Microstory 1342: Opening Statements

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Prosecutor: [Majority of opening statement cut for time.] ...so this is a simple case. The defendant threatened the victim in public. No, it wasn’t a threat of death, or even violence, but he promised to cause quote-great troubles for [him] in the coming days-end quote. That’s not a smoking gun, but it’s nothing either. He had access to the building, and the floor from which the victim ultimately fell. By the defendant’s own admission, the victim had ruined his life, which speaks to motive. Evidence will show that the defendant committed this crime. Footage and testimony of his behavior beforehand will prove that he intended to commit the crime, which means it was premeditated...which means it was murder. I urge you to look carefully at this evidence, and decide for yourselves. Thank you.

Murder Case Judge: Thank you, Madam Prosecutor. Mr. Defendant’s Attorney?

Defendant’s Attorney: Thank you, Your Honor. Before I go into my prepared statements, I would like to address a few things that the prosecutor said. Prosecutor called this a simple case. I believe I know what she means by that, but I hope you don’t take it to mean that the decision should come easy to you. All you have to go on are the facts, and the facts do not support the prosecution’s case. They are the ones who are actually making it complicated. They have drawn conclusions that are not true, only because their presumptions are technically possible. Possible and plausible, however, do not equal reality. We in the business call this circumstantial. As the prosecutor stated, my client made some hate- and anger-filled comments against the victim. I will not try to tell you what he meant by them, what his intentions were, or how he feels about them now. That will be his job when he takes the witness stand. Prosecutor is right that these remarks, coupled with the victim’s ultimate death soon thereafter, are suspicious. Evidence will show, however, that he was not the only one to say such things about the victim. The victim, may he rest in peace, was not the most belovèd person in the city. That’s okay, I’m not disparaging his memory. I don’t have a lot of fans myself. This is more about the suspect pool, which was egregiously small. My client’s name was chosen by the prosecution, and dragged through the mud, simply because he was the loudest. But that would be like blaming your neighbor’s dog for knocking down your tool shed ‘cause you can’t see the wind. My client had means, motive, and opportunity, but so did many others, and the prosecution will not be able to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client is guilty. So... [Majority of opening statement cut for time.]

Microstory 1341: Bad Thoughts

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New Patient: Where should I sit? Or should I lie down?

Psychologist: You can sit or lie down wherever you like, however you like. That’s why I have so many options. I have one patient who prefers to curl up against the wall, because it makes them feel safer.

New Patient: Okay, thanks.

Psychologist: So, what brings you in today? The way I understand it, you’re having mixed feelings about something?

New Patient: Well, that’s one way to put it. I would describe what I’m experiencing as bad thoughts. I just keep—not seeing things; I don’t have hallucinations—but I have these urges to do things I know are wrong.

Psychologist: Things like what?

New Patient: Well, the other day, the cashier at the grocery store got upset with me, because I’m apparently supposed to scan my rewards card before I pay, so now there was nothing she could do about it. I can’t say that I wanted to do this, but I just had a vision—this flash—where I shoved the card in her mouth, and told her to scan it now. Oh my God, that’s so terrible. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.

Psychologist: That’s okay. This is a safe space. Everything you say is confidential, and I’m not here to judge you. Mine is only to help.

New Patient: I sure hope you can, because this isn’t even the worst example. I can’t explain it. Like I was saying with that one, I don’t have a desire to hurt people, but I can’t help but think of these alternative responses. The normal thing to do is just open the door that’s just been accidentally shut in my face, but a part of me wants to get them back for that; to physically drag them back to the threshold, and slam it in their face too.

Psychologist: So your thoughts are more about exacting justice, or revenge, on people who have wronged you.

New Patient: Yeah, I guess that’s probably an accurate limitation. I don’t walk past someone on the street, and think about randomly slitting their throat. It just seems to bother me more those little annoying things that people do. I mean, I would almost rather just be the kind of jerk who snaps at others, because then at least I wouldn’t be hurting them. I’m worried I’ll one day just lose control, and actually act on these thoughts.

Psychologist: Well, I wouldn’t be worried about that just yet. Simply by acknowledging that these are, and would be, irrational reactions, you’ve taken the first step in changing your perspective.

New Patient: I’ve just never been like this before. I grew up totally fine, but now it’s all I can think about, at least for a few moments after something frustrating happens to me. It’s making it hard to focus on everything I need to do.

Psychologist: There’s probably some reason it’s happening now. When people change their moods like that, it’s usually due to newer, stressful situations. Let’s talk more about who you are, what you do, and what has changed in your life recently that could cause you to feel a little more temperamental than before.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 18, 1992

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Mateo was in hiding. What he had done, he thought was unforgivable. He had to be away from Leona, probably forever. She never said she wanted him to leave, but it was the right thing to do. He just needed to make sure no one could track him, which was one reason he was keeping Ramses around. He wanted to keep the Cassidy cuff on, because it made him feel—not powerful—but protected. Or maybe it made him feel powerful too. Maybe being able to do all these things he couldn’t before was corrupting him. He just didn’t know what he should do. Keep the cuff, and stay safe, but don’t use the powers unless they were absolutely necessary. If he stayed away from people anyway, there shouldn’t be much need for the powers.

Like any other location sharing solution, Ramses’ capacity to disable it was limited by its vulnerability to anyone smart enough to exploit some programming weakness. Fortunately for them, Ramses grew up in a more technologically advanced world than Leona, so she would always be no match for him. Their link was severed, like that time Jacob and a couple of other wolves started their own pack in the middle of the book. This was a reference Mateo didn’t realize he had. He hadn’t read a single word from that series, nor had he seen the films. There seemed to be some knowledge in his mind that came from someone else; someone whose brain he had blended. He shrugged it off, because so far, this extra information wasn’t causing him any problems. He took note of it, though, in case something changed.

Things seemed to be going okay when the two of them jumped to December 11, 2279, but that belief did not last long. Within one hour, Vidar was tearing open a rift in the spacetime continuum, and stepping through with Leona and Nerakali. So they couldn’t track them with the cuffs, but Vidar could still always find them. That was kind of his whole deal.

“Let’s just talk,” Leona requested politely.

“We’re not mad at you for what you did,” Nerakali added. “We all agreed to it.”

Mateo wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what, so he just stayed quiet, like a shy kid on the first day of high school.

“Please,” Leona asked.

No, there was nothing he could say. He just had to figure out how to stop Vidar from following them. What if he jumped to another location, and then another, and then another, and kept going for so long that Vidar would have to give up? Reopening rifts seemed to take at least a little bit of time, and wouldn’t the trail go cold once midnight central hit? What if he jumped to one place, and then another, and then backtracked to the second location, and then jumped to a third, and then backtracked again, and then just kept forming this huge web of dummy paths? Vidar could track him, sure, but by the time he figured out his targets weren’t there at any given spot, Mateo and Ramses would have expanded the web even further. Or what if he just teleported to an airport, and flew somewhere else manually, in secret. Or maybe the answer was doing a combination of all of these things.

Mateo reached for his cuff, and started hunting for new coordinates.

“Wait,” Leona said desperately. “You don’t have to do this. I love you. We’re not in a fight; don’t make it one.”

Ramses decided to step up, because Mateo couldn’t. “Stop tracking us. When he’s ready, we’ll find you.” Mateo wasn’t sure he would ever be ready, but that technically didn’t make his friend’s claim a lie. “You can’t track us forever, Wolfe. You’ll get tired of it.”

It doesn’t matter where you go, or how you get there. I’ll always be able to sniff you out. There’s only one thing I know of that can stop it.

“What?” Mateo finally spoke up. “What is it?”

The three of them looked at him in confusion, as did Ramses. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

“What is the one thing that can stop you from being able to track us?”

Is he asking about the home stone?

That was weird. Vidar wasn’t moving his lips, but he was talking. That was because he wasn’t talking; he was just thinking. Mateo was reading his mind. It must be a secondary power that Nerakali never told him about. He thought hard about how he could exploit this new ability without giving his intentions away. “I mean, I obviously know what can stop you. I’ve been looking for one, but I haven’t been able to.”

Well, there’s one on Purple Rose Lane in April 18, 1992, and Horace used one for September 25, 2022, Vidar thought.

“Twenty-twenty-two,” Mateo mumbled as quietly as possible while still assured that the others could hear him.

“Are you reading my mind?” Vidar asked.

“What? No.” Mateo cupped his mouth, and whispered to Ramses, “September 25, 2022.” But he didn’t input those coordinates on his cuff. He chose the first date instead, and then beamed them to Ramses’ cuff, so he would see that it was a misdirect. All of this was playing out very similarly to how they did back in—interestingly enough—2022, with the fake train ticket. He wasn’t going to screw up this time, though.

“Please,” Leona begged one more time. “Don’t.”

“Were I you,” he replied, but he executed the command before he could hear his wife say it back to him.

“What are we doing here?” Ramses asked. They were now standing in Springfield, Kansas at twilight. “What are you looking for in 1992?”

Mateo looked around a little. “Her.”

He saw a young girl about fifty meters away, standing alone on the sidewalk. She waited patiently for them to approach. “It’s already gone. I let Ace take it back to 2022.”

“Shit,” Mateo said. “That’s when they’ll be expecting us.”

“Someone’s tracking you?” the girl asked.

“Yeah,” Mateo answered. “Apparently a home stone is the only way to travel undetected.”

“Yeah, but won’t they know when and where you’re going anyway?”

“I was hoping my engineer friend here could modify it for me.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Ramses explained.

“It takes you back to the first moment you experienced nonlinear time,” she began. “Either right before, so you can stop it from happening, or right after, so you can get back to your life, right where you left off. I can’t get you back there, because my power is traceable, at least by the man I assume is chasing you? I can, however, put you in contact with someone who can block your signal, even retroactively. I don’t know how it works, but it will allow you to stay in the moment without anyone finding you.”

“That would be amazing. Thanks, Jesi. Uhh, I mean...”

“I know we’ve already met. I’m from the future. The home stone just reyoungified me. That’s how it works.”

“Oh, okay. Lead the way.”

“No, I’ll give you the coordinates. I have to change my future, so you’re on your own, buddy boo.”

“Okay.”

A woman Mateo recognized opened the door. “Holly Blue?” he asked.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“I’m Mateo Matic, Leona’s husband.”

“Oh, right. I went to your wedding...and your funeral.”

“Thanks!”

“Listen,” Ramses jumped in, “we’re looking for a way to stop people from time-tracking us. Do you have anything like that?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “This whole house is warded. Come on in.”

When Mateo and Ramses stepped inside, they saw a toddler playing with blocks on the floor of the living room.

“Awww, and who is this little fella?” Ramses knelt down, and shook the baby’s hand.

“I’m Declan!” the child exclaimed with delight.

“I saved him from The Vosa before it was destroyed,” Holly Blue explained. “I was working on a way to travel through time when the crisis came upon us. I didn’t have time to test it, or save anyone else. I guess the machine kinda chose a random date. We ended up here last year. He was born in space; farther than anyone ever had at that point in history. Now he watches Sesame Street on a square TV; can you imagine? How do people survive in this time period? I’m working on building him a flatscreen, though it takes a lot of time, since I’m not a real inventor.”

“Hm. Leona would beg to differ.”

“Where is she?” Holly Blue asked.

“I’m sort of hiding from her.”

“What happened?”

“I killed two people—bad people—but I can’t even look her in the eye. Will you help me, or are you too loyal to her?”

“I help people in need. I love Leona, but you’re not her enemy. It’s not my place to settle your domestic issues. You can stay here as long as you like.”

“We were looking for something called a home stone?” Ramses said. “Have you heard of it?”

“I have. I asked Weaver about them once. She didn’t invent them, and I don’t think I do either. I could probably rig something up, though. I might need some time.”

Mateo looked at his Cassidy cuff like it was a watch. “I’ll be back in a year. Or if it takes you longer, that’s fine. I don’t want to put you out.”

“No, I don’t do much time-engineering anymore. I’m mostly just trying to keep Declan safe. It’ll be nice to get back to it. Are those Cassidy cuffs?”

“They are,” Ramses answered. “Did you want to take a look at them?”

“I have plans for those in the basement. I won’t have a working prototype for another ten years, I think. There’s kind of an important ingredient that I’m missing.” Yeah, Cassidy won’t be arriving on Earth for another several years. “Anyway, I shouldn’t look at the real ones; that could disrupt the timeline.”

Mateo and Ramses nodded understandingly.

“The facilities are at your disposal. You can shower, and sleep in the guest bedroom. If you want a change of clothes, I’m presently building a time-wardrobe. It’s not as large as the one on Tribulation Island, or in the Bran safehouse, but it should be good enough.”

“Thanks,” Mateo said. “We appreciate it.”

Meanwhile, in 2022, Leona, Nerakali, and Vidar have just shown up at the law offices of Stanley, Bristol & Associates. They opened the door to Lincoln Rutherford’s office just in time to see a young Horace Reaver disappear with his boyfriend, Serkan, and their daughter, Paige. Lincoln sighed at the sight of them. “Make it quick. Someone else is about to barge into my office, right behind you.”

Leona looked into the hallway with a hopeful frown.

“It’s not Mateo.” When she looked back, she saw Lincoln holding a stone in his hand. “He went to 1992, looking for this. He couldn’t have it, though, because Jesi gave it to Ace, so he could come here.”

“How did he know where to go at all?” Leona interrogated Vidar.

“How was I meant to know he can read minds? A man’s thoughts are his private business. I would have put up mental wards had I realized Nerakali was capable of such a thing.”

“I’m not,” Nerakali corrected. “I can take memories, add memories, or use my power creatively to make you remember something that never happened to you, like a dream. I cannot read realtime thoughts, though. I have no clue how he took those from your brain, if that is even what happened.”

“It’s the only explanation,” Leona said.

“No, it’s not,” Lincoln said. When the others stared at him, he added, “I don’t know how he did it. That truth is hazy for me. I’m just saying there are other possible explanations. He could have coerced the information out of you, then returned to his body in the past, to undo it, but retain said information. I don’t know. All I know is that you have thirty seconds to get out of here. After my next abrupt and unwanted meeting, I have a real meeting with the named partners, and I kind of want to make a good impression, because one of them becomes my wife in the future.”

“We’re very sorry,” Nerakali said sincerely. “Could we have that?”

Lincoln dropped the stone on the table like he had forgotten he was holding it. “I have no use for it. Go crazy.”

Leona input the next coordinates on her Cassidy cuff. Once the three of them were all synced up, she executed the command, and sent them all to 1992. Unfortunately, something was stopping Vidar’s power from working. He could sense that Mateo and Ramses were here, at least at some point, but the trail had already fallen cold, and now there was apparently no way of knowing when or where they were.

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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.