get an interview from any of us. Others have stuck around, either because they don’t believe us, and that we’ll reward their tenacity, or just to be annoying and disruptive. I’m told that there is nothing that we can do to get them to leave unless they place any of us in danger, or try to breach the walls of the house. Lawns are private property, but when it comes to public interest, camping out on them is some sort of gray area. Again, they can’t do whatever they want, but they can just sit or stand there, and they can keep coming back every day if they want. I suggested that we turn on the lawn sprinklers, but that’s apparently some form of assault and needless escalation. I guess there’s just nothing we can do, except wait them out. Fortunately, it’s nicer in here than out there. It’s only getting colder. There’s one silver lining to this. If the crowd gets to be too big, the police will step in, because then it officially becomes a public nuisance, and maybe even a safety hazard. If they were here to protest, or something, then that would be a lawful assembly, and protected under constitutional rights. But they’re not here together; they’re just here for the same reason—or rather, legally speaking, simply similar reasons. If things do escalate to that point, we may be entitled to some form of authoritative protection. It’s a security risk, not knowing if all those people have decent intentions. There could be a serial killer amongst them for all we know. Our security team is doing all they can, watching them at all times, and securing the perimeter. I’m just going to rest and relax, and hope that things don’t get worse. But just a reminder, the team is also taking note of everyone they see, matching identities, and placing everyone into a blacklist, so your only possible accomplishment could be to be intrusive. You’re not going to get the exclusive story, I can guarantee you that.

Microstory 2254: Not on Our Lawn

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Nick is back home, though he’s still on bedrest. The doctors had no strong feelings about him returning to work this quickly, but I do, so I’m going to do this one more post before I let him get back to it. We have another privacy breach. We didn’t tell anyone which facility that he used for his procedures, but someone leaked the information to the media. Fortunately, our security team caught it early, and hustled us out of there before things got crazy. They weren’t able to stop the leak, but they were still able to protect us from the issues. Of course, that’s not all that was in the leak. People have finally figured out exactly where we live too, which was inevitable. They sell maps in Hollywood to celebrity houses. It’s not hard to determine such things if you really wanna know. So they’re camped out on our lawn, each reporter believing that they’ll gain some sort of access to Nick and/or Dutch. They may start to give interviews at some point in the future, but Nick won’t be talking to anyone while he’s in recovery, and at any rate, it will be on their terms. We’ve taken note of everyone on our lawn right now, and will be deliberately excluding them from any interview potential. Congratulations! You just unknowingly disqualified yourself! Anyone who follows in their footsteps will experience the same barrier. But if you’re not on our lawn, and your superiors have not authorized you to do so at some point, fear not, there are other ways to become disqualified from consideration. You could call us incessantly. You could send an inordinate number of letters to our publicist. You could harass our families, or our friends. You could attempt to infiltrate our past employers, or other places that we have frequented. You could try to hack into our security firm. You could try to kill, or otherwise harm, one of us. You could commit any other crime in pursuit of information regarding our lives and situation. Any of these things will be met with swift justice, and an immediate spot on our growing blacklist. Please note that the above is not an exhaustive list of disqualifications, and we reserve the right to amend our requirements and limitations at any time. All three of us are happy to tell you our stories, but there are appropriate ways to ask for that, and inappropriate ways. It will be up to you to choose your path, but there are consequences to every action. You would do best to not forget that.

Microstory 2245: Complaint to You

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I had lunch with my old friends today. It was my former assistant, who replaced me at the jail, and my former parole officer. At first, I thought that Leonard was being respectful by ordering a vegetarian meal, but as it turns out, I inspired him to become a vegetarian. I’m really happy about that, and I hope the trend continues, if only due to the fear of a prion disease. They ran a full investigation of the restaurant where I allegedly (I legally have to say it like that) ate contaminated meat, and they were unable to find evidence of further contamination. So you should be able to eat there again if you want, in case you were waiting for an answer regarding that problem. I guess I should have said something earlier. Anyway, the meal we had today was great, and I enjoyed the company. It was nice to be out in public again, even though men in suits were standing at the ready. I always wanted to be famous, but important—like a politician would be—is a different concept. Someone like that is a target. I did not want it to be like this. I knew there was a chance that I may end up with a stalker or two, but not that everyone I saw was a potential threat. People were staring, not only because it was me, but because I was clearly under protection. Fortunately, it didn’t get any worse than that. I’m not one to advertise my location, so it didn’t draw a big crowd, or anything, but I fear that this might start happening if the media begins to track my movements. Maybe I should just stay home all the time, and never show my face. That may sound like a complaint to you, but it doesn’t sound like one to me. There are worse ways to live, believe you me. Speaking of which, we still haven’t gotten word on whether my offer on the house has been approved. Even if it is, it will still take some time to complete all the paperwork, and whathaveyou. Until next week, goodbye.

Microstory 1861: The Tarmides of Tasmania

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In the late sixteenth century, a certain famous playwright wrote what would become perhaps his most obscure works. He was two years from death, and didn’t even get to see his final piece performed on stage. Once Tarmides of Egypt finally did make it to the theatre, opening night was riddled with such bad luck that it ruined the show’s future indefinitely. The lead forgot many of his lines, his co-star had to give birth halfway through, forcing them to switch to an understudy. The man who played the grandfather died of a heart attack near the end, and another was impaled when the stage collapsed due to all the weight of the people who ran up to tend to the old man. The injury resulted in death a day later. It was for these reasons that all further showings were cancelled. Years later, a different troupe tried to put on another production, but it went badly too. No one else died on the night, but set pieces fell apart, multiple actors flubbed their lines, and historians believe this to be the probable ground zero for what came to be known as the relatively shortlived Lurch Plague. The play was cursed, according to the superstitious majority of the time, and no one else so much as attempted to produce it again for at least a century. Since then, rumors of further unfortunate events have spread about more recent attempts, but most of these claims remain unsubstantiated. The fact of the matter is that the play has almost certainly been produced dozens of times without any issue, but that’s not a very good story, so most students are taught the melodramatically stretched truth that the curse always takes them in the end. The mystique of this whole thing is only fueled by the subject matter of the play itself.

Tarmides was born in Greece, but the narrative is about him immigrating to Egypt to escape his past, only to find himself at the center of one disaster after another. The playwright was probably trying to demonstrate the futility of life, having become more nihilistic in his latter years, but this depressing lesson is lost to the more sensational idea that he was a prophet, who wrote it in order to prompt destruction in the real world. When I was a young man, a tyrant rose to power, and waged a war against the rural parts of my country. Villages were demolished under the weight of his superior technology. I probably wasn’t truly the only survivor, but again, that’s not sensational enough, so the media billed it that way. I became famous, and an international effort formed in order to relocate me to a safer region of the world. Most of the time, developed world nations fight over who has to take in refugees, but in my case, they fought for the honor. Tasmania won, so that’s where I moved. Shortly thereafter, an undersea earthquake in the Southern Ocean sent a tidal wave to the island, killing thousands of people, and destroying a great deal of the infrastructure. Once again, in order to sell papers, journalists began drawing connections between my arrival, and the completely unrelated and unpredictable natural disaster. Like most regular people, I hadn’t even heard of the play myself at the time, but I soon came to be known as The Tarmides of Tasmania. This nickname followed me for the rest of my life. Whenever an item fell off of the shelf at the grocery store, or I was around when it began to rain, I was blamed for it. There was always someone around who enjoyed pointing it out, especially if something even moderately inconvenient happened to someone else. I lived the rest of my life with this mark, and as much as I don’t want to die, I won’t miss it.

Microstory 1383: Solitude

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News Reporter: Solitudinarian, thank you so much for meeting with me. It is a great honor.

Solitudinarian: Thank you.

News Reporter: First question, have you found it difficult to reintegrate into society, because of all the technology you’re not familiar with?

Solitudinarian: Because of all the technology with which I’m not familiar.

News Reporter: That’s one thing that’s changed in the forty-two years you were away.

Solitudinarian: Grammar? Grammar doesn’t change.

News Reporter: Okay.

Solitudinarian: It’s been tough, but I’m not sure I would use the term reintegration. I have no interest in remaining in your world, even after all I’ve seen.

News Reporter: But you returned to society because you needed something?

Solitudinarian: Yes, I was dying of an infection. I was feeling desperate, and I came back for help. I had no idea there would be this huge media frenzy about it. I only agreed to this interview, because you work for a station that I recognize. I don’t understand all these padcasts, and computer bogs.

News Reporter: So, you still feel disillusioned with civilization?

Solitudinarian: I can’t really answer that honestly. I mean, I don’t know everything that’s been going on. I still see racism, though. And I see the government is still standing, which I’m opposed to. It may be a better government. It may even be the best possible, but I still do not wish to remain under its rule.

News Reporter: Fair enough. Tell me about how you were living. What did you do day-to-day?

Solitudinarian: Well, I stuck near my cabin. It’s by a bountiful stream so I never wanted for food. I learned what plants were edible in my area, and eventually cultivated, so I could grow them in a more controlled environment, and in sufficient quantities.

News Reporter: Did you hunt?

Solitudinarian: ...

News Reporter: I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was a trick question.

Solitudinarian: I’m ashamed to say I did. Very infrequently, though. If I had a bad winter, I might have to catch a rabbit or two. But I still consider myself a pescatarian. I don’t even keep a goat for milk, or anything.

News Reporter: When you started getting sick, had you experienced anything like that before? What were your thoughts?

Solitudinarian: I’ve been sick before, of course, even after I left home. I always got through it, but I do understand that I’m an old man now, and my body doesn’t get over things like it used to. According to doctors, all I needed were antibiotics, and they were pretty convinced I did the right thing by seeking help. It was definitely a last resort, though. I didn’t want to do it.

News Reporter: Well, we’re all glad you survived.

Solitudinarian: For your interview?

News Reporter: Nope. Just because you’re a human being, and we could all do a little bit better at looking out for one another.

Solitudinarian: I see.

News Reporter: Let’s switch gears a little bit. Has anyone tried to teach you how to use a computer, or a phone, or any other tech that wasn’t around before you went into the woods?

Solitudinarian: They’ve taught me some. The social worker the state assigned me gave me something called a flip phone. They tried to give me this crazy device that you’re supposed to use with your fingers. There aren’t any buttons on the thing itself. It all comes up on the screen. Anyway, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, and I sound like an idiot.

News Reporter: You do not, sir.

Solitudinarian: I couldn’t handle it, so they just gave me a regular one, so they can keep in contact with me. I still have to remember to plug it in every week, which has caused some problems, because in my day, phones just stayed plugged in.

News Reporter: So, they set you up with housing too? You have a room?

Solitudinarian: Yeah, I live in something called a halfway house. It’s for people who just got out of prison. They got ‘em all over, but this particular one is designed for old men like me, so I don’t have any problems with them.

News Reporter: But you’re trying to get back to the woods?

Solitudinarian: The doctors say they want me to stay to run more tests, but I’ve made peace with my condition. If anything like this happens again, I’ll just stay in my cabin, and wait to die. Like I said, I’m old. When I was born, life expectancy was only around seventy, so I would say I did okay. My life’s been pretty great. I don’t pay taxes, or deal with nosy neighbors. I’m ready to go, if it’s my time.

News Reporter: In terms of taxes, how does that work? Are they saying you broke any laws by leaving society?

Solitudinarian: My social worker is helping me with the legal stuff, to make sure I didn’t do anything wrong. I think it’s gonna be fine. He’s confident, even if I do technically owe the government money, they’ll waive it, because I haven’t actually done anything bad. The fact that I was so young when I left, I don’t own any guns, and I’ve never stolen, works in my favor.

News Reporter: That’s interesting. Thanks for speaking to us. I hope you go back to the life you want, but I also want you to be safe and healthy.

Solitudinarian: Thank you very much, madam.

Microstory 435: Floor 7 (Part 1)

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We here in quality management do a lot more work than anyone else. We keep watch over the entire process of building a product. We make sure designs work on paper, then we test them under controlled conditions, then we keep track of customer complaints. We should have been the first to hear about the window deaths, but we weren’t. Instead, the survivors of the deaths got together and went to the media, and the whole thing blew up in everybody’s face. If the first time it happened, we had been notified, we could have done something about it. I see no real proof that Analion is at all at fault here, but if we are, then we should have been given the opportunity to correct the mistake. That was the real problem. Yeah, maybe a few products are defective, but if no one tells us about it, how are we supposed to know? I know what you’re thinking; that finding that out is our job. And it is, but we don’t test for real-world conditions. We have no control over what the installers we contract out do, or how the end users mishandle the products. That is, unless we are appropriately notified of any problems. They say it can’t be an installer mistake, because there were multiple installers. That doesn’t mean anything. They could have each installed the windows incorrectly, who knows? Who knows is right, we may never know. A logical protocol for communication wasn’t followed, and so the truth may remain hidden forever. I wish things could have turned out differently, but my scope is only so wide. I rely on the hard work and competence of everyone around me. That’s how the world works, though, doesn’t it? We are all beholden to each other. I better go recite to serenity prayer before I get myself worked up much more.

Microstory 414: Floor 29 (Part 1)

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My mother cannot figure out what my job in marketing is to save her life. To be fair, she was born, and spent most of her life, in India, so there is a bit of a language barrier. Mostly I think it’s just that she doesn’t want to accept that her daughter pursues market research. Of course people like me exist in India, but it’s not the kind of profession she wanted me to get into. Sure, she wanted me to go to business school, but she thought I would go back to our home country and help some large corporation. She watches a lot of American television, and she just sees people in business suits making things happen. I guess she doesn’t really know what she wants. For those of you who don’t know, marketing is not sales. We don’t get on the phone and try to get people to buy our stuff. We figure out what people want now, and we work on ways to manipulate trends so that what people want changes to what we have. I love my job, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. I’m extremely extroverted, so it’s a great opportunity for me to get out there and meet new people. It’s my responsibility to curate relationships with others so that the company has a network of allies and consumers. I like to move around the department and learn new things. Right now I’m just supposed to research the history of trends. It’s rather boring, but I am learning a lot. I’m scheduled to move on to the social media team where I was hoping to make a few changes there and see if they stick. As of now, the team just tries to post at least once on every social media platform. First off, that’s not enough, but they’re also not very engaging. They’re looking for ‘likes’, but ‘likes’ are empty. What you really want are reshares. You want more brand exposure. They also ask customers to do dumb things like post selfies in front of our buildings. Forgive me, but no one wants to do that. Unfortunately, I don’t know what’s going to happen with the company, let alone the department or team.  Analion is going through a pretty bad rough patch, and they need someone with experience to come in and save our reputation. That’s okay, it’ll just be one more person I get to meet. Hopefully they don’t think we had anything to do with those tragic deaths.

Microstory 152: Drummond Breckenridge

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There was only one survivor of an extremely famous plane crash. It was famous for having crashed on The Day of No Death, and also because a second plane fell at the exact same spot a year later, for a somewhat related reason. It was Drummond Breckenridge’s ability that kept him alive. Just before the plane started falling, he noticed that every single other passenger fell asleep all at once. He had assumed this to be the cause of the crash, but chose to tell no one of his suspicions. Drummond’s body has an enhanced survival extinct, capable of neutralizing a threat in four separate ways. He was always known to have a silver tongue, and could convince anyone of just about anything reasonably believable, but there were three defense mechanisms that he did not yet know about. While the plane was tumbling from the sky, a protective shell formed around his entire body, freezing him in place until the danger had passed. This cocoon is virtually impenetrable, and will only reopen once it has completed its job. Fortunately, it reopened before medical responders had arrived on the scene of the crash. Drummond discovered his third defense at a moment when he was overwhelmed by the media. They were hounding him, and trying to figure out why he and he alone survived, and why on that day. His body reacted and sent him nearly a kilometer away at superspeed. He could never run as fast as Luka Drake, but no other human could match his land speed. The final defense was the absolute most dangerous one. The government department that had been protecting the mutants on an island uncovered evidence of Drummond’s ability, and attempted to read him into the situation. He felt too vulnerable and trapped to respond using his first three defenses. There was no talking his way out of this one. If he formed his cocoon, they would just be able to wait him out. There were too many agents for him to run from. His body reacted with its only choice: fight. Drummond transformed mentally, but not physically, into a wild beast. He tore through the team one by one, killing most of them, and injuring what was left only because he wasn’t in control enough to realize that they were still alive. He eventually recovered, and a smaller team went in using a different tactic. They urged him to control his abilities, especially the violent one. His flight response kicked in after the conversation, however, and the government never caught up with him. He made his way to Bellevue before they revealed themselves to the world, despite not being contacted by them. But it was a dark time for them, and he immediately felt just as alone as he had for the last several months. It was not until later that he found his place as a physical education teacher.