Microstory 2398: Vacuus, May 13, 2182

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Dear Pascal,

Thank you for your letter. I have shared this development with Velia, but we’re not telling anyone else, at least not for now. We were so excited when the researchers told us that the Valkyries were moving on, and we would suffer under their harsh rule no longer. It never occurred to us that Condor wouldn’t be there when we got to the other side of the unfortunate blackout. We talked about him often, wondering what became of him with his new job, and what fun new people he would have met over the last two years. I can’t believe he’s gone, and I’m frustrated at how unfair it is that we were separated from each other for so long. We finally reconnected, only to be ripped away once more, like some cruel cosmic joke. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you. You got to know him fully. You watched him grow up. You’ve seen his laugh. He sent a few photos of himself to me and Velia, and one video to Velia. He wasn’t really much of a smiler, but we don’t have very many examples, do we? I sure would have liked to see that face again. Since we can’t tell him, Velia wants me to let you know that she waited for him. She knew she would never get the chance to meet him in person, but still, she hasn’t met anyone else. She hasn’t tried, and she hasn’t let it happen. But...I think it probably needs to happen now. Condor wouldn’t want her pining for someone who can’t even write to her from across the void, would he? No, I knew him well enough to know that. Anyway, I’ll let you go. There’s nothing to say about the blackout. Most of our lives didn’t change on a day-to-day basis. For the most part, it has no effect on our internal communications. My job is a bit different, but as the saying goes, it’s nothing to write home about. I’m still doing what I’ve been doing forever. Maybe that’s how I could honor Condor in my way, by doing something brave, and making a change in my life. I’ll think about it. Thanks again for replying. The anticipation was making me sick to my stomach. At least now I know the truth.

Your loving daughter,

Corinthia

Microstory 2397: Earth, May 5, 2182

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Dear Corinthia,

I regret to inform you that my son, Condor Sloane has been missing since January 4, 2180. I was made aware that he was hired for a new job working with a global outfit that has since been defunct. They were trying to restore this planet to its original health before the toxins, and while they were moderately successful, they have since lost all steam, and talent. Condor could have been a great asset to them, but he never made it to their rendezvous point in the North Queensland Dome. The initial suspicion was that his truck broke down on his way out there, and he succumbed to the environment after life support ran out, or that he crashed, and lost life support right away. I spent weeks combing the desert, looking for any sign of him. I searched the road, I searched off the road, I searched detours, I searched everywhere. And once I had finished searching everywhere I thought he could possibly be, I began to search everywhere else. I heard reports of someone spotting him somewhere near Bowen Orbital Spaceport, but when I went to investigate there, I couldn’t corroborate the witness’ story, and when I tried to reach out, this witness was nowhere to be found either. I’m sure it was just a prank. For the last two years, though, I’ve kept searching. I’ve run down every lead. He didn’t just disappear into thin air. I thought maybe my old neighbor had gotten to him, or Condor’s old nurse. They have both lied, and maybe there was more to the study that Condor was on the verge of discovering, and they had to shut him up. Or maybe they just wanted to study him again. Maybe us asking all these questions only served to renew their interests in the endeavor. I found nothing. I found no evidence of anything. My best guess at this point is that he ended up in the water, somewhere along Australia’s eastern coast. It would be impossible to find him under these conditions. It could have happened anywhere from Old Brisbane to the Blackbraes dome. I wish that I had better news, and I wish I could keep going, but I buried my son. I held a funeral for him, and everything. I’m an old man now, and can’t keep traveling like I used to. I’ve recently settled in a region that was once called Ecuador. The poisonous gases are still here, and it’s still deadly to go outside, however, this close to the equator, the sunshine is able to break through. You can see the sky from the ground during the day, and shortly after nightfall, you can even make out a few stars before the particles recongregate, and it fogs over once more. It’s a highly coveted place to live, and a great place to retire. Condor would say that I’ve earned it, and I’m trying to honor him that way. I’m sorry. I know he meant a lot to you. It was a lovely service, you deserved to be there. I should have recorded it for you. I just wasn’t thinking. I’ve attached the program, though, so you can imagine having been there.

Bittersweet to hear from you again after all this time,

Pascal

Microstory 2313: Earth, January 1, 2025

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Dear Readers,

Let me tell you a story. Roughly ten years ago, the scientific community began to take seriously the hypothesis that a Planet 9 existed somewhere beyond the orbit of Neptune. For centuries prior to that, nonscientific theories popularized the dream of a Planet X, but these were largely based on speculation, and a poor understanding of the data. It was only recently that any evidence legitimately supported the idea of a solar model that proposed such a wild explanation for this missing mass. Ten years from now, advances in astronomical observation technology will prove that a celestial body of significant mass does indeed exist, and that it is currently orbiting the sun about 1200 astronomical units away from us. About 108 years later, fusion rockets will be efficient and powerful enough to deploy a manned mission to the newly discovered celestial body, which they had since named Vacuus. Probes had been sent prior to this, at higher velocities due to lighter equipment, and no concern for life support, but they were all lost. No one could tell why, but their hearts were full of wonder, and the right candidates volunteered for what many called a suicide mission. Eighteen years later, the ship arrived at its destination, and began to unravel the mysteries of this cold, distant world. One of the passengers was a young woman whose mother brought her along when she was a baby. Corinthia Sloane always felt that something was missing in her life, and everything fell into place when she learned what everyone she had ever known had been keeping from her this whole time. She had a twin brother who she had never met. But the real problem was...she might never even have the chance now. The following letters comprise their initial correspondences, each one taking around a week to reach its destination, given the time lag imposed by vast interplanetary distances.

Yours fictionally,

Nick Fisherman III

Microstory 2148: Wokest of Folk

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I agreed to have dinner with my neighbor yesterday evening. She framed the invitation as a friendly stranger passing by me in the hallway, but she knew who I was, and has read some of my blog. She’s not a crazy stalker, though, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve just been pretty good at marketing my site in the local area. There’s a bulletin board in the lobby of our apartment complex, for instance, where people can post lost animal flyers, or musical instrument lessons. I printed out a slip of paper that just gives my address, and tacked it up there. It doesn’t even say what the site is, so people have to try it to see. There aren’t enough people living here to make much of a dent in my readership—especially not these days—but marketing is all about cost versus return, and it cost me almost nothing. Anyway, the dinner went well, she was very nice, and a really good cook. She’s a vegetarian too, so I didn’t have to worry about making her feel bad about making something special on my account. She prepared us sweet potato and black bean enchiladas with avocado crema. Sweet potatoes are one of those foods that I had to grow to like later in life, and I’m glad I did for this situation. I’m sure you’re all wondering if sparks were flying, but please don’t. Where I’m from, it’s annoyingly taboo for a man and a woman to be friends. Even the wokest of folk think that it doesn’t work, but as an omnisexual, I say, what even is a man, and what is a woman? Your “theory” may stop making sense when you answer that. There’s nothing romantic going on between us, and there wouldn’t be even if I weren’t loyal to Cricket.

Microstory 2085: Passing a Hat Around

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We’re all pretty bummed at work today. Like I told you, I have a co-worker who has gone missing. I actually never had the pleasure of meeting him. He wasn’t on the schedule on my first day. He was on it for my second day, but he never showed up, which is why it was so crazy and hectic for me. You never wanna be short-staffed when you’re trying to train someone new. For the last couple of weeks, the police have been investigating his disappearance, though investigate is probably a bit of a strong word. The way I hear it, he wasn’t the most responsible dude, but he wasn’t the type to just skip town, and not tell anyone. My boss believes that he might—might—be the type to skip town, but make contact afterwards to apologize, but even that’s a stretch. He reportedly loved working at the nursery. They think he may have had some debt issues, though, which is why they’ve decided to drop the case. Their current theory is that he just decided to leave at the beginning of the month, and start a new life somewhere else. He doesn’t appear to have any family; in the area, or otherwise, so he would have found it easy to leave everything behind. The rest of us aren’t so sure. It’s not just that he wasn’t showing signs of wanting to run. He was looking forward to a party last weekend, and he was a month away from finally paying off his car. His friends don’t think that he would miss out on the satisfaction. It doesn’t add up. I’m pretty upset about it myself. I don’t exactly know why. It could be that I have a general disdain for injustice and unfairness, or because I had to call the man a million times to try to get him to come into work. Even though I had no way of knowing, I feel bad about the whole thing. Knowing what I know now, it seems so petty to have been so anxious about his absence. I’m thinking about passing a hat around to collect money for a private investigator, but I do not want to overstep. I’m still so new, to the company, and to the world itself.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Year 292,398 Part 2

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Leona admires the stars for the next few seconds before shaking it off, and getting back to business. They could be in a lot of danger here. The Bridgette was designed to survive the vacuum of space, but that has yet to be properly tested. It was something that Ramses was meaning to do, but it would have required wearing a spacesuit as backup, and it was this whole thing. “Constance, report!”

“All systems nominal,” the AI replies.

“All systems, really?”

Constance takes a moment. “Really.”

“Thank you. Where are we?”

“Unknown. Unable to calculate.”

“I see a planet.” Marie points out the viewport. “It looks nothing like Earth.”

Leona sticks her face up against the glass. “That could still be Earth. Billions of years ago, it didn’t have water yet. Constance, please locate any and all satellites orbiting the celestial body along with us.”

“Four objects of significant mass are currently orbiting the planet below,” Constance responds.

“So, definitely not Earth,” Marie assumes.

“Don’t be so hasty,” Leona tells her. “We don’t know what the solar system was like back then. Let’s try this. Constance, how far are we from the host star?”

“We are currently located one hundred and forty-seven million kilometers from the host star.”

“Hmm...can you be more exact?” Leona requests.

“One hundred and forty-seven million, two hundred and sixteen thousand, one hundred and twenty kilometers.”

Leona turns away, and starts talking mainly to herself. “The Earth was never that close. I mean, not once it was formed, and that world down there is fully formed. Wait, what’s the diameter of this planet?”

“Six thousand, one hundred and eight kilometers.”

“Similar to the size of Mars,” Leona notes, still to herself.

“So, it’s Mars,” Marie thinks.

Leona’s eyes widen. “Constance, find the other nearest massive celestial body.”

“Another object is orbiting the host star at about the same distance as us, in the path of our object’s orbit.”

“Holy shit.”

“What is it? Is it Mars? That doesn’t sound like Mars.”

“It’s Theia.”

“Theia Stendhal?”

Leona shakes her head. “That’s Téa. Theia is a planet.”

“I don’t remember learning that in school.”

“It doesn’t exist anymore. I mean...it won’t.” She points at the viewport, which is showing what the solar system looked like 4.5 billion years ago.

“What happens to it?” Marie questions.

Leona looks her straight in the eye. “It crashes into Earth. It’s what forms the moon. The hypothesis was right.”

“Are we gonna die?” Marie asks.

“No, Marie—” Leona stops herself, and sighs. “Maybe. I don’t know exactly when The Constant was built. It seems unlikely that it would have survived the giant impact, which suggests that it was built sometime after that happened, while the Earth was reforming-slash-recovering.”

“When exactly is the impact gonna happen? Can we wait it out?”

Leona can’t help but laugh. “At the earliest, millions of years.”

“So...no,” Marie jokes. “We have a teleporter, though. Isn’t Earth our best hope?”

“Well, let me do the math. The Bridgette has a teleportation range of about 13,000 kilometers per jump. We can make maybe a dozen jumps before we run out of temporal energy...”

“Is that enough?”

Leona is a bit surprised. “Sorry, I thought that math was easier to figure. We’re around 10,000 jumps too short. We should have brought the AOC.”

“Teleporting to destination,” Constance suddenly announces, completely unprompted.

“What, why?”

They jump before Constance can respond, and find themselves floating in the middle of an Olympic-size pool.

“Oh, crap. Go. Teleport, Marie, to the energy generation room. Go, go, go, go, go!”

Marie closes her eyes, but doesn’t go anywhere. “I can’t, I’m stuck.”

“I was afraid of this. This place must be able to control internal movement, as well as external intrusion. I don’t know as much about this place as I would like.”

The doors to the pool open, and a figure comes towards them, which they quickly recognize as none other than Danica Matic. She takes out a megaphone. “Please exit the vehicle with your hands up!”

“Is she serious?” Marie asks.

“She is right now.”

Leona opens the hatch, and waits. “Do you have, like, a raft, or maybe a ladder?”

“You can swim, can’t ya?”

“Goddammit,” Leona mutters. She sighs, and slips into the water. Then she swims over the edge and climbs out as Marie follows closely behind. “It’s so nice to see you!” she tells Danica in an incredibly passive-aggressive high-pitched voice.

“Thanks!” Danica replies, matching her energy. “You just missed him!”

“Missed who?” Now apparently they can’t stop with the voice.

“Your husband, Mateo! He disappeared from a locked room, and funny thing, I don’t remember a thing that happened in there since I  closed the door behind us!”

“Did you check the cameras?”

“Oh, I forgot to do that, because I’m a total idiot!” She takes a beat. “They’ve all been erased!”

“Take me to that room, and I’ll look into it,” Leona offers, in a deeper, more genuine voice.

“No!” Danica has decided not to drop the voice yet. “You’re both going into stasis for a very long time! Congratu-frickin-lations!”

Microstory 1692: No Signal

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After the Besananta left its home universe in an attempt to explore the bulkverse, those left behind eagerly awaited their return. They waited, and they waited, and still no one came back. They tried looking for data that the ship might have sent, or that a probe picked up at some point, but there was nothing conclusive. As far as they could tell, the mission was a huge failure. There were some theories, like that travel outside of a brane was possible, but back into one was impossible. However, signals could clearly penetrate the membrane, so that didn’t seem too likely. Perhaps the destination universe was so amazing that the crew decided to stay there, and forget about everyone else. That seemed strange too. They might have encountered some terrible threat that forced them to cut off all contact with Infiniverse. That wasn’t entirely unbelievable, but in the end, these theories didn’t really matter. They had no way of knowing how the mission turned out. Did they make it to another universe? If so, why did they not return? The chances were too high that the ship didn't survive, for one reason or another. They decided to stay, and never try again. Answering those questions weren’t going to do them any good. Just because they could tell that other universes existed, didn’t mean that they were any good, or worth traveling to. They didn’t find any other life here, so they were going to have to make do. That was what they did. They chose to expand back out into the stars, so that before too long, aliens did exist, because a civilization that started from a colony a thousand years ago was no more similar to them than one that had evolved on its own. Here they remained for the rest of the age of their universe. Some cultures died out, while others thrived, while more rose up. This was the way things were supposed to be. People weren’t really ever meant to explore the bulkverse at all. It wasn’t designed for travel, which is why it was such a fluke. The Infiniversals just had to recognize this truth.

Microstory 857: Drive Out

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My best friend and roommate, Deena Norup comes up with the craziest of theories, and as absurd as they sound when you first hear them, they start making a bit of sense the more she explains her reasoning. And she has been right every single time. She thought that our neighbors to the North were cheating on each other with our neighbors to the South. She insisted that the North house husband was sleeping with the South house wife, and vice versa. I didn’t believe until the truth finally came out a week later, and we watched the four of them get in a huge screaming match on our lawn. Deena also predicted that the mayor of our town was actually featured in a number of scifi B-movies in the early 90s, but always while wearing some alien or monster costume. This turned out to be one hundred percent true, and I still don’t know how she discovered it. He only ever did it to help his second cousin, who was a filmmaker, and he was never credited for his parts. She just sees connections that other people don’t. So when I tell you she believed the paralegal at the law firm where she works as a receptionist was secretly an inventor with hundreds of patents, you know I was on board with proving it. The paralegal dressed in modest inexpensive clothing, treated everyone as if they were his boss, and didn’t seem to have a personal life. No one but Deena would expect this guy to be a multimillionaire who carved out an extensive underground lair under his one house, but it turned out to be there, just as she said. We put on our comfortable black clothes, broke into his house, and snuck downstairs, where we found a massive garage full of rare classic cars. We went another level down to find a laboratory with tons of equipment and machines that neither of us could name. The third level was finished, but almost completely empty, like it was waiting to be designated for some interesting purpose. The only thing in it was another car, but it was of no model we recognized, by no apparent make. He must have built it himself from scratch.

The car gave Deena a bad feeling that only increased the nearer she got to it. She begged for us to leave, but we were this close, so how could I not at least check it out? I opened the door and crawled inside. Right away, I could see that this car must have come from the future. The windows turned opaque, and displayed full 4K screens. There was a coffee maker, and a stove; both of which were built into the interior. The passenger seat lifted up to reveal a toilet, and the back seat turned into a tub. Once my foot was clear, the front door closed on its own and locked itself. I couldn’t open it from the inside, and Deena couldn’t let me out either. The screens indicated that the vehicle was in vacuum mode, which freaked me out, but I could steal breathe, so maybe I was misinterpreting what that meant. Still, I needed to get out somehow. By now, alarms were going off in what must have been the whole lair, but Deena was just standing there, as calm as ever. “Drive,” she said simply. What the hell did that mean? I continued looking for an exit, but there was nothing. The only way I was going to solve this problem was with help somewhere else, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to trust what Deena says. I turned the engine, and started driving forward, hoping to find an exit somewhere. The wall in front of me opened on its own, and let out to the yard above. There waiting for me was a horde of angry men and women with guns. They were all wearing suits, so I assumed them to be federal agents. The paralegal was there too. He spoke to me through his wrist watch, “Miss Norup should not have shown you that. It is not for you.” I was desperate to get out of there, any way possible, and it was like the car read my mind. It started hovering over the ground, then rose higher and higher. Through cameras on the side of the car, I could see that the wheels had turned into rocket engines, and were flying me away. It just kept going and going, high above the atmosphere, and I finally realized what vacuum mode was. I looked at the back camera feed, and could see the agents had followed me with their own flying cars. This must be part of some secret government program. A friendly voice spoke to alert me that the drive-in theatre was now populated, and that the end had come. The screen showed me footage of a parking lot filled with a bunch of vans. Then the Earth disappeared...literally. All that survived were that parking lot, and these spacecars.

Microstory 559: Magnus Immortality Claimed to Be Real

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A man who goes by the nom de guerre Dr. Inquiry (not an actual doctor) has come up with yet another theory that he says will shock the viewers of a certain popular broadcast series. Dr. Inquiry—whose real name is Tad Bland (you can see why he doesn’t use it)—has made a number of outrageous claims over the years. He’s already gone down in history as the only “reputable conspiracy theorists”. While no confirmed evidence exists for most of his crazy ideas, one time seven years ago, he was extraordinarily validated. Most did not believe him when he said that scientists had accidentally accessed another universe, but this turned out to be true. Some of the team was even trapped on the other side, and it’s not known whether they remain alive today, for the survivors have refused to describe their experience in detail. Dr. Inquiry took this fame, and used it to fuel the second wind of his career, trying to convince people of other theories, but as stated earlier, he has not enjoyed any further success. Now he’s claimed to have made a discovery regarding the fictional serial Magnus Immortality. And it’s rather simple. He says that the show is about a real immortal person, galavanting and adventuring across some other galaxy, possibly many thousands, or even millions, of years ago.

The creator of the Magnus Immortality, Leandra Shelburn has been famously secretive about where she gets her ideas. She and her anonymous partner are the only two people on the writing team. Two-hundred and sixteen episodes are produced every year, and only two people have true creative control over its narrative. The possibility that they are somehow witnessing events from another galaxy, in any time period, may sound preposterous, but the concept is not without its merit. Not a single other person is even allowed in their writing room, which they insist on referring to as “the lab”. One of Dr. Inquiry’s sources in the electric company has revealed that this “lab” draws a significant amount of power; uncharacteristically so for a simple writers’ room. My own source at Absolute Power Energy Cooperative has, believe it or not, authenticated these findings. Of course, this would never be enough to suspect a bizarre theory regarding galaxies far, far away, but Dr. Inquiry has other proof. Since his unexpected triumph with the truth about the transdimensional gateway, Bland has been desperate to find its sequel. He has kept an eye out for similar cases around the world, and has learned of certain purchases that Shelburn made that are not relevant to a broadcast pre-production department. Instead, Dr. Inquiry says, these parts and pieces of equipment would better serve their owner for some kind of particle accelerator. Furthermore, Grayscale Film Studios—where Magnus Immortality is filmed—covers an area of over 3100 square shemra. This would be more than large enough to fit the largest particle accelerator in the world underground. If true, this secret would require the cooperation of hundreds, if not thousands, of Grayscale Film employees, and likely other contractors. This is the one major limitation to this idea, but I must admit that it’s always been suspicious how large the Grayscale campus is, especially since a lot of it is nothing more than forest and other wildlife environments. I’m not saying that Magnus Immortality is all real. I just think there are some questions that need answers...

Microstory 553: Area Hospitals Experiencing Impossible Cures

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Doctors, and other health professionals, at a number of hospitals on the border of Vermont and Captain Mason are baffled by a string of unexplainable recoveries. Reports have come in so far from eleven area hospitals of a record number of people being miraculously healed of terminal diseases. Children’s wards have especially seen high numbers of these cures. Authorities have attempted to pinpoint the source of the phenomenon, under the assumption that some new drug has been invented with governmental regulation. Security footage in all twenty-four cases has been erased, further cementing the theory that this is being done to them by some individual, or possibly a group. Tests have revealed no proof that the patients’ systems encountered any chemicals compounds that could have done this to them. Patients were suffering from a wide range of diseases, having nothing in common across the board except for all conditions being fatal, and having short prognoses. The Domestic Affairs Service has taken point of the investigation, and requests anyone with any information to please call the hotline at the bottom of this page.

Microstory 495: Architect

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The Architect has a knack for solving problems, which I know, seems like something everybody around here can do. He’s always preferred to work alone but has recently become more engaged with others in an attempt to be a better person. He is often found with The Composer and The Crafter; two other quiet people who just sort of get him. Together they carry out special projects and missions, sometimes without speaking a word, each one understanding what the others are thinking by their actions. He acts as a conduit between these two and the rest; able to kind of translate what they mean by something. He can be a little over-critical, but he always has everyone’s best interests in mind. He has a level of secrecy, but unlike The Promoter—who has legitimate reasons to keep everyone in the dark—The Architect is really just trying to protect himself. Yet he can’t help himself when it comes to his interactions with other people. A lot of people know his secrets. What none of them knows, however, is all of his secrets. This level of compartmentalization serves as a subtle hint as to how the new organization should operate. Independent departments are created, inspired by The Architect’s theories of cooperation, each one tasked with taking care of a different aspect of oversight. But that is not his only legacy...

Microstory 494: Promoter

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A great deal of mystery surrounds The Promoter. He claims to be from a planet that no one has ever heard of. Nor can he tell anyone exactly where it is. A few theories are indeed floating around about planets spinning somewhere in the galaxy that have not yet connected with everyone else, or have lost contact, and been forgotten by history. The most recent of these was Rinen Rinen, but that was a special circumstance, because its settlers were traveling at relativistic speeds. Since its discovery, scholars and scientists have pored through the records, looking for any evidence of secret planets, but have come up with nothing, not even the Promoter’s home. Just the same, he assimilates into society perfectly. He and The Mastermind are best friends with much in common. Both are spontaneous and ever-present, but while the Mastermind tends to be more independent, the Promoter prefers to use his easy-going attitude to lighten the mood for others. He is always game for a good joke, or an intriguing story. He is an excellent problem-solver, and could probably work well alone, but chooses to help others around him find the answer at their own pace. He is a strong advocate for both self-reliance and communal assistance. He is often seen eating literally, or biting off more than he can chew on a new project. He has no apparent education—which only adds to his mystery—but likes to get his hands dirty and try new things. He’s always asking questions, and it’s hard to tell whether he wants to know the answer, or if he already does, and is just testing you. Because of how mindful he is of the present, he can often lose focus on the future, and stresses too much about immediate results. He also likes to disappear with no explana

Microstory 484: Floor 1 (Part 2)

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Lobby Guard: What are you doing here?

Firefighter: We were sent here. Did someone call 911?

Lobby Guard: I did, but I just requested the coroner. The subjects died on impact, you are not needed.

Firefighter: With respect, sir, you are not qualified to pronounce someone dead. Now let me through so I can do my job.

Lobby Guard: We are on lockdown, I’m not letting anyone through.

Firefighter: The fire department belongs to emergency services, we need to get by. I don’t know what your building’s policy is regarding lockdown, but I assure you that we are allowed to break it. Now..move!

Lobby Guard: Your emergency services are not needed. Nobody is hurt, just a few people are dead.

Firefighter: Reidemeister, inform the chief that we are being rejected at the door. Then get an ETA on the nearest police cruiser.

Kallias Bran: My ears were burning.

Firefighter: This doesn’t concern you, Bran. You’re not a cop anymore. And didn’t you used to be older?

Kallias Bran: I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Firefighter: He’s locked the door. We can’t get in, and do not have clearance to break in. That doesn’t mean there’s anything to investigate here.

Kallias Bran: You don’t need clearance. I know this building. It’s special.

Firefighter: What the hell is that thing?

Kallias Bran: It’s the Escher Knob. It’ll get us in.

Firefighter: This isn’t one of your crazy theories, Bran. This building is actually real.

Kallias Bran: Yes...and no.

...

Firefighter: Oh my God, how the hell did we end up inside?

Kallias Bran: I brought the lobby to us. Go on and get to work so they can lift the lockdown and get these people back home safe. And you...

Lobby Guard: H—how’d you do that? You were there...and now you’re here.

Kallias Bran: Speaking of which, I need you to take me to Freight Elevator 2. I have some business on the thirteenth floor.

Lobby Guard: There is no Freight Elevator 2. There has only ever been one.

Kallias Bran: Never mind, I can see The Superintendent on the second floor. He’ll know where it is.

Microstory 465: Floor 21 (Part 2)

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Project Manager 2: Hey man, what’s got you down? The lock...uh, down? The lockdown? Sorry.

Project Manager 1: Oh no, it’s got nothin’ to do with that. They locked us out of the system, so I can’t even do busy work. That’s really been the only thing that’s kept me from a complete meltdown over this window business.

Project Manager 2: Ah yeah, I get it. It’s a real bummer. All those people who died, and now some of our people are dying? It’s crazy. So crazy.

Project Manager 1: I mean, it’s not that. I feel responsible. You can blame the designers or builders until the cows come home, but the fact is they can’t do their jobs well if they don’t have the one thing that we’re all trying to get more of.

Project Manager 2: You mean, money?

Project Manager 1: Well yes, but not that. No, I’m talking about time.

Project Manager 2: Of course, that was my next guess.

Project Manager 1: Time is supposed to work for me. I’m a sodding project manager, and I failed. I failed this company, and I failed those victims. I’m a failure.

Project Manager 2: Yes well, if you make a point of assuming responsibility for every problem in the world, I suppose that would make you feel bad.

Project Manager 1: Come on, you know what I mean. This was important stuff. Someone messed up, I’ll give you that. Somebody screwed up something about the windows that led to the deaths, and I do not take responsibility for that. What I do take responsibility for how the general process went. Maybe someone felt rushed, and I didn’t give them enough time. Again, it’s my job to know how to organize all that, and to prepare for unforeseen circumstances.

Project Manager 2: Oh okay, so you’re worried that you made some kind of mistake that resulted in someone else making some other mistake.

Project Manager 1: Yeah exactly, that’s what I’m saying. Bottom line, the buck stops with me.

Project Manager 2: Well no, the buck stops with us. We’re a team, and frankly it’s insulting to the rest of us that you absorb all this pain over a problem that we all had a hand in. And this is all theoretical, because all you’re giving me is hypotheticals anyway. We have no evidence that we did anything wrong at all. Maybe the machinist was going through a terrible divorce. Maybe a pen exploded and obstructed the installation instructions. There are too many variables. Not even a master of time such as yourself can see them all, let alone do something about them.

Project Manager 1: All right, I get it. My ego is the real problem here.

Project Manager 2: That’s right, you’re getting smarter. Now, come on. There are plenty of things we could do without access to the system.

Project Manager 1: There are, like what?

Project Manager 2: When is the last time you played paper football?

Project Manager 1: Depends on what you mean by football.

Microstory 58: New Car Smell

My car is two years older than I am.  The most advanced thing in it is the radio. Despite having been manufactured in 1985, it only had 40,000 miles on it when I bought it a couple years back. The woman who owned it before had other vehicles, and didn’t drive it much. I have some errands to run after work, and my last stop is at a client’s house. I park it on the street but don’t even turn it off since I’m just dropping off some papers. A moment later, I step back into my car and notice something different. There’s a tape deck and a CD player. As I look closer, I notice an auxiliary port, power windows, and cup holders. I haven’t had cup holders since college when I drove my dad’s old truck. My first thought is that it’s a prank, but it would be logistically impossible to pull off. Even though this strange new vehicle is clean of dust and grime, the fast food trash, my books, and other such things are all in the exact same places as before. Even the towel I keep draped over the passenger seat hasn’t budged. My defroster stopped working a few weeks after buying it, so I use the towel to wipe off the inside of the windshield when it’s raining. I start the car, and find that the defroster now does work. I step back out and look at the exterior. It looks like a slightly newer model, but the bird droppings and tree sap on the hood are still there. I take out my phone and do some research. I find one theory that says reality is fluctuating all the time but that we just don’t reme