Firestorm: Delmar Dupont (Part III)

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I struggle to open my eyes. I can see a silhouette watching me from the corner, but I can’t gather enough strength to figure out who it is. I keep working at it, though, and I’m eventually able to confirm that it’s human. Then I can tell it’s a woman, and then I can see her blurry features, and finally, I would be able to recognize her, if we had met before.

“Delmar Dupont, my name is Dr. Mallory Hammer. I’m a choosing one who—”

I sigh. “I know who you are.”

“Do you remember what happened?” she asks.

“I know what happened, but I don’t know why.”

Now she sighs. “Lemme guess, you practiced your latest trick with a comparable-mass dummy?”

“No, that girl couldn’t have been more than forty-five kilograms. I practiced with a dummy that weighed twice that much. It should have been easy.”

She started shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter; it was still a dummy. A living organism—especially a human—is infinitely more complex. Miss Turner has blood in her veins, and electricity in her brain. You’re lucky she’s spawn, or I would have demanded Beaver Haven lock you up.”

“What’s Beaver Haven?”

“It’s a prison for people like us.”

“What’s a spawn?”

“It’s when a salmon or chosen one somehow converts a human into someone who can experience nonlinear time with no further aid.”

I wait a moment. “What the hell is a chosen one?” I can see that she’s not used to having to explain quite this much about our world. I have a time power—well, it’s more like a space power—but I haven’t met a lot of people like me. My abilities are extremely limited, so others don’t have much use for me. I kind of stay in my own world. My knowledge of what’s going on out there doesn’t go beyond knowing that the others exist.

“As I was saying, Miss Turner is strong. What happened to you—if you had chosen a human as your volunteer—would have happened to them, but about ten times worse. They probably would have died.”

A man walks into the room.

“Mr. Demir, I understand you’re upset about your daughter, but this man deserves as much privacy, and time to rest, as anyone else would.”

“I’m not mad,” this Demir guy says. “I heard you through the door, though. Why isn’t he going to Beaver Haven anyway? Why hasn’t The Warden already arrested him?”

“Wardens don’t arrest people,” I point out.

“This one does,” he replies. Yeah, maybe I should recognize that I don’t know what I’m talking about. “He exposed us to the humans just by having a magic show in the first place. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Dr. Hammer says. “By disguising his powers in a magic show, he’s actually helping his case. No one in his audience thinks it’s real, even now that he’s done his grandest trick yet. One or two might believe, but not enough to raise concerns on a larger scale. Plenty of people believe in aliens among us, but that barely impacts social practices.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say. “I’m just not powerful enough for anyone to worry about what I’m doing.”

Mr. Demir squints his eyes, and stares at Hammer for a moment. “Are there aliens among us?”

She smiles, not expecting such a light question. “Not that I know of; not in this time period. Now, as I was saying, Mr. Dupont requires rest. I would thank you to leave and let him be for now. You can ask him your questions later.”

Now he may be getting a little upset. “The longer he sleeps, the longer my husband is sitting in Beaver Haven. I want him out, so give this man whatever it is you need for him to magically recover, and let us get on with it.”

He starts to leave, but I urge him to wait as I’m finding the remote. I see that I’m in a hospital bed, but this just looks like a bedroom. Once I’m sitting up, I catch my breath. I have to help these people however I can. I guess I owe them that much. “What do you wanna know?”

Demir steps closer. “We need information on someone we’ve heard you met. His name is Austin Miller. No, Agent Austin Miller.”

“Agent Miller, yeah. He came to a lot of my shows, for months. I thought it was weird, because no one else does that. Well, I do have one groupie, but she’s there for a different reason. I’m not that good. I only chose the profession because of what I can do, but I’m lacking a lot of showmanship. I would much rather just be selling insurance, or something. Anyway, this guy seemed like he was studying me, like he knew that my tricks were more than just tricks. I was about to pack up, and move on before I got caught, but then he finally approached me. He said he thought he was one of us, but wasn’t sure. He could remember things happening that no one else can. He can see alternate realities, or something? I dunno. You could probably better explain it.”

“What did he want from you?” Demir asked.

“He could see that I wasn’t anybody important, but he hoped I knew someone who was.”

“Who did you lead him to, Dupont?”

“Ya know, when I was just trying to get my magic show off the ground, this guy who called himself The Delegator showed up. He warned me that there would be consequences if I got too big. He and his people would allow me to proceed, as long as I didn’t try to go viral, or something. I had to keep my act moving, and not making any waves. He told me there were others like us, and offered to put me in touch with your little network. I declined, because I didn’t really care. I still don’t. I’m all right with my life, and I have no interest in getting mixed up in all the craziness I’m sure you people go through on the regular.” I nod over to the doctor. “He gave me your card, in case I ever needed medical attention, but other than that, I don’t know anybody. He didn’t even say you had powers yourself. He just said you treat our kind. Well, I didn’t give her up to the agent, and I didn’t give up the Delegator either. That was only because he didn’t give me the means to contact him again anyway.”

“Who did you lead him to, Dupont?” Demir asks again.

“Oh, don’t be so concerned. I’m just giving you background; not building suspense. You see, the agent wasn’t the first person to come to my show, looking for answers. There was another dude. Wore a button-up white shirt, and a skinny black tie. He looked like a mormon, and he was very interested in basically giving me anything I wanted. He was treating me like a god, and it freaked me out. I almost moved because of that time too, but then he left me alone, so I let it go.”

Dr. Hammer looked confused. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“He introduced himself as Orson Olsen,” I explain. “He doesn’t have powers. If he did, he would be worshiping himself.”

“He worships people with powers?” Demir questions.

“He sounds like a cult leader,” Hammer points out.

“That was the impression that I got,” I agree. “I think he sensed how uncomfortable I was, and also realized I wouldn’t be able to help him, so I never saw him again. I didn’t feel bad about giving the agent his name, though. I don’t know what he did with it.”

“When was this?” Demir asks. “When did you last see Agent Miller?”

“A couple weeks ago,” I answer honestly.

“Where can we find this Orson guy?”

“I don’t know,” I say, also honestly. “I have a picture of him, though. I took it on the sly when he was in my audience.” I grab my phone from the bedside table, and swipe through the camera roll until I find what I’m looking for.

Demir studies it a moment, then shows it to Dr. Hammer, who shakes her head, indicating that she doesn’t know who he is. He takes out his own phone, and double bumps it with mine, to transfer the photo to himself. “Thank you. I think that will be all from me. Don’t leave town, though.” He starts to walk out again.

“I think I have to,” I remind him. “What your daughter did on stage; that was probably too much. I have to move my act to the next location.”

He looks over at the doctor. “Can you keep him in one of your basement environments until we’re sure we’re done with him?”

Dr. Hammer frowns. “That’s not really what those rooms were designed for.”

He lets out an apathetic wince. “You forget, I’m a time traveler. I’ve been here in the past. This is Fletcher House. Those rooms weren’t designed for what you’re using them for either.”

She stands up for dramatic effect. “Yes, they were. The architect knew where history was headed.”

“Please? For Paige?”

It’s obvious the doctor is about to give in. “You’re lucky she’s one of my favorites. You’ll have to clear it with Carmen, though.”

“Who’s that?” Demir asks.

Demir and Paige—who looks far too old to be his real daughter—help me down two flights of stairs, to the most insane basement I’ve ever seen. At the bottom of the steps is a giant bank vault. When they open it for me, I see it’s not a real vault, but the door must have been stolen right from a bank. He called this Fletcher House, which is a name that sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. The first room beyond the vault door contains two angled desks facing each other, but there’s nothing on them. I see four more doors, all of which are closed. This place is real creepy, and I don’t understand who these people are.

A woman is standing to the side, wearing a toothless smile, with her hands holding each other in the front. “My name is Carmen Felt. I’ve been told you need a room. You have three options.” She points to three of the doors. “1987 to 1997, 1998 to 2008, or 2020 to present. The other one is being used for 2013 Saskatchewan.”

I casually walk towards two of the doors. “These lead to other points in time?”

Carmen laughs. “No. Ashlock sends our operative through time by switching bodies with someone who lives there. That individual then waits here, in one of these rooms. We dress it up to look familiar to them, so they’re more comfortable. And when I say we, I mean mostly me. I’m the interior designer.”

I point to the door on the opposite wall to the vault door. “Where does that one lead to?”

She turns to take a quick look at it, even though she knows what I’m talking about. “You don’t need to know that. You’ll be in one of these three rooms. Or, if you would prefer, I can have you placed in one of the holding cells.”

“The twenty-twenty room will be fine, thank you.”

“Perfect.”

“Is she always so scary nice?” I ask Paige after Carmen leaves.

“I have no idea,” she answers. “I met her when you did.”

“So, you don’t know if she’s single?” That’s an inappropriate thing to ask a teenager I don’t know.

“No. But I’m sure Morse will kick you out as soon as you’re well enough to leave, so it doesn’t really matter. This is a special place, for a special team. Outsiders like us can visit, but not stay.”

“That’s all right. I need to start thinking about where I’m gonna go next.”

She nods. “Well, while you do that, I’m going upstairs to help plan the mission.”

“Wait, you’re going to confront that mormon?”

“That mormon is my responsibility,” she explains. “I’m the one who told him to start a church to worship us. I was a child at the time, but it was still stupid.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“So am I,” she says.

“Wait.” I sigh again. “I lied upstairs. The Delegator wasn’t the only time traveler I met. There’s another one, but I promise I haven’t told anyone else about him. I think I can trust you guys, though, and I know he’ll be able to help, because he used to be a cop.”

“Who?”

“His name is Bran...Kallias Bran.”

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Microstory 1340: Focus Group

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Focus Group Moderator: I’m Focus Group Moderator, but you can just call me Mod. I want to thank you all for coming in today to get a first look at our brand new series, Ya Basic.

Teen 1: Ya basic.

[Laughter]

Teen 1: Sorry, I didn’t mean you, specifically. I was talking more about the garbage people who wrote this.

Mod: Oh, I’m saddened to hear that.

Teen 1: Well, they can’t all be winners, can they?

Mod: I guess not. ‘Kay, so—

Teen 2: CHEESE!

Mod: I’m sorry?

Teen 2: You said queso. I felt it was my duty to translate for everyone in the room who does not speak Spanish.

[Laughter]

Mod: Okay. Well, thanks. The first thing I want to do is get everyone’s general impression of the TV show they just watched.

Teen 3: I didn’t understand it.

Mod: All right, so it was a little confusing.

Teen 3: I wouldn’t say that. I could follow just fine, but the story didn’t make any sense. Why was the sister doing his homework? She was established as the dumber of the two, and they never explained her motivation, or his, for that matter.

Teen 4: Yeah, and the dumb things she said didn’t make sense either. It felt like all her lines were written for a boy, but then a network executive came in and said they should gender-swap it in order to be edgy and woke.

Mod: I can neither confirm, nor deny, the network’s direct involvement in creative decisions. But this is good, it’s very good. Would you characterize this show as woke?

Teen 5: Absolutely not. Her character was just as offensive as it would be had she been a boy. And just because the kids roll their eyes at their racist uncle, doesn’t mean the writers understand why it is his racism would be a bad thing in real life.

Teen 4: It felt like the uncle was supposed to be loveable and sympathetic, but the things he was saying weren’t even relatable.

Teen 6: A lot of random, made up stereotypes.

Teen Collective: [moderately in unison] Yeah, yeah...

Teen 7: All Asians are gay?

Teen 4: Yeah, what was that? Did a producer hear the word gaysian, and extrapolate too much from it?

Teen 3: Racism aside, I didn’t get why it was called Ya Basic. Who’s basic? It’s not the sister. That word doesn’t mean low intelligence, and I actually otherwise found her rather interesting.

Teen 5: I didn’t think she was interesting. I thought the whole thing was stupid, and I had a hard time paying attention to it. It was built like a sitcom, but it’s an hour long. It didn’t need to be. Half the time a character learned something, they repeated it again a few minutes later, as if you thought we’d forget.

Teen 1: Was there any significance to the banana? The character—and, thusly, the camera—stared at it for, like, thirty seconds.

Teen 2: Banana, banana!

[Laughter]

Teen 6: Teen 2 is right; that was a reference to a completely different franchise, made by a different production company. I looked it up. And that one was for kids.

Teen 4: Was this one not for kids? I certainly felt too old for it.

Teen 7: I felt too young for it. Didn’t anyone else think the banana was a phallic symbol? The kid cracked a joke about his stamina right after that.

Teen 3: Oh, yeah, probably.

Mod: Okay, perfect. Thank you so much for your answers to these survey questions. This will greatly inform how we proceed with this production.

Teen 1: By proceed, do you mean stop?

[Laughter]

Microstory 1339: Doorkeeper

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Security Supervisor: This may seem like a waste of time, but I do hope you take this interview seriously.

Janitor: I don’t think it’s a waste of time. You’ll be giving me keys to rooms that house confidential information, correct?

Security Supervisor: It’s a keycard, but yes.

Janitor: Then don’t feel bad about it. I understand the importance of discretion. And understand this, I do not care about the files you keep. I’ve never been curious or nosy. When I’m standing next to someone who needs to log-in to a computer to show me something, I always turn away. It’s my instinct to protect people’s privacy, even from myself.

Security Supervisor: Well, it’s good to hear that. But if you were a corporate spy, that’s exactly what you would say.

Janitor: It’s also what someone would say if they’re not...which is the case here.

Security Supervisor: Speaking of here, do you know what it is we do?

Janitor: I do not, and again, I do not care to know. It makes no difference to me. I will be stepping into the rooms to take out that trash, and clean whatever is required of me, and then leave immediately.

Security Supervisor: Okay, good. I do have some more questions for you. I’m sure you went over all this with your supervisor, but I am a curious person. It says here you attended a cleaning school in Switzerland?

Janitor: That’s right. Here in the states, cleaning work is treated as an unskilled job. In other countries, such as Germany and Switzerland, janitors are professionals, with full careers, and years of education and on-the-job training.

Security Supervisor: Are you from Switzerland, or were your parents in the military...?

Janitor: No, sir. I actually found out about the program, and moved there for four years so I could train with the best. This work is very important to me. I’ve always found it very cathartic and soothing, the physical labor itself. Wiping down surfaces, mopping floors; it’s tedious for most, but relaxing for me.

Security Supervisor: Well, your résumé looks very impressive. I imagine it’s tough to find work stateside that effectively utilizes your skills. We don’t pay our janitors very well. Or rather, other companies don’t. We see things differently.

Janitor: Yes, that’s why I applied here. Your organization has a great reputation in regards to your treatment of employees. You would be surprised, however, at how well a janitor can do. Average salary is probably higher than you would think, even for someone without the amount of intense training that I’ve had.

Security Supervisor: Did you apply to any of these other places then?

Janitor: I have some money saved up, so I didn’t put a lot of feelers out, or cast a wide net. I’ve been applying to one position at a time, and seeing it through, before moving onto the next one. This is the third job I applied to, and my third offer. I declined the first two.

Security Supervisor: My, my. Aren’t we the selective one?

Janitor: Employers sometimes forget that workers have standards as well. Most people aren’t just lucky to not be unemployed.

Security Supervisor: Of course, of course. Well, your background check went through, and everything looks good here. You will shadow your supervisor for the first week, and then she’ll shadow you for a week after that. After that, you should know that we’re a security camera company, so we have security cameras...and most of them are hidden.

Janitor: I have no problem with that. Thank you, sir. I appreciate the opportunity.

Microstory 1338: Social Distance Learning

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Data Gatherer: We tried to ask a bunch of random people on the street whether they were more concerned with the virus, or how the elections were going to be handled this term, and the responses...were hard to find. The few people we found walking the mostly empty streets were wearing masks and/or trying to keep their distances from us, and the few responses we did receive were too depressing for our show. At least, that’s what I believed. I instead decided to go back home and video chat with everyone I knew, to ask them some lighthearted questions about their experiences with social distancing. In particular, I was looking for funny stories. Not everything I heard was as lighthearted as I had hoped. My boss has allowed me to upload this last video, but I have been let go. The first person I called was my college roommate. We’ve not spoken in seven years. I think he forgot who I was.

College Friend: Nah, man. I didn’t forget you. I just wasn’t expecting your call. So yeah, social distancing has been fine. I was kind of built for this. I’m a web developer, so I never saw the point in going into the office anyway. They eventually gave my desk to an intern to use while I wasn’t around, so this was just kind of an obvious next step. I don’t really have any funny stories to tell. I have let myself go, so I look more ape than man, but my life hasn’t changed too terribly much. I don’t have kids, or any other responsibilities.

Ex-Girlfriend: I have a ton of responsibilities. This has turned my life into chaos. I get my hair done on Mondays, my nails done on Tuesdays. Wednesdays are for massages. Thursdays are all about me, staying at home, reflecting, so Thursdays are fine. Fridays, I always used to go out to bars or clubs, but nothing’s open anymore. I don’t really see the point in all of this. I’m young, I’ve never been sick a day in my life. I should be able to go out and have fun.

Former Co-worker: Oh, it’s been a lot of fun. Not only am I stuck at home all day, but so are my kids. My. Six. Kids. Well, two of them are my nieces, because my sister and her wife are both doctors. And one of them is an adult who’s been helping out, but it’s still been really stressful for us. They are a joy, make no mistake, but we’re running out of fresh entertainment. Our youngest wants to watch the same episode of a kid’s show over and over again, so if you’re looking for something funny, that’s your story. It’s not funny haha, though. It’s more funny oh God, get me out of here, I’m going crazy.

Brother: The crazy thing is that I’ve been preparing for this my whole adult life. You all called me insane for hoarding those cans of food, and keeping hand sanitizer with me at all times, but who’s laughing now? Who has all the toilet paper, and masks? Me, I do. Well, I don’t have the masks anymore, because my reusable pack finally arrived, so I was able to donate my disposables to a hospital. Yeah, that’s right; not all preppers are selfish jerks. The shows you watch are all about the ones buying guns and bunkers, but most of us were never excited about the end of the world. We still want to stop it, and I’m doing what I can from my end.

Neighbor: The world is not going to end. Everyone is blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Tens of thousands of people die from the flu each year. Now, I’m not saying that’s a good thing, but it is normal. It’s nature’s way of keeping the population down—I really believe that. Old people are supposed to die. Nobody tried to stop it before, so why are we all freaking out now? As the saying goes, this too shall pass.

Social Media Acquaintance: My father passed from this yesterday. No, it’s okay, I want to say this. He was old, and he was on his way out. I don’t know if what he went through with the virus was better or worse than what he was dealing with before. I don’t know whether he would have preferred to stay alive for longer, or end it faster. He stopped being able to talk, so I’ll never know what he was thinking about in the end. Everyone at the hospital was really great. I felt very comfortable leaving him there, and not being able to see him, because I knew he was getting the best care possible. Things are getting bad, though. They’re starting to make triage decisions. Triage, Data Gatherer. That’s not the kind of thing you normally have to do in a hospital setting. Anyone who doesn’t believe this virus is a big deal should be placed in formal quarantine, and left there, even when this is over, because people like that are a danger to society under all circumstances. Though, I guess my anger at them goes against the spirit of what we’re trying to get back here.

Data Gatherer: These were some of the less dispiriting stories, if you can believe it. People need streamed entertainment right now, so maybe it’s a good thing I’ve lost my job. It will give me time to focus on my personal channel. I don’t have a funny story either. Stay safe; stay inside.

Microstory 1337: Voter Suppression

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Political Journalist: Is it okay if I record this conversation?

Vote Suppressor: By all means, I’ve nothing to hide.

Political Journalist: Please state your name in full.

Vote Suppressor: My name is State Election Administrator, but my enemies just call me Vote Suppressor. Hahaha.

Political Journalist: And is that an accurate description for you? Do you suppress votes?

Vote Suppressor: Look, I get a lot of grief, but everyone is looking at this all wrong. Let me paint you a picture—a hypothetical, so you understand my position—but this is, in no way, an admission of guilt. Before I do that, though, I want to point out that I’ve never said that I don’t do what people say I do, but you have to remember that my detractors have yet to prove that what I do is illegal, or even unethical.

Political Journalist: Okay...

Vote Suppressor: So. A long time ago, voting was simple. You went to your closest polling location, wrote down your vote, and sent it off. All the votes would be counted, and the candidate with the most votes would win.

Political Journalist: I don’t think it was ever really like that, but as long as you’re only saying it for illustrative purposes, I will allow you to proceed.

Vote Suppressor: Okay, so. People noticed that this was a bad way of doing things. The polling locations, while logical on paper, weren’t representative of the respective populations. I mean, your closest location might be just on the other side of a river, but that location should be reserved for people who live on that side, because there is something different about them. I don’t know what that difference is, because again, this is just hypothetical. To combat this problem, we drew up borders. We said, these people over here see life through this lens, while those people there see it through another. I have this problem with the anti-border extremist movement, because they’re looking at it the wrong way. They see borders as a means to separate, when really, they unite us. They bring together everyone on one side of that border, so they can operate as one, and lift each other up. See, me? I ain’t got no problem with Mexico. But we ain’t Mexican, so we shouldn’t be cross-pollinating, because we’re just too different.

Political Journalist: First of all, many would just call your position racist or xenophobic. Separate but equal has been the motto for racial inequality starting all the way back in the 19th century. Second of all, you have your history mixed up. Borders did not come before voting. They arise simultaneously, as the need presents itself. 

Vote Suppressor: Okay, okay, fine. But my point stands. All I’m doing is drawing up borders according to unique regional perspectives. If that’s racist, I’m not the racist one, because I didn’t tell certain people to live in certain places. If black people choose to live in the same neighborhood, I can’t stop them.

Political Journalist: But that’s not what border manipulation is. What you’re talking about is drawing lines between neighborhoods, but what you’ve been accused of is drawing unreasonable lines to combine distant neighborhoods so that some districts carry more weight than others. And those districts with the most power always seem to be composed of the wealthy, white neighborhoods, who also somehow generally vote for your political party.

Vote Suppressor: Look, I’ll say this. I’m in charge of managing our districts, right? Well. I couldn’t do that until I was elected, right? Which means I couldn’t have been elected using whatever changes to the districts I made. I can’t go back in time. Can you go back in time? I can’t go back in time.

Political Journalist: No one is suggesting that you invented district manipulation, Mr. Suppressor. They’re saying that it is a long-running systemic problem, in which you are presently involved.

Vote Suppressor: Well, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to convince them otherwise.

Political Journalist: That’s what I’m here for, sir. I’m trying to give you a platform to explain yourself.

Vote Suppressor: And I appreciate it. But, oh, it seems I have another meeting. Thank you so much for your time. I’m looking forward to reading the article, I really am.

Microstory 1336: Shot to Hell

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Product Surveyor: Thank you all for coming in. I mean, both. Thank you both for coming. Please have a seat. No, no, these are not refreshments. You’ll get a chance to sample all of the products, but I would like to start with introductions.

Tester 1: I’m Tester 1. I came into the mall to browse. I hear they’re shutting down, so I wanted to see whether it looked like a ghost town. I don’t have much to do with my life, so I figured I would come in here and see what this was all about.

Tester 2: My name is Tester 2. I too have nothing to do, but I also have no one to talk to. My landlord shut off my internet, so now I have no outlet for my opinions. I like to go around, answering surveys, so that at least someone will listen to me.

Product Surveyor: Okay, cool. Well, my name is Product Surveyor. I’ve been working for this company for two and a half years, but I’ve been using my expertise to conduct surveys for the last twelve.

Tester 2: That’s amazing, congratulations.

Product Surveyor: Thanks. First, I would like—

Tester 1: I too would like to congratulate you on your long and wonderful career.

Product Surveyor: Well, I appreciate that. Anyway, before we move forward, I want to point out that this is not an energy drink. And for legal reasons, nor is it medicine. Our marketing team has chosen to refer to these as Daily Cleansing Shots. My first question to you is, how does that name make you feel?

Tester 2: Well, we don’t know what it is. What exactly is it meant to do?

Tester 1: I too, must know what it is before I put my name on it.

Product Surveyor: No, you’re—you’re not putting your name on it. I just need to know, when you hear the phrase Daily Cleansing Shot, what does it make you think of?

Tester 1: Needle.

Tester 2: Doctor.

Tester 1: Evil.

Tester 2: Evil?

Tester 1: Yeah, like Dr. Evil.

Tester 2: Oh, okay. Umm...pinky.

Product Surveyor: All right, it’s not a word association chain. We’re really just trying to get your initial thoughts on Daily Cleansing Shot.

Tester 1: It makes me think of a needle, I said that.

Product Surveyor: Okay, I can accept that. It makes you think of needle shots. But you have heard of drink shots, correct?

Tester 2: My father was an alcoholic, so absolutely.

Product Surveyor: Okay, so that’s important to hear too. There are some negative connotations to the word shot. I will write that down.

Tester 1: I never said his alcoholism is a bad thing.

Product Surveyor: Right. Umm, why don’t you try the first cup there?

Tester 2: Ahhhhh.

Product Surveyor: Tester 1, do you want to try it?

Tester 1: It looks like he drank the whole thing.

Product Surveyor: No, you have your own. All these little cups here are yours. They’re each just one shot. You’re supposed to drink the whole thing. Yeah, whole thing. Tip it all the way up. You almost have it.

Tester 2: Is he okay?

Product Surveyor: Tester 1? Tester 1. I’m sure it’s all gone now. You don’t have to get every molecule.

Tester 1: Ahhhhh.

Product Surveyor: Now, on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the taste of that first sample? We call it Mornin’ Orange.

Tester 1: Is it gonna make me poop?

Product Surveyor: I’m sorry?

Tester 1: Most cleanses make me poop.

Tester 2: Uh, I too, would like to know if it will make me poop. I can’t remember what underwear I’m wearing today.

Product Surveyor: Well, it’s not a laxative. It does have some fiber, which can regularize your bowels, but unless you have underlying medical conditions, you should always be able to make it to the restroom. Are bowel movements important to your daily health? Is it something you find yourself worrying about?

Tester 2: Not really. I could take it or leave it.

Product Surveyor: I’m not sure what that means. Did you two like the taste, or dislike it?

Tester 1: I love it.

Tester 2: That wasn’t one of the choices, dude. I liked the taste.

Product Surveyor: Okay. Why don’t you try the second one; the green one? While these are designed to be taken one shot each day, you get to choose when you want it, and it’s okay to have more than one, so don’t worry about that today. This one is better suited for lunchtime. We just call it...Verde.

Tester 1: Oh my God, no. Dislike, dislike!

Product Surveyor: Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. Tester 2?

Tester 2: I already forgot what it tastes like.

Product Surveyor: So, that’s a zero from one, and a bland from the other.

Tester 1: Why are you writing this down?

Product Surveyor: This is a survey. We need to know your reactions to our products, so we can market them better.

Tester 2: I see, and then we get a cut.

Product Surveyor: This is an unpaid survey. The poster outside was very clear on that. We’re paying you with free samples of our products!

Tester 1: Well, which is it. Is it unpaid, or is it paid?

Tester 2: Yeah.

Tester 1: My brother used to be paid, but they let him go.

Tester 2: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Where did he work?

Tester 1: I don’t know, I’ve never met ‘im.

Tester 2: I have a pretty good job. It’s called life. Maybe you’ve heard of it?

Tester 1: That’s my job too. Where do you live?

Tester 2: The whole universe is my home, my man.

Tester 1: That’s beautiful.

Product Surveyor: Would you please try the blue sample? Effervescent Evening is a dinner shot. Great, thanks; we...got it in one try. How did you like that?

Tester: I think I’m gonna go back to work.

Tester 2: Yeah, me too.

Product Surveyor: That’s wonderful. Thanks for stopping by. It was..profoundly unhelpful, and I hope you don’t find us at our next location.

Tester 1: Thanks.

Tester 2: Thanks! Hey, you wanna grab some food?

Tester 1: Nah, I just ate. It was these weird shots that you put in your mouth, instead of a needle in your butt...

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: December 10, 2278

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They never did manage to find Holly Blue, or her alternate counterpart, Weaver. Mateo decided, pretty unilaterally, that something had to be done about the Prestons, and that it could not wait, for anything. Not everyone agreed with his plan, but he was the one with the primary Cassidy cuff, which was the only in full working order. Not even Ramses would be able to stop him now, not that he would deign to try. Everything was going to change after the tenth of December, 2278. He would never be able to come back from this, but the timeline and Leona would be safe, so that was a sacrifice he had to make.

“You don’t seem that upset,” Mateo noted. He was standing on the other side of the cage Arcadia and Erlendr were in. This basement got a lot of use many years ago. Some very important historical figures did a lot of good deeds, for the city, and for time. But this work did not come without its enemies, and they did occasionally have to lock people up. This was where they decided to keep the Prestons, to keep them out of trouble. Since they were still here, it would seem their plan went fine.

“Why would we be upset?” Erlendr asked. He looked over at his daughter, in her own cage, separated by an empty cell in the middle.

“Well, we locked you up for...Leona told me how long, but I can’t remember.”

“It was about five months, numbnuts,” Arcadia said.

“Hey,” Erlendr scolded her. “I thought you had a thing for this one.”

“I can have mixed feelings dad!” she spat back like a petulant child.

“Childish antics aside, my daughter and I are immortal time travelers. Five months is meaningless. We’ll get out of here eventually. It could take five more months, or five thousand years; it doesn’t matter. Once we’re free, we’ll go back to the time periods on our schedule, and get back to doing what we’re doing. This is nothing. You did nothing. So no, Mister Matic, I’m not upset with you. You let us out right now, and I won’t harm a hair on your head. I won’t harm your friends either.”

“Yeah.” Nerakali appeared from up the darkened stairs. “You won’t hurt us, because you need us for something.”

Erlendr started to pace. “I need some people, for some things. I need some very specific people, with very particular time powers, and I need some cannon fodder. None of you belong to the first group, and I can find anyone for the second.”

“Which one am I?” Nerakali asked her father.

He smiled at his daughter sadly. “You’re neither, honey bunny. I’m trying to save you.”

“I’m already dead,” she volleyed.

He shook his head. “Only in this timeline. As far as I’m concerned, this timeline can get fucked.”

“Hey, billions and billions of people live, once lived, or will one day live in this timeline,” Mateo argued. “You will show them your respect.”

“Look at the audacity on this guy. This is not the man I keep hearing about. You’re...strong, full of conviction.”

“I’ve grown a little. Death does that to ya, I suppose.”

“But you’re still an idiot.”

This made Nerakali a lot angrier than Mateo himself. She lifted her cuff, and spoke into it. “J.B., are you in the geothermal room?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied through the intercom.

“Put baby in the corner,” she ordered.

“What the hell does that mean?” Arcadia asked flippantly.

Both she and Erlendr were suddenly pulled against the wires of the cage. It wasn’t killing them, but it wasn’t pleasant.

Mateo started mimicking Erlendr’s pacing. “Remind me, Nerakali, what was the proximity range we put on our prisoners’ Cassidy cuffs?”

“They can’t get within two meters of the primary, sir,” she answered, “and not beyond twenty meters.”

“And...about how far is the far corner of the power generator room of this facility?”

“Just over twenty meters, sir.”

“Okay,” Arcadia struggled to say with her face scrunched up against the metal. “We get it. We’ll be good.”

Mateo spoke into his own cuff. “Step back, please.”

The Prestons fell to their knees.

“You could have just had him walk up stairs,” Erlendr told them.

“But then your honey bunny couldn’t have made the Dirty Dancing reference.” Mateo leaned in real close to Erlendr, who was still on the floor. “Speaking of movie references...honey bunny was the douche bag’s girlfriend...pumpkin. That’s not an Oedipus complex, but it’s something.”

Erlendr banged his fists against the wire. “Okay, now I’m pissed!”

“Oh, you are, are ya!” Mateo matched volume with his best Irish accent.

“Yeah!”

“You are?!”

“I am!”

“I’m glad to finally know you draw the line at incest! Prestoncest!”

Arcadia banged on the cage too. “Hey! What the hell are you doing? This isn’t you!”

He slid over, and gave her the stink eye. “Oh, what’s my problem? I just have this thing about muthafuckas murdering me. It’s a quirk; I was born with it!”

Arcadia mimed squeezing a watermelon between her hands, shaking with frustration. “He’s going to undo that. He’s going to undo all of them!”

“Oh, he is? What about the people who once lived here? Their deaths galvanized an entire city to drop their weapons, which started a nationwide movement that inspired other cities to do the same. I’m not saying those innocent people deserved to die, but what world will we be living in if it doesn’t happen?”

“We’re gonna fix all that too!” Arcadia contended. “We’re gonna fix everything! The Parallel is just Step One of Stage Three.”

“Who’s gonna fix it?” he questioned.

“Us!” she cried. “My father, my brother, Nerakali, even you!”

“And there it is.” Mateo lowered his voice back down to assert his calm dominance. “You Prestons have always fancied yourselves gods. You think you know best. Zeferino died for this delusion. But that’s why the powers that be made me! I don’t have a job, so when they need something done that’s unusual—that no one else is responsible for—they call me in. I rehabilitated Horace Reaver, I got The Cleanser killed, and I ripped you from this universe, where you too were rehabilitated.” He wasn’t finished yet. “My wife made Nerakali a better person, and our relationship with Reaver drove him to kill Ulinthra for us.”

“Who?”

“Exactly.” He started to pace again, but this time for himself. “I ran a planet. Leona saved a race of heavy worlders. We have bested everyone and everything that’s ever been thrown at us, including you. You think you can win, because there’s one thing no one has ever had the audacity—as you put it—to say to you.”

“Lemme guess,” Erlendr began, “no.”

“Close,” Mateo replied. “I was gonna say hell no.”

“You’re not a selfish man, Mateo,” Erlendr said. “You would never let a villain do a bad thing to get your own life back. But how can you say no to all those people the hundemarke killed? What would you say to their families?”

Now Mateo knew he had to be cold. “It depends. If they were religious, I would probably lie to them, and say that God has a plan.”

“And if they weren’t?” Arcadia asked.

He took a moment before answering, which they all managed to respect. “I would tell ‘em that shit happens.”

They didn’t have a response to this.

Mateo spoke into his cuff, “Ramses. Is it done? Will it work?”

“It’s ready, boss. I’m no Holly Blue, though, so be careful. Handoff upon your orders,” Ramses replied.

“What does that mean?” Arcadia asked again.

“Do it,” Mateo ordered.

His cuff beeped. The Prestons stumbled back, but regained their balance.

“Sorry, I was too close.” He stepped back to give them more space to move around. Ramses just transferred ownership of their cuffs to him, which meant he was primary for all of them. He was done being cruel. Now he just had to kill them. It was the only way. Leona didn’t agree with it, though, which was why she wasn’t here.

Arcadia sensed the turn. “This is it? You want blood?”

“No blood,” Mateo said with a slow shake of his head.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, but you don’t know what I mean.” He inhaled deeply to prepare himself. “I suggested we erase your memories, but Nerakali told me my brain wouldn’t be able to handle that. You’re just too...much. You’re sick, and you’ve had traumatizing lives. I wouldn’t survive. But that doesn’t mean I can’t use her power.” Now he turned, and faced the only good Preston they had ever known. “You should leave.”

“I need to see this,” Nerakali insisted.

“I understand.” He started pressing a sequence on his cuff.

“What are you doing?” she asked, tearing up.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” she begged him. “You’re abusing your power.”

He sighed again. “I know. I’ll make you forget I did it later.”

“That’s worse!” she screamed.

Before she could say anything else, he executed the sequence, and apported her to safety in the hangar.

“What did she want to watch?” Erlendr looked scared, and it was probably the first time in his millennia-long life.

“I’m not gonna kill your bodies. I don’t have the stomach for it. No matter what anyone says, you’re not Hitler.”

“You’re gonna blend our brains,” Arcadia realized. “But what is that going to change? We’ve both been the same, in all realities.”

“Your sister taught me a lot about how her time and mind powers work, and about alternate realities in general,” he began. “She explained that, logically speaking, your alternate self isn’t much more you than any rando. I can blend your brain with anyone I choose. I just have to know who I’m looking for.”

“Who are you looking for?” Erlendr asked.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “You’re not going to remember.”

“Whose minds are you putting in our bodies?” Arcadia echoed.

“Years ago, you forced me and my friends to struggle through expiations. You took them out of time one by one, and held them hostage.”

“I remember,” she said. “This is payback?”

“No,” Mateo said truthfully. “We failed one of the expiations. We failed to bring back your previous target’s brother, and we failed to help your target herself. I’m here to fix that. The loophole is that I can clear all of your memories without taking them into myself as long as I replace them all with new ones.”

“Please,” Erlendr pleaded.

He used his Cassidy cuffs to disable the proximity range, and then he apported the both of them out of their cages. This could be their one chance to escape, but they were too frightened to do anything. They couldn’t think clearly. They had never been so powerless. But he was thinking clearer than ever, and possessed more power than he had ever known what to do with. Things were different than the last time, back when he was forced to fight the Cleanser using the same powers as equals. This time, he knew what had to be done, and he knew he was the only one in a position to do it, even though he wasn’t the only one with these gifts in his hands. He raised them now, and focused his energy on his targets. “Erlendr and Arcadia Preston, you have been found guilty on multiple counts of murder, for which the punishment is death by immediate overwrite.” It was faster than he thought it would be. In under a minute, Erlendr and Arcadia Preston were gone. The people he replaced them with were just as scared, though, and very confused.

Mateo used his cuff to summon his wife to their position.

“Is it done?” Leona asked.

“Leona Delaney, I would like to introduce you to brother and sister, Aldona and Nestor Lanka.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Leona said to them.

“Please take care of them,” Mateo charged her.

“Where are you going?”

He gave the love of his life one last hug. “It’s best that you don’t know.” Then he teleported away, and left her there, never intending to see her again.

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Firestorm: Volpsidia Raske (Part II)

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I don’t know what Alexina’s problem is. We used to be friends. And I don’t just mean we would smile at each other in the hallway in high school. We were really close, even before we got trapped in the Purple Rose Lane pocket dimension together. She acts like she grew up, and grew out of our old ways, but every single one of us was a precocious child. The way we are is the way we are because of what we can do, and she can hide from that side of her all she wants, but eventually she’s gonna realize that it takes up the majority of who she is, and she won’t be able to hide anymore. Whatever. It’s not going to do me any good right now. I need to get the hell out of this prison, and now I know what to do. My first pawn was far too strong for me, but her replacement will do quite nice. I just need to get him to trust me.

“Aren’t we already talking?” Ace asks.

“We are,” I say, “but we need to talk where guards can’t hear us, and if we go into our pocket dimensions, we can. They can’t spy on us in there. We are afforded a modicum of privacy.”

“Did they not just hear you say that, though?”

“Temporarily, no.” I’ve been able to get myself into one of the guard’s heads. It’s not enough to compel him to break me out of here—partially because he isn’t in a position to accomplish it anyway—but he does manipulate some of the surveillance to keep me out of trouble. He gets suspicious when I’m controlling his mind too much, though. I need my cell neighbor in a certain spot so I can break my connection with the guard on my own terms.

“How can we talk from the pockets? The weird magical phones they give us in there surely are indeed monitored.”

“They are, which is why we’re not going to use them.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You have a bookcase.” It’s not a question.

“Yes,” he answers. “What about it?”

“I need you to lift one side of it, and swing it outwards to a ninety degree angle.”

“Is there a secret phone behind it, or something?”

“Do you want the instructions, or not? If you do this for me, you’ll be able to see your family.”

“Okay, go on.”

“Swing the bookcase out,” I continue. “Tear the carpet from the floor. It might be kind of hard, so you’ll have to use a fork, or something. Or use a knife, because you’re gonna need it anyway. Once you have enough of the carpet out of the way, carve my name into the wood underneath. V-O-L-P-S-I-D-I-A-P-H-I-L-L-I-P-R-A-S-K-E.”

“Phillip with two Ls, you said?” he asks.

“Yes.” He’s buying it; it’s working.

“What next?”

“After you’re finished carving, go to bed. Repeat my name over and over again in a low whisper. Keep doing it until you fall asleep. What you’re doing is sending a message to the universe that not even the dimensional barriers in your prison cell can ignore.”

“Is any of this real, or are you just hazing the new guy?”

Okay, maybe he’s not buying it. Let the line out a little, then slowly start reeling him back in, Volpsidia. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve done this before.”

“Okay, fine. Tear up the carpet, carve your name, chant your name. I can do that.”

All I can do now is wait and hope. He never comes back out to give me a progress report, so he’s either actually trying it, or he’s figured out that I’m lying, and isn’t doing anything. The guy in the cell on the other side of me has his own slight psychic abilities, so if I’m going to break myself out, this idiot is my only hope.

That night, I start to feel him, and now I know he did what I asked. As the minutes go by, the stronger I can feel his mind. I’m a genius.

No, you’re not.

Who’s that? I ask. There’s someone in my head, and it’s not Ace. Who the hell is that? It’s a female voice, so I know it’s not my neighbor either.

You’re right, the voice in my head agrees. I’m not your neighbor. I am nowhere near Beaver Haven. You see, I haven’t broken any of McAllister’s rules, which is why I’m still free.

Who are you?

The name’s Erlendr Preston, he says. I can hear the smile in his thoughts.

I’ve heard of you. You’re a man.

I sense a shrug. I can be whatever I want to be. Feel free to authenticate my psychic signature.

Holy crap, he’s telling the truth. I cannot piss him off. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I should probably be ready to plead for my life.

Tell me, what are you doing with Horace Reaver? Why did you make him chant your name like a frickin’ psycho? I can hear him all the way from the 20th century.

It’s a psychic prompt, I reply. Erlendr Preston is not a good guy. If he wants to stop me, he can. If he doesn’t, then it’s fine for me to be honest. In fact, it’s probably best, because I imagine he can tell when people are lying, and I don’t wanna know what he does to those people. I can read his mind, just like I can read anyone else, but I can’t control him unless he lets me in. Most people don’t realize that psychic powers are real, which means their minds are closed to pushing. If I want to hack in, I have to make him want me to. I have to make him think that we’re friends, and that I can help him.

Horace Reaver is very important to my plans. What are your plans? Do they interfere with mine?

I have no idea. What are you trying to do?

Nevermind that, Erlendr says. You explain your goals, and I’ll decide if I’m going to let you reach them or not.

I sigh. I’m just trying to get out of Beaver Haven.

How is being psychically linked to another inmate going to get you this?

This body is just a vessel. If I can get out of here mentally, I can find myself a new one. Ace’s body would just be temporary until I can find someone I like better.

Will Mr. Reaver survive both your possession, and your leaving him mind later?

Absolutely. If all goes according to plan, he won’t even know I’m still there. I’ll be dormant until I find the right host.

Erlendr doesn’t send another telepathic message for a while. Is it true what you told him? Can you let him see his family while he’s locked up? Do you have remote viewing capabilities?

Uhh... It’s hard to explain. I can...show him what he expects to see his family doing.

What happens when he gets out, and realizes what you showed him was an illusion?

He won’t. When he gets out, and tries to compare his visions with reality by talking to his people, everything they tell him will rewrite his memories of those visions. He’ll start remembering what they experienced when he wasn’t there just by them telling him about it.

That’s impressive. I’ve never met a choosing one with such...delicate power.

I laugh. I’m not a choosing one. I’m a Springfield Nine.

I know. He laughs too. I’ll be sure to make your life comfortable when I create my parallel reality.

I’m not sure what he means by that, but it’s best I express my gratitude. Thank you. I’m sure my alternate self will appreciate it.

You have a week, Erlendr says to me. Horace has to do something for me, and I need his mind free and clear for that. Find another vessel by then, and I’ll let you have this one for now.

Well, this version of me appreciates that deeply.

Just remember that next year when we meet each other again.

Oh, that doesn’t sound good, but I still need to be humble. Okay.

That was a psychic conversation, which is innocuous, and I have them with people all the time. Even though most don’t have powers, their minds instinctively know how to block out intrusion, so if they want, they can always drop the conversation as if hanging up a phone. But now I am fully inside Ace’s brain, so I can make it look like we’re occupying the same physical space. He’ll be able to see me; I’ll be able to see him, and we can interact with each other on a more intuitive level. The manifestation of a door appears on the wall in each of our respective pocket dimensions, like two adjoined hotel rooms. There is only one step left. In order to maintain a permanent presence in him, I need to open my door, and he needs to open his. We do so at the same time.

“Are we really here?” he asks.

“No, now we’re connected psychically.”

“What was all that with the bookcase, and saying your name out loud?”

“I’m sorry I had to make you do that. When I said you were reaching out to the universe, I really meant you were just reaching out to me. I’m the one who can show you how your family is doing, but I can only do that if you’re open.”

He looks around at our two pockets, which were contrived from our memories. “I look pretty open now.”

I nod and smile. I almost feel bad about using him. He seems like a good man. Which is probably why he’s going to get out of here one day. That has only ever happened once, as far as I know. I wasn’t able to get all the way into Slipstream’s mind, and I tried for a whole year, so this is my only chance to be free. “Yep. You did everything perfectly. Now I can show you what’s going on in the real world. I don’t have to ask you to concentrate on their faces, or anything. You’re the kind of guy who’s just doing that all the time.” I wave my hand at the double threshold, tearing it apart in the center. A new opening forms in its wake, opening enough to let us pass.

We walk into what looks like a magic show. Waiters and waitresses are walking around with drinks and fries. The place is pretty full. It’s informal, so people aren’t paying the man on stage their undivided attention, but they are being respectful. They’re whispering things to each other when they need to. We spot Ace’s family and friends. Serkan, Paige, Slipstream, and Alexina are sitting in a booth in the middle of the audience, right up against a retaining wall. They’re watching the performer, but differently than everyone else. They’re studying him.

“Now, folks!” the magician cries. “I know you didn’t come here for cold readings and trick rings! You wanna see me make something disappear!” He opens his palm, letting a dove suddenly appear on top of it. “Maybe this bird?” He pops his hand up, prompting the dove to fly up into the rafters. This is a weird vision. I can’t actually see what’s really happening in the rest of the world. I can read minds, and control people, but I have no connection to anyone here, except for Alexina, whose mind I agreed to never violate. This is only meant to be what Ace thinks is happening out here, and when he meets them again, his memory of this moment should change so he doesn’t realize it’s fake. Why would he think his family is at a magic show when they’re supposed to be on mission? “Today, I have a very special treat for you! I have been working on a new trick, and I need a volunteer! It takes a lot of energy, so I would prefer someone with less mass!”

“I’ll do it!” Young Paige volunteers.

Serkan tries to stop her quietly.

“It’s fine,” she whispers to him as she’s standing up. “I understand what he’s doing. He can’t hurt me.” She walks up towards the stage, bowing graciously at the cheering crowd. We follow, but of course, no one can see us since they’re not real.

“You look familiar,” the magician says to her, “what is your name?”

She leans in to the microphone. “I’ve been at your show before. My name is Paige Turner Reaver-Demir.”

“Well, folks, now you know she’s not a plant! I could never come up with such an interesting name!”

The audience laughs, except for Ace’s family.

The magician goes on, “Paige, have you ever teleported before?”

Paige leans in again, and very seriously—and without hesitation—answers, “yes.”

This surprises him for a moment, then he wises up. He covers the mic with his hand. “Are you a choosing one?” he whispers.

“I’m not,” she replies. “I’m spawn.” Oh, man, those are rare. I didn’t know that about her. “But don’t worry, I’m just here to have a good time. Go ahead and do your trick, it’s fine.”

After a little more performance to build up the suspense, the magician asks Paige to stand on the right side of him. Then he uses whatever chooser power he has to teleport her right over to his left side. The crowd is shocked. They start cheering again. Everyone is giving him a standing ovation. They’re eating it up. It’s not very impressive when you’ve seen what I have, but humans are ignorant wee babies. The magician seems proud of himself at first, but then his nose begins to bleed. He looks like he’s about to faint.

Paige notices this too. She takes her phone out of her pocket with one hand while trying to hold him up with the other. “It looks like that took a lot out of him, folks! I’m going to have to take him to the hospital.” She pulls up a picture of what I assume is a hospital, looks right at it, and they both disappear. Now the crowd freaks out.

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