Frenzy: Weather-Related (Part II)

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I tell my car where I want to go and continue to study the map on my tablet. Before I know it, I’m at the City Frenzy headquarters, and I feel like I’ve learned nothing. Oh man, this is going to be tough, what am I gonna do? I step out of the car, still staring at my tablet, furiously swiping and pinching around, trying to get a better feel for the streets. Something hits me and knocks me to the ground.

“Oh my God, that’s ironic,” a voice I’m familiar with says. “Two tracers running into each other.”

“Keilix!” We help each other back up. She must have been studying too, because her own tablet is on the ground next to mine.

“Hello, Serkan. Are you here to support your brother?”

“Uh, no. You didn’t hear? He’s sick, so I’m racing for him.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t look pleased.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You have a better chance of winning against me than you would have against him.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“You haven’t seen him.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” Keilix is seventeen years old as well, so this will be her last Frenzy. There’s a lot of pressure on seventeen-year-olds to win, but of course that’s a logistically impractical expectation.

The sun disappears through a sudden appearance of dark gray clouds. Keilix and I look up to the sky. We’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s unnatural for the weather to change so drastically. In fact—I didn’t really study meteorology—but it may be impossible for clouds to form that quickly.

“I guess we better get inside.”

“Yes,” I agree.

When we step into the building, we’re met with looks. Everyone else is already there, and the doors are frustratingly loud. Things are awkward for a moment before Keilix lifts her arms up and pretends to pound on a window. “Elaine!” she cries.

A few people laugh, especially the council members, but most of the youngins don’t get the reference. Somehow, I do, and to add my own personal touch, I curtsy. Now everyone laughs and moves on.

Council Leader Andrews continues the meeting as the two of us are finding our seats in the front row. “As I was saying, the council and I would like to thank you all for coming on such short notice. The meteorology department of my organization has discovered something unusual in recent weather patterns.” Nearly all members of the council have jobs apart from the City Frenzy. Throughout most of the year, that’s what they do. They’re only called to action when necessary, but they have pretty busy careers. Actually, you can’t really get on the council if you’re not already a respected member of society. There’s a firefighter, a superintendent, a few CEOs, and other people in power. Andrews, in particular, runs a scientific research lab, so he has access to data that could potentially affect the race. It would seem that this very thing has happened. He continues, “you have all probably noticed how strangely cold it’s been lately...for July, that is. The situation is a little bit more nuanced and technical than that, but I assure you that my team is working on it.”

“What’s gonna happen with the race?” a kid I don’t know asks.

Council Leader Andrews scans the crowd, but I can’t tell why. It kind of looks like he’s doing a headcount, but not of everybody. He prepares himself for his answer. “The race will go on, but not as planned.”

The same kid calls up again, “what does that mean?”

Andrews is really struggling with responding. He’s always had a level of fear of the kids. It does make sense, though. You can’t register in this race unless you’ve proven yourself physically capable of it. You have to undergo rigorous testing; a physical examination, gymnastics, dancing, parkour, certain track events, and a few other things. Every kid in this room could kick Andrews’ ass several times over, and he knows it. So he’s frozen.

Mr. Rutherford, the resident lawyer, stands up. Unlike the others who were chosen by their clout alone, Councilman Rutherford was selected specifically for his educational background and experience. With a race as dangerous as this, especially one involving minors, you have to protect your own ass legally. “I got this, Duke,” I can hear him whisper to the Council Leader. He takes a deep breath while Andrews is sitting down. “Yes, we are going ahead with the race, but only for contestants sixteen years of age and up.”

The crowd understandably freaks out. The race has been going on for the better part of a decade, and never have they done anything like this before. We’ve had bad weather, and other complications, but the rule has always been twelve to seventeen.

Rutherford tries to maintain control over the room. “Now, I know you’re all upset. I bet even the older kids don’t think it’s fair, but I’m afraid there is nothing we can do about it. The weather has made things entirely too dangerous.”

“Bullshit!” that one kid cries out. He does look like he could be fifteen years old.

“One more word, Thompson,” Rutherford growls, “and you’ll be banned from competing next year.”

“We’re probably gonna move to Mars this winter!” That’s bullshit, nobody’s going to Mars. It’s clear that his friends don’t believe him either, so he has to move on and defend himself. Most of the crowd, however, does not let up.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Rutherford continues. “People have been spitting on lawyers since the dawn of time. Let me have it, that’s what I’m here for.”

As one of the older kids, and because I’m sort of a legend around here, I’ve been placed in a de facto leadership position. Newbies have come up to me to ask for my autograph. I always refuse, instead encouraging to work hard so people start asking them for autographs. That seems to inspire them. Man, I really sound like a pompous douchebag when I talk about myself, don’t I? Keilix would tell me to ignore the haters, and that that’s the price of fame. I consider using that fame to my advantage, hoping to help calm the others with some words of wisdom. As I lean forward, Rutherford catches my eye and subtly shakes his head.

Keilix simultaneously places her hand on my stomach like a mother protecting her child when the car in front of her has stopped too quickly. “This is not your moment,” is all she says.

Andrews looks like he’s gathered his composure, and is ready to get back into the fight. He stands up and gently motions for Rutherford to leave the stage. “It’s okay, I can handle this now. You should talk to the qualifiers.”

“Those sixteen years of age and older, follow me!” Rutherford commands, heading for a door to another room. Without looking back, he yells, “Thompson!”

Too Young Thompson, as he shall from now on be referred to as, sulks and slowly sits back down. Bested once more by Lincoln Rutherford, Esquire. But he will have his revenge.

I’m in a room with sixteen other people, sitting on a little ottoman against the brick wall. Nearly all of us have done this before. Headquarters is like a second home to us. Off-season, we come here to train, and meet up for unrelated events together. This room in particular is a lounge designed for those sixteen years and older anyway, so we all have our special little spots. Keilix lies down across the bar at Braxton’s feet. That guy does parkour even when he’s not doing parkour. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sit down. He’s always been my biggest competition. Jiminy (not his real name) plops down on two bean bags, one of which Alexi kicks out from under him. He has anger problems, and we all just kind of let him vent when he needs to. He’s never hurt anyone.

The Twins sit cross-legged on the interactive mapping screen on the floor, and close their eyes to meditate. The screen is twelve feet diagonal, like a computer that was converted from inches to feet. Everyone uses it to study with the only program loaded onto the system, but The Twins use it the most. They never run, and never win. City Frenzy is a spiritual experience for them, and they take the time to enjoy every moment of it. You would think their race would be boring to watch, but they draw in their own following of loyal virtual tourists that make the organization, and the city, a lot of money. They’re proof that you get out of the program what you want, and you don’t have to do it like everybody else. Oh, and they’re not actually twins, they’re just inseparable.

Rutherford pulls up a chair. “I just wanted take some time to talk with you about what just happened; to gauge how you all feel about our decision.”

“Is it a legal thing?” Braxton asks while balancing on one leg.

“It most certainly is. We’re not doing this as punishment, or with any ill intentions. We just can’t allow children to run under these circumstances. You wouldn’t believe how many legal hurdles we have to jump through just to keep the program running. But every year you kids run comes with new complaints. Every tumble down the stairs—every time someone jumps over an alley...Serkan—is more fuel for our detractors. They’ll take any reason they can find to shut us down. I had to fight just to keep this year from being turned into shit. Allowing the older kids in was the only compromise we could come to. Frankly, I’m surprised we even got that. We only had a day of negotiations.”

Alexi has been pacing around the whole time, steam coming out of his ears. “Did you do everything you could?” he asks in a deep voice that those who didn’t know him would perceive as threatening.

“We did.”

“Thank you,” Alexi replies with the same voice.

“Ever the moderate, Senator Channing proposed we match you sixteen with younger ‘buddy trios’ and make you run together so you could protect them.”

“I shudder to think,” Keilix says.

“I did shudder when he said that,” Rutherford reveals.

“Well...?” I ask. “What now?”

Gabriella and Celestine stand up from the ancient dancing video game platform that’s largely treated as theirs. “Now,” Celestine says dramatically, “we dance.”

As always on the day before...we party.

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Microstory 370: Utility?

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Passing Acquaintances

I’ve almost always dreaded getting to this entry. Not since the very beginning, mind you, because when I first laid this series out, I had an idea of what this meant. You know that thing where you write a note on a fast food restaurant napkin, then you go back to it, and you’ve lost context? If you’re a digital native, then no, I guess you don’t. Well, it’s annoying. Utility is about being useful, so I understand that part. What I don’t get is why I thought it was sufficiently different than, say economic participation or capacity to provide or positive contribution. Did I tell you how my process started? I first took Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, and teased out 33 “needs” people have, some of which are more like wants. Then I broke them all into thirds so that I could make a whole set. I think I stemmed this one from preexisting topics without quite being able to admit to myself that it wasn’t different enough. I’m just useless. Haha, get it? I just went to my website and found out that I’ve already told you this. But I think it’s okay because what are the chances you read that other one, and then read this one? What are the chances you’ve read any of them, including this one? This story has two...uh. No, two hundred twenty, wait now I’m off. Two-hundred and thirty-nine words. Crap. As of the end of this sentence, I’ve done 252 words so far. There—noo! Have I told you about special characters? Ellipses and em dashes throw off the word count. Some counters count the string of text on either side of them as separate words, and some don’t. So if you’ve ever plugged one of these into an online word counter, and thought I was off, that’s just your perspective. Whoa, #throwbackThursday to my Perspectives series, which I personally consider to be my greatest microfiction achievement. We’ll have to wait and see with my faux headlines from the 500s, my dreams in the 800s, and my 99 900s problems. Oh yeah, I have this planned out through 2018 and beyond. Here’s a picture of a distorted utility meter as a pun.

I know what all of this means, I swear.

Strength

Microstory 369: Passing Acquaintances

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Responsibilities

Man, I already told you the stories about when people I knew helped me out of jams despite the fact that we were never that close. It would have been more fitting to mention them here. I did not think this through, did I? But I guess that’s how it goes with me. I plan to reveal a big twist in a story several chapters from now, but then it just comes out, like how Makarion has actually been Gilbert Boyce ever since we first met him. Spoiler alert! Back to the topic, passing acquaintances are more important than you would think. Your friends and family are good for support. They help you through the tough times, and the best memories you have will be of time spent with loved ones. But acquaintances serve a different, more subtle, purpose. They help you understand how people work. Every time you meet someone knew, you prejudge them. Don’t worry, you’re not necessarily racist. This is perfectly normal, and completely unavoidable. You guess whether they’re a good person, if they have kids, what kind of job they have, and what their political beliefs might be. You absorb their personality passively, gauging how you should approach them, what kind of things they would be comfortable with you saying to them, and how they’ll react to whatever it is you need for them, along with what they may require of you. Not only that, but these snap judgments, since they’re hopefully soon going to be supplemented with more tangible evidence, will help you become better at reading people in the future. Each introduction teaches you something about the populace as a whole; sociological maxims, and things about our culture that should be more carefully examined. As you get older, and start understanding people better, you’ll develop better empathy. You’ve probably heard talk about people who live sheltered lives. They’ve not met enough people, and so their only basis for empathy is however they would feel in a situation. Unfortunately, this is ineffective. As an introvert, I have trouble putting myself out there, and I’m more comfortable with observing from afar. So come and say hi to me. I need the practice, and the education.

Utility?

Microstory 368: Responsibilities

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Positive Contribution

I think I’ve pretty much covered this in my story about “basic romantic involvement”. I don’t know who came up with these titles, but it was me, and they’re weird. I was this close to replacing this entry with a different topic, and slightly less close to scrapping today entirely. My sister told me that I may need to cut back on my website if it becomes too overwhelming for me, and continues to interfere with my other responsibilities. Oh, that’s what I’ll do. You’re probably confused, because by the time I finish this...sentence, I’ll have actually gone through with changing the topic to something else. Yeah, it was gonna be “lifelong partnership” but there’s nothing I can add that I’ve not already said, and you guys get it by now; we all need different things. One thing we have in common, though, is the fact that we all have responsibilities. We have to take care of our children, our parents, our households, our pets, our possessions, our money, other people’s money. Not everyone has all of those things, and we don’t all have the same things, but we all have something, at least one thing. This is important. I used to think that propagation was the only purpose to life. To an extent, that’s still true. I understand your choice to not raise children, but at the same time I don’t, because that’s just something I can’t wrap my brain around. The joy of protecting another human being, and molding them to reach for happiness isn’t really something you get until you’ve been there. Or you’re like me and you can just feel it. Anyway, I’ve been talking a lot about searching for your own happiness, and doing everything you can to that end. However, it’s not an end. Life is not a goal, it’s something that you continue to work through. Millennials have a different perspective, choosing to work as little as possible for maximum gain. This is exactly what we should all be striving for, but that doesn’t mean you should seek a life of zero effort, because then you become, well...pointless. Always be responsible for something, just don’t make it too hard on yourself.

Passing Acquaintances

Microstory 367: Positive Contribution

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Intellectual Stimulation

Many people want to have a major impact on the world. They want to be known for something; their talent, their looks, their capacity to drive real change in the way things work. Some people want to be able to make a difference, but don’t necessarily care whether anyone noticed that they were involved. Not everyone wants to do something big, of course, and that’s perfectly okay. Some people are happy getting up every morning, going to work, and then coming home to a hobby. I would still call that a fulfilling life, and I’ve been annoyed by people who think that their way is superior, and that the only reason I don’t participate in the same activities is because I’m too afraid. I, for one, do want to make a huge impact. I have pretty big dreams, bigger than I can explain in 367 words, or while I’m in a place in my life where I can’t even begin to realize them. As a speculative fiction writer, I deal with cultures that have spread out to other solar systems. They can turn invisible, manipulate gravity, and build massive self-sustainable arcologies. It’s generally hard for me to come back to reality and remember that none of that exists, and some of it never will, or should. Either way, because of how complex my theoretical universe has become, it has grown beyond its fictionality, and has started bleeding into the real world. I’ve more recently legitimately thought about what the future looks like for us, the real people. You have a long ways to go, Earth. Anyway, I’ve gotten off track. What I want to say is that positive contribution doesn’t mean becoming the primary leader of a nation. It doesn’t mean getting the most ‘likes’ on your social media photo. It doesn’t mean solving world hunger, or inventing the next best thing since sliced bread, or painting a masterpiece. Positive contribution is doing something good for your little corner of the universe, and maybe beyond...if you can. You should never feel small, because as long as your goals serve the morally stable needs of someone other than yourself, I guarantee that you are on the right track.

Responsibilities

Microstory 366: Intellectual Stimulation

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The Right to Not Be Raped

I hated school, pretty much every second of it. I thought about quitting at several moments in my life, too many to count. What I discovered about myself years after graduating from college was that I don’t like the idea of people telling me what I should know, and how I should learn it. That really makes me sound like some weird, pseudo-edgy “nonconformist” but that is not it at all. I am a huge proponent of education. I come from a family of educators. My paternal grandmother was a teacher, and my paternal grandfather was a teacher, principal, and even the superintendent of the school district. Before moving back to Kansas in 1995, my father was a college instructor, and my sister is an elementary music teacher. In fact, she teaches internationally. She first lived in Egypt, she just returned from Indonesia, and tomorrow she’s on her way to Panama. So I have no ill-will towards the institution of education, nor do I regret my time in school. I do think the system needs to make major changes, notably by being budgeted into the tax revenue while removing money from other programs, like war, but that’s a different story. Literally. Anyway, I’ve spent my time after formal education nurturing my personal interests, and finding ways of learning new things without the benefit of an instructor. I learn so much better hunting for information on the computer, keeping multiple tabs open that I sometimes switch between in the middle of sentences, and occasionally watching tutorials. I wish I knew this about myself before, because then my formal education would have been easier, because I would have been able to use my custom techniques as supplement, and actually learn something. Education is the root of all good in the world. Knowledge is power. It keeps condoms on hormonal teenagers, positive members of society employed, and technology in constant advancement. What I hated worse than school were the jobs that didn’t challenge me, and didn’t require thought or intelligence. Humans have a drive to be intellectually stimulated that not a single other species shares. Make yourself learn something new everyday, and you will always be heading towards happiness.

Positive Contribution

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 30, 2005

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“Whoa. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. This isn’t right. You’re acting like you’re helping me, but the last time you did that, you turned out to be the bad guy. I can’t trust you.” Mateo and The Cleanser had jumped into a closet somewhere.

“Oh, that was ages ago.”

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long ago was that for you? It’s been only weeks since we’ve met.”

“I dunno,” the Cleanser said, like an actress who didn’t want anyone to judge her for her age. “Maybe 150 years?”

“How old does that make you?”

“More than 150 years old, that’s how old,” he answered. “You’re pretty pushy for a guy who desperately needs my help.”

“Do I need your help? I don’t even know what the problem is.”

“In this reality, Leona came to visit The Pentagon with her parents. They will all die in the 2005 attack unless you and I save them.”

“Okay, so what do we do? Pull the fire alarm?”

“First of all, that doesn’t work. That’s like cleaning the floors with a toothbrush, which I’ve tried by the way. Secondly, I’m still your enemy. I’m allowing you to save your family, but only them. Everyone else in this building who is supposed to die is going to die. There is nothing you can do to stop that.”

“Why not? I just killed Hitler. Let’s stop the attack as well. We know where the terrorists stole the planes from—I mean, I don’t personally remember, but you have ways of finding out. Let’s save everybody. Come on! Who’s with me?”

“Nope, that’s not part of the game. You either choose to save your family, or you choose to save nobody at all. Could I stop the attack? Yes. But that would mean screwing with my own timeline, and I’m not prepared to do that. An earlier version of me is in this time right now, and I have no intention of stopping him from carrying out his mission. Here’s something you have to understand. The powers that be, and the choosers are logistically capable of creating a perfect world. We could always, always go back in time and stop something bad from happening, replacing it with a better chain of events. We could stop Grog the Caveman from burning his face off when he tried to eat the fire he just discovered, and from there, we could adjust the timeline so that humanity never suffers. We could prevent all humans from ever knowing what pain feels like, but we don’t, ‘cause fuck ‘em.”

“That’s a pretty horrific perspective on the world ya got there.”

“That, Mister Matic, is everybody’s perspective on the world.”

“Well, I know better than to try to convince you to help your fellow man, and I do have to concede to the fact that you understand the timestream better than me. If you say I’m only allowed to save Leona and her parents, then I guess I have no choice but to go along with it. You’re too powerful for me anyway.” Was this Mateo maintaining his strategy of being unpredictable? Or was he giving up?

“I was expecting more backlash.”

“I’m happy to oblige.”

“No, that’ll be all.”

“Where is Leona?”

“Down the hall,” he said, sporting a knowing smile.

“What is it? What don’t I know.”

The Cleanser opened his mouth, hoping to release a bit of snark.

Mateo started speaking in a mocking voice, “yeah, I know that you could fill a fifty-two volume book series with what I don’t know. Har-har-har.” He went back to a normal voice, “tell me what you’re keeping from me.”

“I think it’ll be better if you just see.”

“If this is 2005, then I already know that she’s only a child, so if that’s what you have in mind...”

“No, it’s even weirder than that!”

“Okay,” Mateo said dismissively while opening the door.

He had seen photo albums of Leona from when she was younger, so it wasn’t hard to find her in the crowd. Little Leona was with a tour group, and was very excited to be there. As expected, her eyes were wandering. She wasn’t listening to the tour guide, instead taking in everything else around her. “Leona,” he heard from the crowd as he drew closer, but he couldn’t see who it was coming from. The voice was...very familiar, but that couldn’t be, because he had never met Leona’s birthmother. “Leona, get over here and pay attention.” A tall man finally moved over to reveal who was calling to her. No, it definitely wasn’t her birthmother. Or if it was, then his relationship with Leona would have been even stranger than they thought with the whole reincarnation bit.

“Carol, let her look around,” Randall Gelens said after coming into view. That’s right, Mateo’s adoptive parents from his original timeline were now Leona’s parents from the new timeline, presumably also adoptive.

“See what I mean?” the Cleanser asked him rhetorically.

“How did this happen?” It was neither good nor bad. It was just weird. And awkward. And weird.

“I actually don’t know the details, but I swear I had nothing to do with it. Both Leona’s parents died, instead of just her mother, and since you weren’t around to keep them busy, Carol and Randall ended up adopting her.

Leona was smiling in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. Or maybe he never had. She was happy. Sure, both her birth parents were gone in this timeline, but if Mateo saved them, his parents would both live. She would never know what it was like to be painfully attached to a salmon, and the two of them would be able to live long and happy lives, possibly even long enough to reach that longevity escape velocity. Makarion and that Blender chick had left to take her from this life and pull her back into this one, forcing her to remember memories from another life without her consent. He now realized that that would not be fair to her. She had a life now, without him. She was better off, and it wasn’t like he could go back and stop her parents from dying, and create yet another timeline. No, this was as good as it gets, and it would be selfish of him to take that away from her.

“Could you do me a favor?” Mateo asked, still looking at the love of his life. She was, of course, way too young for him, even more so than when they had first met. But she still looked like the Leona he knew, and this was all he was going to get. He was going to savor every moment. If he only had had a phone, he could have kept an alternate photo of her on it. But he hadn’t had a phone since the early days of salmonhood, so this last sight of her would have to do. And bonus, he got to see his dead parents again as well. Maybe he had stepped into the best reality possible, even with the Pentagon attack. Erasing himself from the timeline might very well have been the single best act he had ever done in his life.

“You want me to stop Makarion and Nerakali from blending her memories from the alternate timeline?” the Cleanser asked.

“I know we’ve had our differences. I know you don’t like me for reasons I can’t even begin to understand. I know you are who you are, but for once, could you please try to do something nice for someone else, instead of what you think is going to be the funniest?”

“Yes,” the Cleanser replied somberly. “I sometimes make healthy choices. This will be one of them.”

“Thank you.”

“Find a way to get them out.” He teleported away.

Mateo spoke into the aether, “okay.”

How was he going to do that? None of them knew him, so it wasn’t like he could just ask that they leave the premises. He was already told that he couldn’t pull the fire alarm. He didn’t have a gun to wave around, and even if he did, he didn’t want to scare anyone. There was just no way out of this without looking like a terrorist. Yes, as a time traveler, he was one of the few people immune to retribution, but his ultimate disappearance from the timestream would raise eyebrows, making things worse.

The closet. Yes, that was the answer, as it had been before. After Mirage, the artificial intelligence tried to kill him in his birthmother’s home, Mateo jumped forwards through the year, and ended up appearing in Horace Reaver’s dastardly facility. But he hadn’t just landed anywhere, he had been in a closet. That closet happened to be filled with security guard uniforms, allowing him to blend in with his pursuers. The Pentagon closet had the same thing. He went back in and changed into the present guard uniform, hopeful that the mission would be easier than last time. Was this luck? Was this the Cleanser’s doing? Or was it something else?

He walked out with as much confidence as he could muster and approached Randall Gelen, the man who had raised him, but had no memory of it. For a second, Randall looked at him with some form of familiarity, but then shook it off. Maybe that was the answer to déjà vu, a brief peek into an alternate reality of things that once were.

“Yes, can I help you?” Randall asked, eager to comply with an authority figure.

“Sir, we are currently experiencing a threat to national security. I urge you and your family to quietly leave the premises, and move as far from the building as possible.”

“What about everyone else?” Carol asked, pulling Leona closer to her.

“We have protocol for this sort of emergency. It’s my job to methodically get everyone in my sector out, but a building-wide alarm would cause panic, putting civilians in further danger. Please tell no one of what you know.”

Randall thought it over for a second, but only to make sure Mateo knew that he knew how serious the situation could be. “I understand, thank you.”

It worked. His family quickly but carefully separated from the tour group and headed for the exit. Randall was keeping an eye on him, though, so Mateo started approaching other people, asking to see their visitors passes for a random check, making it look like he was trying to get them out of the building as well. Once the three of them were out of sight, and he was convinced that they would be safe, he walked away.

Mateo opened a door to the courtyard and slowly strolled toward the center, enjoying the scenery. He had never been to Washington D.C. before, and it seemed as good a place as any to die. He watched other people go about their day. They had no idea what was coming, but they were starting to see. Before too long, they could hear and feel a rumble, growing ever closer to them. Five airplanes were flying far too low, and getting lower. He stared up at them fearlessly, safe in the knowledge that everyone he loved would be able to go on with their lives without missing him. There was a sort of relief in that. He was the one person in the world who really could die without anyone caring. The worst part about death is the loss the survivors feel, and that was something he wouldn’t have to worry about. He was done. He wouldn’t have to jump through time anymore. What a nice thought.

I’m sorry to disappoint you, Saga Einarsson’s telepathic thoughts gently pervaded his mind. I’m not saving you for them, or even for you. I’m doing this for everyone else.

Mateo could see a person standing on the roof of each of The Pentagon’s five sides. It must have been Saga herself, but how she was able to be in five places at once was a question with no answer. As the planes dove towards the building, and everyone around him was screaming and fleeing, the five Sagas transformed into...something else. Just before their noses hit their marks, the planes disappeared. A sort of weird Matrixy ripple sort of thing fluttered through the air. Everyone who had been freaking out about the oncoming disaster flickered and returned to a state of calm. It was like several frames of film had been edited out of the movie. They continued as normal, none the wiser. Not only had Saga stopped the planes from hitting the building, but she had manually removed them from time so that only he could remember the version of events where they had existed. But why? Why could he? He was just a salmon. He shouldn’t have been immune to this particular change.

The Cleanser teleported next to him. “What happened? The planes should have hit. I’m the one who sent them here! This is not what I remember!”

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Frenzy: Coming Out (Part I)

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Tomorrow is the annual “City Frenzy” event. I did it every year since aging into it, and won three times, including my first try. But I’ve left that life behind. I mean, I still run, but not like that. Even though I’m still a minor, it’s time to move on to more adult endeavors. Sure, I’m technically young enough to qualify, but I feel an obligation to hand the reins over to others. And nobody deserves the title more than my little brother. He’s been training every day for a year. His birthday landed one day after the end of registration, which meant that he was unable to compete. But now he’s ready, and he won’t let anything stand in his way. Except for maybe the flu.

“No, please!” little Alim cries. “Isn’t there something we can do?”

“Like what?” I ask. “Maybe a magical medicine that cures you in minutes?”

“Don’t mock your brother,” my mother orders. “Alim, our agreement was that if you were not better by this morning, you wouldn’t complain. I’m afraid there is nothing more we can do. You simply will not be able to race tomorrow.”

“This isn’t fair!” Alim tries to yell, but his voice is too hoarse to be all that loud. “This is just like what happened last year. Somebody upstairs doesn’t want me to be a runner!”

“Perhaps,” I suggest, “they know you’re not ready for it. Maybe you need one more year of training so you can kick their asses for the next four years.”

“Language, Serkan,” mom scolds calmly.

“I’m just tryna help,” I claim, and it’s true. Alim is so much smarter than me, but he’s also probably faster. If he were given a real chance to compete, he would not only win, but he would also break the record. I wish there was something I could do. I wish there really was a drug out there that could relieve his symptoms, if only for a few hours.

My fans, if you would like to call them that, were disappointed to learn that I would not be running this year, because it would be my last chance. City Frenzy is unlike any race on the planet. But a few dozen of the elites between ages 12 and 17 are allowed in. Depending on the number of contestants, you only share your starting point with a couple of other kids, and your ending point with an entirely different set of kids. Your route will cover roughly a marathon distance, but is also unrestricted. If you find a way to cut through an alleyway, or even a building, then more power to you. Hell, there aren’t even any rules that say you can’t take an elevator to a roof and start leaping across high-rises. Of course, that’s not recommended, but it’s what I’m famous for. The key is to make studying the map part of your training so that you know the city better than anyone. Having a little experience with gymnastics and parkour doesn’t hurt either.

“You have to do it,” Alim states in no uncertain terms.

“I can’t, little bro. You know that.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t register.”

“Everyone knows the council lets winners compete every year for life,” mom corrects me. “They’re just not allowed to win if they’ve aged out. You’re basically automatically registered.”

“We’ve not paid the fee.”

“We can pay today, or even tomorrow.” She is just not letting this go.

“Why do you want me to do this so badly?”

“I understand that you stepped down for your brother, Serkan. And that was very noble of you, but now that we know he won’t be able to race, you should go in his stead. Represent the family name.”

“I’ve not been training.”

“That’s nonsense.” She shakes her head. “We all know you run with the Tracer gang in the gray district.”

“Mom,” I start to say. She’s not meant to know about that. Gangs are composed only of adults, but the Tracers are known to make exceptions for Frenzy winners. They did just that for me.

She waves the argument away. “It’s okay. We knew we wouldn’t be able to stop you. We’re just happy you didn’t join the Taggers, or the Beasts.” What a relief.

Okay, well to be honest, I did want to race again. I pretend like I’ve moved beyond that sort of thing, but I really do love it. When I was a child, before the City Frenzy fund had enough money to broadcast online using wearable action cameras and drones, I would find a starting point and run around as a spectator. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the racers, but I would always find someone else before too long. The race is my thing, and I want nothing more than to feel that glory once more. I suppose my career as an adult tracer can wait. I don’t want to seem too excited about it, though, so I try to play it cool. “Fine. If you insist. I’ll call the council.”

“I’m sure they will be overjoyed,” mom says, only half-jokingly.

She was right. I call up the council and discover that they have no problem letting me in as a late registrant. Within minutes of tweeting that I was coming out of retirement, #SerkansRun was trending locally. I lean back in my chair, allowing myself to rest on my laurels for a moment before getting down to business. I have been tracing, but I’ve not been training. They’ve done a lot of construction in the last year, so that’s my biggest problem.

Just as I’m opening the map on my computer, Alim bursts in the room. “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

“For what?” I ask, eyes glued to the screen.

“I just got an alert from the council,” he explains. “They’re holding an emergency meeting to discuss the weather. I assumed you got it too, but I guess not since you just registered.”

Without so much as looking at him, I flip to my weather gadget and expand tomorrow’s data. “It’s gonna rain, yeah.” I shrug. “We’ve run in the rain before.”

“Not like this,” Alim says. “They think it’s going to be worse than first predicted.”

I ignore him and switch back over to my map.

“You have to be there in half an hour!”

“All right!” I whine.

“Are you gonna let me down, son?”

“Shut up,” I reply with a laugh. But I don’t want to leave. I’m behind everybody else. I’ll lose if I don’t catch myself up.

“Ya know, they have these things called tablets, and also driverless cars. You can study on the way. HQ is clear on the other side of the city, so you should put on pants and leave now.”

“Okay, I’ll leave.”

“Good.”

“But I’m not wearing pants.”

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