The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 27, 2081

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The void that Mateo and Leona jumped through was literally endless. It didn’t feel like they were falling, more like they were stuck in place and feeling it fly around them. Leona darted her eyes around like she was searching for her car keys. But she wasn’t searching for anything, she was painting the scenery around them with her mind. The land and other objects faded into view incrementally. The more she painted with her thoughts, the faster their surroundings appeared. It was shaping up to be the side of a nice and quiet hill. He couldn’t remember when, but he knew he had been there before. Once everything was in place, she gently removed her hand from Mateo’s and took in a much-deserved breath. “Are you okay?” she asked with little actual concern.

He just stared at her. If felt like he hadn’t seen her in years, and he technically hadn’t. But she had changed too much in that amount of time, because it should have only been a few days from their perspective. Did The Cleanser place her in a temporal bubble like the one Mateo had been in during the Cast Away, Life of Pi, and Gulliver’s Travels tribulations? Did she fall out of their pattern? How long had it been for her, and what had changed. Did she even still love him? “I love you.”

She laughed at the response. “I love you as well. It has been much longer for me, though.”

“What happened?”

“I’m from the future. A lot has changed since then. Being away from you for twelve years has turned me into a different person. You wouldn’t like me anymore.”

“Twelve years,” Mateo repeated. “You mean...”

“Over 4,000 jumps, yes.”

“You can manipulate time now.”

“That’s...complicated. I know you’ve been trying to figure out how to do that yourself, but trust me that it’s best if you don’t. I paid a price for these powers. Or rather, others did. There’s a reason I brought you to this hill; the one from our shared dream during the kidney transplantation.” Her voice was darker in tone, and much scarier. She really wasn’t the same person, and he feared she was right when she said he wouldn’t like her.

He was reluctant to ask, but did so anyway, “what happened to your eye?”

“Oh, this?” she asked, knowing the answer was yes. “This was stupid of me. I thought it would be a funny joke, but...I don’t think you ever watched Andromeda or My Little Pony so it just...doesn’t execute well.”

“What?”

She removed the patch to show that her eye was perfectly intact. “It was a joke. Not a good one, I see that now.” She laughed once. “No pun intended. Anyway, I really am from four thousand years in the future, though.”

“Okay, well I’m sure you’ve grown tired of explaining things to me, but...”

“Actually,” she corrected, “I’ve missed it. Like I said, you weren’t around. I’m from an alternate future. You were placed in the pocket dimension, which meant that you were stuck in a single moment in time. Your pattern ended, and I never saw you again. I continued on the pattern on my own. I’ve seen a lot, learned a lot,” she began before lowering her gaze to the ground out of shame and finishing, “and I’ve done a lot.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Mateo said. He had met someone from an alternate timeline before, but Horace Reaver was only a few decades off, and felt shame for nothing. “But you’re back now, and we’re together. Now that you have new powers, we might actually have a fighting chance against the Cleanser.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot help you with that. The other Leona, the younger Leona, your Leona is still waiting for you. She’s the one you need to be reunited with. I returned to this moment in time so that I could extract you from the pocket dimension, but now I must go. My work here is done.”

“Well where are you going to go?”

“That’s not something I’m ready to explain to you.”

“Oh, please do,” the Cleanser said in a disrespectful manner.

Future!Leona smiled at him like seeing an old friend she had always hated. “Hello, Zeferino.”

“Wait,” Mateo started, “your name is Zeferino, but you go by a nickname? I don’t think you understand how cool your name sounds.”

“I don’t think you understand anything,” Zeferino said.

Future!Leona kept smiling. “I’m gonna let you do what you need to do with Mateo, but I know more about the timeline than you do.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You would. But know that I’ll be monitoring the stream. You do something I don’t like, I’ll be forced to step in.”

“Leona, why don’t you just stop him now? If you can?” Mateo pleaded.

She looked at him like he was a child. “I can’t. Zeferino’s methods are deadly and wrong, but he was given a job, and I’m not allowed to instigate his replacement, for any reason.”

“You’re telling me he’s actually doing what he’s supposed to?”

“Oh, definitely not. It’s like this...they can’t fire him without cause. And he hasn’t given them cause, at least not one outlined in the hypothetical human resources handbook of choosers.”

“Hell you talking about?” Mateo was angry, and was starting to like her less and less by the second. “Just end it! Right here, right now! Use your new powers!”

“I can’t, Mateo,” Future!Leona said.

“Yeah, Mateo,” the Cleanser mocked.

Mateo’s rage had grown dramatically throughout the short conversation, and in keeping with his plan to be unpredictable, he decided to punch the Cleanser, Zeferino in the jaw as hard as he could.

The Cleanser was notably hurt, and not just physically. He probably wasn’t used to people working so hard against him, because of how powerful he was. He wiped his face and looked at his hand like he had never seen his own blood before. He may not have. “You’re going to regret that.”

“Prove it.”

“Mateo, leave it alone.”

“No,” the Cleanser said, never breaking the lock his eyes had on Mateo. “He thinks he’s above consequences, even though I’ve shown him time and time again that he’s not. I can’t let that stand.”

“Please let it go, Zef. He’s just a kid.”

“Yes, and this is going to be a lesson.”

“I can stop you!”

Without looking, the Cleanser placed his hand on Future!Leona’s chest. When he removed it, a gaping hole was left in her body. As her knees bent, her legs twisted and pulled her towards the ground on her back, head pointed towards them.

Mateo was, understandably, horrified. “What did you do to her?”

“I sent part of her through time. I left the rest here for you to admire.”

He couldn’t help but think about how this was a different Leona than he knew. She had been through so much. Alone. Which was not something he could truly relate to, so on one side he felt bad for her, but on the other, his Leona was still alive. This was more like a clone, a backup. It was hard for him to be too terribly upset about Future!Leona’s death, and that made him feel terrible. But it was done, and if anyone could prevent it from ever having happened, it certainly wasn’t Mateo. So he chose to use it as an opportunity to protect his true love. “You’ve gotten revenge now.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You were mad about Darko’s death, and bent on killing Leona for it,” Mateo explained. “I don’t know why you cared about Darko so much, and I don’t need you to tell me. That’s your business, and you can tell me when you’re comfortable. My point is that you’ve completed your mission. You killed Leona.”

“That was a different Leona.”

Mateo shrugged. “It was an older one. So think of it this way...it took you four thousand years to get your revenge, but you didn’t have to perceive that much time, and you did finally succeed. Think of the woman you killed as the Leona. Think of mine as the other one, and don’t worry about her.”

He didn’t respond.

“If you choose to feel satisfied, I think you’ll find closure.”

“This is very clever of you. I must say, it’s rather heartless, though. Pun extremely intended.”

“I’m desperate.”

“I would sure think so,” he said. Then he added, “I would hope so.”

Mateo closed his eyes and nodded towards Zeferino, like an academic receiving minor recognition for his work.

“It would appear that you are learning.”

“Your lessons are...” he trailed off unable to find the right words. “You make quite an impression.”

He seemed pleased by this, but was not done. “I will accept your loophole, and I commend you for coming up with it. Once you are finished with the Gladiator II tribulation, you may reconnect with this other Leona, and I promise that no harm will come to her. Not by my hands, anyway.”

“We already did the Gladiator II tribulation,” Mateo pointed out, very confused.

“Yes, but you remember reading about all those crazy ideas people had for the sequel? You completed the most normal sequel plotline, but we’re going to go after the others as well.”

“You mean the weird resurrection-time travel storylines?”

“Yes, which of course, we’re fully capable of doing. I’m pulling you out of your pattern using my loophole powers. You’ll first be going to April 30, 1945.”

Mateo knew what that day was, as poor a student as he had been.

“I guess I have no choice.”

“You don’t.”

“Okay, I suppose we’re done here.”

“Not so fast. There’s still a matter of punishment for you punching me in the face.”

“Are you really that upset about it?”

“I am. But I’ll let you chose. Either I kill Present!Leona, or I torture you with the timestream.”

Mateo laughed. He didn’t know what that second one meant, but nothing could be worse than being responsible for Leona’s death for what would be the fourth time. “Second one.”

“I thought as much,” he said before a quick pause. “You were only in the pocket dimension for a few seconds, which was just enough to let Future!Leona slip in and get you out before The Merger closed it off.”

“Right,” Mateo agreed patiently.

“But that’s only in this timeline. In the timeline that Future!Leona experienced, you were in there for four thousand years, repeating over and over again the same moment. You don’t quite understand what she saved you from by coming back in time and pulling you out before the reality was sealed.”

“Oh no.” Mateo knew where this was going.

“But you will.” He took Mateo by the head and flooded his brain with the memories of an alternate version of himself. He could suddenly remember what it was like to repeat a single excruciating moment billions of times. The Cleanser removed his hands from Mateo’s head and popped out of the timestream mid-laugh.

Mateo just stood there stunned. He now knew eternity. He had gone to hell and come back, and he didn’t know what to do next.

A bloody heart appeared in midair over Future!Leona’s body, exactly where it had been moments ago when it was still in its rightful place. The Cleanser had only sent it a few minutes forwards in time. It fell towards her and reestablished itself within her chest cavity, which closed up and healed completely. She got back to her feet, brushed herself off, and said with a smirk, “he shouldn’t have taken the heart.” Then she smiled at Mateo and asked dryly, “what? Is there something on my face?”

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Second Stage of Something Started: Wind (Part XI)

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Vearden discovered after watching him disappear in a literal flash that Sargent’s first name was Adolphe. It was rather ironic, but almost certainly done on purpose by the powers that be. Even more strange was the fact that, upon joining the salmon battalion, he was arbitrarily assigned the rank of Sergeant. Shaking it off, Vearden instinctively stepped into a tent and ushered Saga in. After letting the flap close behind them, they walked back through it to find themselves in a different camp altogether. Everyone on the campgrounds was running around, somehow both chaotically and systematically. Saga recognized a few of them as salmon, and the others held themselves in a similar fashion. This was another major time travel undertaking. A woman was standing under a canopy behind a folding table, barking orders to the others in a sexy Louisiana accent. They were all wearing what looked like Canadian military uniforms.

The two new-comers approached her with haste, knowing that they needed to start there. “Who are you?” she asked of them.

“Saga and Vearden.”

“What do you do?”

“We’re the door-walkers. We travel through portals, assisting others on an as-needed basis.”

She jerked her head around, upset about not having been given all the information. “Are you salmon or choosers.”

“Oh, sorry,” Saga apologized. “We’re just salmon.”

She slid her fingers down a list that was taped to the table. There was a second list to its left, probably containing the names of choosers who were helping them. “Saga and Vearden...I don’t have you on my list. Who told you to come here?”

“We are rarely told anything,” Vearden said. “We walk through openings, and appear somewhere new. We don’t always know when, and we never know where.”

She nodded as he was talking, still perturbed by how long the two of them would take to explain things. “If you’re—Glaston!” she screamed, interrupting herself.

They looked over to see a man on the boundary point between two locations. A section of the ocean had been pulled into the area. He had his arms out to balance himself between solid ground on his right and the deep, cold water on his left.

The leader woman continued to scream, “quit screwin’ around! I need you to merge southern Saigon with New Brunswick!”

Glaston just stared at her like a kindergarten refusing to participate in naptime.

“Now, Glaston! You have your orders!”

He just flipped her off.

She dropped her volume down so that only those in the canopy could hear her. “I guess we know why you two were brought here. You’ll be replacing him.” She turned her chin partially towards the man on her right, but didn’t look directly at him. “Mister Kolby, please send The Merger to Beaver Haven.”

Kolby lifted a very odd looking gun towards the dissident, and pressed it against the side of his stomach. He quickly pulled the trigger, hitting his mark expertly. Glaston slammed his palms on his chest where the bullet had hit. As small amounts of electricity surged throughout his body, he started to yell, “Yippee ki-yay, mother fffffuuuuuuuuuuu...!” Before he was able to finish his expletive, he shuddered and disappeared. Saga and Vearden widened their eyes and looked back towards the leader woman.

“Don’t worry,” she assured them, “he’s not dead. Kolby’s gun just expels people to a special prison. I’m not here to babysit.” She took a deep breath and released it. “This is Operation Second Wind. Starting today—April 30, 1975, by the way—the United States will execute a contingency plan to evacuate soldiers and civilians from the city now known as Saigon, South Vietnam. Due to extenuating circumstances, fixed-wing aircraft cannot be used, so dozens of helicopters will be flying back and forth between the embassy and an armada of ships in the South China Sea.”

“Yes,” Vearden said. “I remember this from history class.”

Yeah, they should definitely not interrupt this woman. “Yes, well unfortunately, not everyone makes it out. Not everyone can. If we evacuate the entirety of Saigon—which we’re fully capable of—we’ll be too exposed. 1975 is just too close to the invention of the internet for us to brush it off and bury it to history. But we are going to take who we can and sprinkle them throughout the world twenty minutes into the future, primarily in Canada.”

“So, we’re going to southern Saigon.”

She ignored them for a second. “Kingmaker! Kingmaker! What are you doing here?”

The Kingmaker threw up his arms. “Trang wasn’t there!” He drew nearer.

She started itching all over her face from the stress. “Okay, we must have the dates mixed up. But we gotta get that kid and his family to Indonesia. Tai Trang is too important to the future!”

“If the powers that be don’t take me there, I can’t get there,” he said, in full agreeance with her.

She continued to itch herself, but seemed to be getting better. “Okay, okay, okay.” She pointed over to another canopy where an elderly man was consulting one out of hundreds of books sprawled out around him. “Go speak with The Historian again.” As the Kingmaker was walking away, she yelled up to crowd, “and somebody find me The fucking Emissary! I’m sick of being jerked around by the powers!” She pushed the air away from her face, “okay, who are you people again?”

“We’re the—”

She cut Saga off, “the door-walkers, right. Southern Saigon. Kolby, please find me Glaston’s mission files. Hopefully he didn’t throw them to Jupiter or some nonsense like that.”

Kolby pulled them to the side so that the leader woman could move on with her very important work. “I’m not going to hunt for those files, that is not my job. He very likely could have left them on Jupiter.” He pointed to a tent next to the Historian’s. “The Archivist lives there. Tell him that you’ve been given the Merger’s assignment.”

“Understood,” Vearden said.

“Hey, how are Mateo and Leona?”

Saga shook her head. “We’ve not seen Leona lately, but we left Mateo over a hundred years from now. They’re not great.”

He nodded. “Give them my best if you ever see them again. I believe they refer to me as Guard Number Two.” He smiled warmly, but briefly.

“We will.”

They walked briskly over to the Archivist, dodging fake soldiers running through their path. They hesitated at the tent, not wanting to just walk in without first warning him. But there was no way to knock. “Umm...Mister Archivist, sir?”

They heard the sound of glass dropping, but not breaking. “What?” He did not sound well.

“We’re looking for, uh...the..the Merger’s mission files.”

“What do you want with that?”

“We’re replacing him. We, uh...we’re the door-walkers?”

“The Freelancers,” Vearden added in a quiet voice.

“The Freelancers,” Saga repeated so that the Archivist could hear.

They could hear him cough and scramble up, sticking his head through the opening. “Saga and Vearden, as I poorly keep track of records and breathe.” He tried to worm his hand through the opening as well, presumably to greet them. “Uhh...I need pants. Half a moment.” He pulled his head back in too quickly. The flaps separated just enough to reveal his member as he was turning around to look for clothes. He awkwardly laughed from inside. “If I managed my pants the way I manage my files then...well, then nothing would be different. I’m not very good at my job. I’m the fourth one, and this isn’t even my time period.” He reopened the flaps so that they could walk in. He hurriedly tried to clean up the bottles of cliché all over the place, but there was really nothing that could be done. “Sorry for the mess. I’m just the Historian’s red-headed stepchild, so no one visits me.” He took a swig of mouthwash but swallowed it quickly.

“It’s quite all right,” Saga lied.

He spoke rapidly. “Now, you’re looking for Glaston’s files—hold on, do you want something to drink? No, of course you don’t. You’re on duty. I have water, though. No, I don’t, I don’t know why I said that. I can find water. No, you don’t need water, you’re in a hurry. Of course, Glaston’s files.” He turned towards a metal filing cabinet. “You wanna see something cool? You’ve probably seen it on TV, but this one is real.” He smirked and released the catch on the top drawer. It started rolling open at a medium rate. The drawer was much longer than could fit in the cabinet. Had they no experience with spacetime manipulation, they would have looked behind the cabinet to find out what was going on.

The drawer continued through the flaps, and apparently hit someone walking outside. “Ow!” she yelled.

The Archivist warped his face, only playfully concerned about the woman’s safety. “Whoopsidoodles.” He clapped his hands together in preparation, and then started to run his fingers through the folders. “Chooser Kayetan Glaston, also known as the Merger, born June 25, 1982. Keeps mostly to the 20th and 21st centuries on Earth. He’s a total dick, and nobody likes him. And he...” he trailed off while looking through one of the folders.

“What is it?” Vearden asked.

The Archivist looked up at them then clumsily put the file away. In a clear attempt to downplay whatever it was that he had read, he said, “that’s from an alternate timeline, don’t worry about it. What you need is the mission file from today.” Without looking, he smugly reached over and pulled a fairly full accordion folder. “Here ya go. Don’t spend it all in one place.” He winked.

“Thanks,” Saga replied with almost a curtsy that she hoped she managed to hide well enough.

“Did you just curtsy?” Vearden asked after they left the tent through a portal to southern Saigon.

“Shut up.”

They spent the rest of the day, and part of the next, extracting South Vietnamese and third country nationals from Saigon, some to their respective homes, others to nearby ports, and yet others to random points in Canada. They had to give these refugees specific instructions to, of course, never mention to anyone exactly how they survived. Glaston’s mission files included packets of false stories that the refugees were asked to memorize so that they would have a credible explanation for getting out of the war zone. It seemed to work, because no one in the future suspected that anything unnatural had happened during Operation Frequent Wind. The question they had now was who wrote all those falsified documents, and how many other historical events had happened differently than the world knew?

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Microstory 350: Self-expression

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Self-confidence

I’m not done with the topic of self-expression. I touched on it with the one about sexuality, and I’ll branch out more over the next few entries, and beyond. I feel the need to reiterate that self-expression does not give you the right to express your beliefs if those beliefs are ridiculous. I hate that false maxim of everyone is entitled to their opinion. The truth is that you’re not. Sure, there are different perspectives, and others need to take yours into account, but it’s very possible to be wrong about something. If you’re wrong, you have a responsibility to change. Of course, that presents a bit of a problem, because how will you ever know that you’re wrong? Just because a great number of people are against you doesn’t mean you’re wrong. I believe that people should partake in no recreational drug of any kind, including alcohol. Millions of people disagree, but that doesn’t make my position any less 100% correct. So what can you do? Research. And live. Go out and experience things; learn from others, and even read studies. People have taught you to question other people’s claims, but you should also be questioning your own ideas. You have a right to be who you are, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t change, grow, learn, or own up to your mistakes. I can’t remember if it was on this site, but I’ve told a story before about how I long ago didn’t understand transgendered people. I thought that being of one gender with the appearance of another was their identity, and that they shouldn’t change their bodies. I was wrong, and even though I was just a kid at the time, I’m ashamed for having let myself be so uninformed. This all sounds like a grand tangent from what this entry is supposed to be about, but it isn’t really. You already get that you’re supposed “be yourself” so the only way for me to elaborate on that is to make sure you also understand that being yourself doesn’t mean being stubborn, ignorant, or afraid to evolve.

Tolerance

Microstory 349: Self-confidence

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Physical Independence

My self-confidence waxes and wanes through stressors and  successes. For instance, I’m not completely certain that I’ve just used those two terms right. But I’m going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and not look it up, because I have to trust that I know what I’m doing. I’ve always considered the moment I became a writer to be when I learned that I was failing 8th grade science. I had wanted to write about science, but since that was out, all I had was the writing part. Over the next two years, I experimented with fanfiction while trying to absorb what I could from my predecessors. It was at that point, and that point only, that I felt comfortable calling myself a writer. I’ve spent countless hours since then honing my skills; reading, writing, and failing. I’ve tried out all different genres, including dreaded poetry. And honestly, I’m damn good. No, I’m not as flowery as Dickens, or as epic as Tolkien, or as iconic as King. But I get how words work, and I’ve developed techniques to bend them to my will, rearranging them in unusual but still understandable ways. I don’t have an example of this for you as proof, because these are short essays, but I do have evidence of my gratuitous use of the comma, as you can see. That’s part of my style, as are emphatic sentence fragments. Love. It took me quite a long time to nurture my self-confidence, and to know so inescapably that writing is what I’m supposed to be doing, even if I have to do something else to make real money. It’s come at a cost. I’ve neglected other aspects of my repertoire for it, allowing myself to be lax in my studies of other subjects. But I’ve recently worked to improve on these other things, and I was ultimately able to do so because of my self-confidence. Now I know that I’m a decent human being, I can become better. Too much self-confidence can be dangerous, but never more than none at all. For sure.

Self-expression

Microstory 348: Physical Independence

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Freedom from Persecution

Physical independence is all about being able to take care of yourself. Not everyone is capable of living without the help of others. I’m not talking about emotional support, and I’m not saying that living independently means that you don’t ever need anyone ever. This isn’t about building a cottage in the middle of the woods and becoming a hermit. This actually applies more often than not to the elderly. The older you get, the more susceptible you are to medical issues that can lower your quality of life. Things that were once simple are suddenly quite difficult, and that can be extraordinarily frustrating. It’s important to remember, when and if you reach this point, that your life will have to change in order to accommodate complications that are out of your control. No one is immune to change. We all make sacrifices, and we must all adjust and adapt to external forces. This is sometimes a bad thing, but not always. One benefit of not being able to safely operate an oven anymore, for instance, is not having to cook. All you have to do is kick back and let people wait on you. Take these changes in stride, and remember that they mark a new chapter, not the end. Physical independence is as much about knowing your limitations as it is about being self-sufficient. Know what you can do on your own, and when to ask for help, even if you have been doing something in particular all your life. I heard a story earlier today about a man who was deeply injured in a vehicular collision that could have been avoided if the other driver had been more prudent. He or she was just too old to be driving. Either they or their passenger lost their life because of it. The real problem is that the man who was not at fault could have been killed as well. So it wasn't really fair of the instigator to have been behind the wheel just because they technically carried a license. With independence so should come wisdom.

Self-confidence

Microstory 347: Freedom from Persecution

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Weight Control

Wow, that is a really ominous title, isn’t it? Freedom from Persecution. Sounds like something a former NSA analyst would shout after committing treason by leaking dangerous state secrets to the public. Yesterday, from the time of writing this, I had a haircut. The woman started talking about this girl she saw with a buzzcut like mine, dyed hair, and tattoos. She seemed to be against this until she got the impression that I wasn’t quite so judgmental, and her perspective seemed to change. We’ve all been hearing lately about people coming out publically as “different”. Transgender, intersex, non-binary sexuality are but a few examples. Some people think they’re showing courage, while others find such things to be disgusting. I would like to live in a world where no one has to announce who they are, because they don’t owe anybody anything. You shouldn’t have to reveal that, though you were born with girl parts, you’re actually a boy. You shouldn’t have to explain that you don’t see yourself as having one of two genders, or any traditional gender, or any gender at all. You should only discuss who you are with others if they’re genuinely interested in getting to know you, and if you’re comfortable with talking about it. Either way, you should be able to live your truth without worrying about people making judgment calls about you that have no basis, and serve no purpose. You shouldn’t have to disprove stereotypes, or defend lifestyle choices that don’t harm others, or go over how simple physics and biology work (i.e. that a person’s sexuality cannot be transmitted to someone else). Freedom to be yourself does not allow you to do absolutely whatever you want. You are still subject to boundaries designed to protect everyone’s safety and right to be themselves. If you are doing something immoral; if you are raping people, or killing them, or abusing animals, then you definitely need to change. But if who you are isn’t hurting anyone, then honestly, people who don’t like it just need to shut the fuck up.

Physical Independence

Microstory 346: Weight Control

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Exercise

As I mentioned before, I’ve developed a binge eating disorder. Weight wasn’t anything I worried about growing up. Other people in my family did, but I was always really skinny. What I was too stupid to understand at the time was that this was because of how active I was. I was working out almost every day. My God, at one point, I was going to gymnastics three times a week. Why was I doing that? I hate competition, so it’s not like I was training for the Olympics. Whatever my reasoning, it all stopped when I went to college. But that alone would have been okay, because I was already starting from a pretty good place. Other things, however, were at play. I’ve always been very money-conscious as well, so when I discovered that the dorm cafeteria was all-you-can-eat, I went overboard. I decided to eat as much as I could each time I swiped my card to get the most out of the money already spent. And this all came out of a lack of education. Your body needs time to digest and process the nutrients and carbohydrates it gets from food. This is why we eat a few meals per day, rather than just gathering all of our calories in the beginning, and saving time. I didn’t know this, so eating two or three burgers at dinner seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution to the fact that I was only allotted so many meals. I’m ashamed to admit that I gained 45 pounds in college. Afterwards, I went through periods of dropping that back down, but I still wasn’t getting much exercise, so it could only take me so far. At this point in my life, I would say that it’s worse than ever. I have a job where I have to keep moving, but that really builds muscle without burning fat. Plus, I’ve recently quit that position anyway. But now that I’ll be making me more money, I need to commit to fixing myself, starting with eating less food at more meals.

Freedom from Persecution

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: [Error]

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Kayetan Glaston, a.k.a. The Merger was a young fellow, probably in his very early 20s. He was eager, feisty, and way in over his head. Following the disgustingly deadly Gladiator games that The Cleanser forced them to participate in, they were both sent to the staging area together, and left alone. Kayetan was placed in a special set of handcuffs that suppressed a chooser’s ability to use their temporal powers, just like the ones Darko had on in the prison those many years ago. They didn’t speak for a long time. Mateo was still reeling from the ordeal. Lucius had prevented him from having to choose who would die—and the Cleanser seemed okay with this—but it was only a matter of time before Mateo would have to kill someone. It was incredibly powerful and admirable of Lucius to postpone that terrible moment at the cost of his own life, but it wasn’t like he would be able to avoid it forever. Sooner or later—and probably in two years, if not tomorrow—Mateo was going to have to follow through in kind on his promise to honor his contract.

Finally, he decided he needed to break the ice. “Do you prefer to be called The Merger?”

“Why would I prefer that?”

“Many other choosers I’ve met like their nicknames.”

“Kayetan will be fine. Or Glaston.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

He laughed, but also shook his head, because it wasn’t funny ‘ha-ha’. It was funny ‘oh-God’. “You piece of shit.”

“Pardon?”

He kept shaking that head. “The noble and majestic Mateo Matic of Topeka, son of a Shaper and The Kingmaker.”

“Who?”

He continued, “everybody loves Mateo for his future. Mateo will not defy the powers that be, but he will not surrender to his fate. He takes his so-called ‘gift’ and uses it for good. I’m gonna throw up.”

“You’re mad at me for shit I haven’t done yet?”

“Seems as good a time as any.”

“Seems like nonsense to me.”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Time is malleable, right?”

“What?”

“The things you’ve seen me do in the future, those aren’t set in stone, I can change them.”

“Theoretically.”

“Then instead of being angry about whatever that was, how about you use your gift to help me make a better future.”

“I’m not upset about your future itself. I’m just pissed off that everybody loves you, but I’ve seen first hand that you don’t do anything. You just let the river of time flow over your back. You let other people make decisions for you. You’re just along for the ride.”

“I’m a salmon, but I don’t expect you to understand,” he echoed, like a child.

“You have more choice than you think.”

“Great. Let me know when you’re done being just vague enough to be saying absolutely nothing of value. Look, I was going to let Lucius kill you. He deserved the victory more than you. All things being equal, you were the inferior opponent. He just didn’t give me a chance. I didn’t know he was gonna  kill himself!”

“Lucius did what he had to. When you finally reach the point he did, when you have to choose between life and death, and there’s no one around to fix the game, will you be able to do it? Will you man up?”

He waited the appropriate amount of time to make it clear that he understood the seriousness of the situation. “I do not know.”

“Well, you’re nothin’ if not honest.”

“I just don’t understand what you want from me.”

“I want you to get me out of here.”

“Why?”

“What kind of question is that? See, this is why I don’t like you.”

“No, I mean why would I do that? What would I get out of it?”

“I can protect you from the Cleanser, and anyone else you want to get away from. I can put you and your girlfriend in a pocket reality. No salmon, no choosers, no powers, and best of all, no pattern. You’ll be able to live out your days in this perfect little universe, and no one will be able to touch you there.”

“Sounds too good to be true.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “There’s a price.”

“Go on.”

“You’ll be living in a place beyond time. Once you enter, no one can get in, and no one can get out. It doesn’t exist for them, and we don't exist to you.”

“But I can bring anyone with me that I want?”

“Yes, in that moment.”

No, that was a bad idea. It sounded less like a safe haven, and more like a trap. He would never be able to convince his family to go in there with him. They would first have to find his half-sister, Aquila. And everyone has people they want to keep in contact with, but not all the time. No, this was a completely impractical solution to a problem they didn’t understand. “No, I can’t live in a place like that. It would never work. This life may be hard, but it’s mine, and I’m not letting it go.”

“Yeah, I knew you’d wuss out. I don’t know why I bothered asking.”

“I never said I wouldn’t help you, just that I’m not down with a pocket dimension.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“Tell me what you did.”

“What do you mean?”

“To get yourself locked up. You must have done something.”

Kayetan’s jaw literally dropped. His eyes widened, and if he had been holding a glass, he probably would have crushed it in his hands. “You really are clueless. That’s bloody brilliant. That’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.” He lowered his voice to mock Mateo, even though his own voice was already deeper, “you must have done something.”

“What’s the problem, Kayetan?”

“The powers that be…hate the choosing ones. We didn’t do anything, idiot! They’re just pissy about how powerful we are, so they lock us up, suppress our power, and sometimes even kill us. Because that’s what they’re so mad about. They chose to call themselves powers that be because they’re actually impotent. They have no real power, but they have ways of exploiting and using us. The only reason choosers like Meliora and the Cleanser aren’t dead right now is because they don’t have specialities. They’re the most powerful of all of us, so they can’t be tamed. And the only reason you’re not dead is because they have use for you, and they know that you’re so weak, you can’t stop them.”

That all sounded very true.

Kayetan went on, “you keep getting bad information, but I’m here to set you straight. There are only two kinds of people in the world; those with power, and those without. The humans have none, the PTB steal theirs, you salmon are burdened by yours, and we own ours. You could become one us with the proper training.”

“You mean like Makarion?”

He tilted his head in consideration. “Makarion’s different. He’s not really one of us, and that’s not bigoted or elitist, he really isn’t. He’s in a category all his own.” He thought about it some more. “He’s more like the powers that be than anything, actually.”

“Then that’s what I want.”

“What…Makarion?”

“No, I want you to teach me how to be a choosing one.

“I thought you didn’t want to let your life go.”

“I’m happy to do it if it means getting a better one.”

He smiled.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“Assuming you have any idea how to get me out of these handcuffs, yeah it sort of was.”

Mateo stood up and started ruffling through his bag. “Rule Number Seven: pack the essentials, and always keep them within reach.” He took out the key Leona used two weeks ago in the salmon-chooser prison to free brother Darko from his suppression cuffs.

“My man!” Kayetan said under a dramatic change in attitude. After Mateo removed the cuffs, Kayetan rubbed his wrists in that same way people on TV do, as if the restraints were so painfully tight that they lost feeling in their fingers. He breathed deeply too, as if he had been held underwater. “Thank you so much for this.”

“You better create one of your merge points and get us somewhere safe.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that. But first I need to get you to your place beyond time.”

“What! No!” Mateo screamed, but it was too late.

He was standing on a small patch of desert that spanned only maybe twenty feet in all directions. The edges were rough and uneven, in some places fading out to the nothingness, but in others ending quite abruptly. Everything that wasn’t either a desert or a Mateo was a great big void. There were no stars or planets, so he wasn’t in space. There were no sounds or winds or life. There was nothing. He was in hell. For a few seconds.

A hand reached out and took his. He looked over to find his love, Leona on the other end of the arm. But she wasn’t the same Leona he had left behind. She looked a bit older, and definitely a lot more jaded. The most notable difference was her face. She was wearing an eye patch on the right side. She spoke in a northern English accent, “trust me. I’m the Doctor. Run.”

They jumped into the abyss.

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