by Captain Kirby

Somewhere, Dr. Rosie Hartlepool gets off a train in front of a monument to monuments. She gazes upon its grandeur, loses herself in its shine, and then takes the next commuter rail home.
Somewhere else, Rosie Hartlepool collapses in front of the Neon God. Her legs give out and she cries. She sees only the distant lights that illuminated her train ride into the city: the sole image she could recall from her sister's funeral. She cannot see anything else.
And then in another place, Rosie charges the pillar. She bangs her fists against it in a futile attempt to crack the outer shell and shatter the neon light within.
All of these things happen in many places. Mirrored a million million times in the kaleidoscope of the Lampeter. And because of that, those places are uninteresting. They are dime-a-dozen realities with no more originality than late night cable TV.
An interesting place would be this universe far off in the north. Way out past the Septulon Systems where the molten cores of planets-to-be dance around unformed stars. Beyond Universe Theta-0332, where the old coliseums still roar to life with automated combat parades.
A place where Dr. Rosie Hartlepool gets off a train in front of a monument to monuments, gazes upon its grandeur, loses herself in its shine and then… nothing. In this one place, and only in this one place, it starts to rain.

The rain starts as a trickle. A light pitter patter that cools off the pounding heat of the neon lights. Rosie looks around for any awnings or umbrellas, but the street is deserted. Just flat walls and right angles all the way down to the elevated train platform. Of course. Her journey out east had been nothing more than a series of suspicious figures and inconveniences. She lifts her briefcase over her head to remain some semblance of dry.
Immediately the rain redoubles its efforts. Its rhythm turns into a constant pounding, riddling the street with liquid bombardments. Rosie's speed increases accordingly. Her casual walk becomes a jog. And then a sprint. And by the time she arrives at the platform stairs, she's hopping between puddles.
Rosie hurries up the platform and looks back at the street. Neon lights ripple and reflect in the already inch of water that has accumulated atop the pavement.
Rosie sighs and looks at the schedule for the station. The analog routing board is constantly flipping over its times. And there's no one here manning the information booth. Again, more inconveniences. She picks a spot against the wall to claim as her own. The tile ground and the concrete wall are hard and uncomfortable. But Rosie reminds herself she's experienced worse. There's no need to get worked up over some rain. Or over another late train.
She sniffles.
No need to get worked up.

Thirty-three stories above, in a glass tower, a family of four sits on a couch and watches their neon television. It's late, and in any normal place a six-year-old and a ten-year-old would be asleep by now. But there's no curtains on the glass walls. Nothing to blot out the piercing lights of the city. So they pass the time watching different lights, but these ones change color and shape. It's so much more interesting than looking outside.
No one in the tower looks outside anymore, despite the glass. They have their TVs inside. They have their meals prepared in the Central Atrium. And the concept of art and literature and progress has simply never been presented to them. In another place, the father is an EMT. Somewhere else, the mother is a marine biologist. But here, they both watch TV.
The rain pounds on the window-walls. It's just louder than the TV, which means that the mother, the father, and the ten-year-old are able to tune it out. But the six-year-old is still developing his pre-frontal cortex. His executive function isn't quite there yet.
So he turns to the window. He's never seen rain splatter with so much force before. He gets up and waddles over the glass, and presses his face against it. He sees the neon lights of the city: the same view that has been here since he was born. But then he looks down. Down at the street, where the lights are the dimmest.
"Mom! Dad!" he shouts.
The mother pauses the TV and rolls her head to face her child. The father doesn't even look away from the screen.
"Yes?" she asks.
The six-year-old points down to the street, "It's a river!"

After two hours the rain still has not stopped, and the train has still not arrived. The rain is probably delaying the train. That's what Rosie figures. She gets up to stretch her legs out. The ground gave her cramps anyways.
She paces up and down the platform, the pounding of the rain relegated to background noise. She has compartmentalized the rain to just weather, since allowing anymore frustrations to bubble to the top of her mind would push her to a place she does not want to go. Especially not when she's all alone, in a train stop, at the edge of the multiverse.
Unfortunately, she makes the mistake of rounding the corner to check on the platform stairs, and the reality of the situation forces itself down her eyes.
The water level has continued to rise. Now at three feet. It surges and whirls. The lights in the water dance and reflect and splash and gasp for air before her sister is swallowed by the flood.
Rosie's sister was swallowed by the flood.
When her sister died she didn't understand drowning. She didn't understand that the river wasn't safe to play in during the rainy season and that her sister would not be coming up for air. Rosie can see her sister's silhouette in the neon ripples.
Rosie's legs buckle beneath her. She collapses to the ground, and her tears join the rainfall.
She wants to go home. She wants to see her family again. Rosie told herself she was stronger than that when she spoke to Titus Quake, but for a glistening moment in the deluge of this lone universe, she is not.
And in that shining moment, when tears erupt from floodgates in the sky to join the plight of a single human, alone and separate from her innumerable counterparts…

The Neon God does not know what a city is. It has seen the shape of a city from afar. It has observed the intricate, interwoven lives of its residents that propel each other, step over each other, and ignore each other. In its Neon Jealousy, the Neon God decided that it too would enjoy the Neon Lives lived in the alleys of New York City, in the dreary cafes of Paris, in the food stands of Tokyo.
But it knows not how those cities came to be. The consideration for hurricanes. The earthquake regulations. The insulation against winter.
It does not understand the sewage grates to evacuate flood waters.
It does not understand the rubber jacket used to keep the copper wires dry.
It does not understand how to withstand a storm.

In that moment, the lights shut off.
The neon, no more.

The ten-year-old at the top of the thirty-three story glass tower screams.

Rosie pounds the ground, hoping to crack the Universe's outer shell and dig her own way out. Like the original Lampeters.

The storm rages on. Its torrential downfall smothering the remains of the Neon God. Drowning it like a little girl caught in the rapids.
It does not stop.
It does not relent.
The storm cries for hours and hours. Until there are no tears left.

By the time the rain stops, the water level has risen to eight feet. It's four in the morning. Rosie has not slept for even a second. She watched the storm, the whole time, waiting for the clouds to part. Waiting to be swept away in the flood. But it did not reach her. She is dry, atop the train platform.
The clouds part from the sky, having dumped all they could upon the city. Rosie expected to see sunshine, for some reason. She'd made it through the storm, she would be rewarded with warmth on the other side.
But that is not the reward for weathering the neon. No, the deicide is instead met with the applause of a thousand smaller, dimmer lights. The previously empty sky is now littered with stars.
In the faint starlight, Rosie can see some silhouettes in the windows. Or rather, a silhouette in every window. The TV is no longer on inside the glass towers. Now the only thing to watch is the death of the neon prison.
There are so many figures. So many faces. None of them resemble Rosie's sister, but that's ok. There's more people out there than one girl who drowned thirty years ago. So, so many more.
It's good there's so many of them, Rosie realizes. She'll need all this help if the city is going to be built again. Built again, to withstand a storm.

This only happens in one place. There are no similar repeats, or near misses. This universe stands alone, and its reflections all aberrations. They create only ripples and fractals of its original throughline.
The reflecting pools of the universe that mirror the mirrors and replicate ad infinitum are no longer still. The water has been met with more water. Their surface has been disrupted.
The Neon God cries its reflections away.

/

Aftermath

God-Knows-Where


F O U R  Y E A R S  L A T E R

Keystone Technical Institute, Pennsylvania.

Two years ago.

File: T90-AL-T-4104-23
Personnel: J. Smithson (Team Commander), R. Hernandez, T. Aluko, Z. Feng, J. Weiss, A. Zheng

EXCERPT BEGINS
SMITHSON: Alright, you lot, there it is. Nearly there now. Trez, still clear to the rear, mate?
ALUKO: All clear, all clear.
SMITHSON: Brilliant. Let's stay switched on. We'll be back for tea and medals in no time.
(Muffled laughter.)
HERNANDEZ: You don't even drink tea, boss.
WEISS: Keep it professional on comms, please, Hernandez.
HERNANDEZ: I copy, keep it professional. Like the boss.
ZHENG: Trooper Hernandez. When you rise to command a tac team, you can say what you like on the team net. Until then, listen to Specialist Weiss.
HERNANDEZ: Ma'am.
(Several minutes of silence.)
FENG: Sir! Ahead, eleven.
SMITHSON: I see it. Nice one, Feng. Alright. (Short clicking sound.) Ninety Command, this is One-Zero Actual.
COMMAND: This is Command. Go ahead 10-A.
SMITHSON: We're getting to the perimeter now. Probably let the post know.
COMMAND: Copy, you're getting to the perimeter. I'll talk to the post now.
(Short pause.)
COMMAND: One-Zero Actual, this is Ninety Command. No response from the post.
SMITHSON: Copy, Command, no response from post. Should we stand by?
COMMAND: 10-A, yes, stand by just within the anomaly. I'm sending Post 33 to check on 32. Probably dead batteries again.
SMITHSON: Command, copy you're sending 33 to check. But it's rarely dead batteries, in my experience. Going to keep my eyes open until we're out.
COMMAND: 10-A, copy that. Seems wise. Stay just inside the boundary.
SMITHSON: Just inside the boundary, copy. (Clicking sound.) Okay, you lot. We're staying here because Post 32 isn't answering calls from Command.
(Several audible groans in the background.)
SMITHSON: Yeah, I know. Command thinks it's probably a dead battery. I think we've got another Curious George. Probably see them in here in a minute Weiss-ing all over the place.
WEISS: (Under her breath, laughing) Oh my god.
ALUKO: Weiss-ing, boss?
ZHENG: We'll tell you later, Ms. Aluko. Mind on task, please.
ALUKO: Copy, you'll tell m—
(Several loud sharp cracks interrupt ALUKO.)
FENG: Boss—
ZHENG: JASON!
HERNANDEZ: Fuck! Fuck, that was from fucking outside!
COMMAND: One-Zero, report? Was that a contact?
(A muffled third-party voice can be heard issuing a challenge.)
FENG: Are you fucking kidding me, the fucking G.O.—-
WEISS: (interrupting) CEASE FIRE! THIS IS FOUNDATION MOBILE TASK FORCE THETA-90! CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!!
(Indistinct third-party voice.)
ZHENG: Come on where's the tourniquet come on come on come on fuck come ooonnnnnn—
COMMAND: One-Zero, please respond.
HERNANDEZ: —fucking team commander! This skip's one of ours, what the fuck are you-
(Multiple voices trying to speak at once.)
WEISS: One-Zero, that's enough! This isn't helping. Minds on task.
(Short pause.)
WEISS: Aluko, help Zheng with that tourniquet. Feng, get on the net and get medics. The rest of you, stand by to move.
FENG: Ma'am. (FENG switches to COMMAND emergency channel)
(Third party voice begins to speak, but is cut off by WEISS.)
WEISS: — Yeah, I know what you thought - that's fucking obvious. So are you going to help us, or not?
ZHENG: — fuck fuck fuck JASON-
WEISS: Zheng! Zheng… ah, shit. Aluko. Can you move him? Yes? Good. Make sure Zheng comes with you. ONE-ZERO! Let's move! You idiots, too: move, move, move!
(Tactical Team 10 exits the anomaly boundary, accompanied by GOC PHYSICS Division personnel responsible for the incident.)
EXCERPT ENDS

Anomalous Geometry Training Center cafeteria, Site-19. Present day.

"Not exactly your finest hour, was it, Jane?"
Weiss rolled her eyes. "I think I did a pretty good job, considering."
"Considering what?"
"Considering how shitty my role model was. And that it was my first ever field command. And that we all thought you were going to die."
Jason Smithson laughed. "Leg still hurts like buggery every time it rains. But I s'ppose I must have been a shitty commander if the Gaggle Of Clowns managed to get me, eh?"
"Maybe! I don't think you disappointed 'Drinia, though."
"Weiss. I'm right here." Zheng turned her head in Weiss' direction briefly, a half-smile on her face. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to visit for lunch anymore if you two are going to keep rehashing the shittiest day of my life."
Smithson mock-pouted. "And I thought the shittiest day of your life was when you transferred out of the Grinders and lost your excuse to HIDE your SECRET FEELINGS FOR ME—"
"Stop it!" Zheng laughed. Weiss had never heard that laugh before Zheng and Smithson had gotten together. Now, she heard it all the time.
"I'm just saying, when everything I took the piss out of you for ended up being TRUE—"
"Don't push it, Captain." Zheng grinned. "I can quit your silly puns and questionable British food any time I like."
"That's what all the addicts say, love."
"Tosser."
"See? You even use all my words and that!"
"It is a good one," said Weiss. "And you are a tosser." She turned to Zheng. "Shit, it's good to see you, Alexandrinia. I wish we saw you more."
"Steady on, mate!" Smithson raised his eyebrows in mock horror. "It's hard enough getting the Foundation to let Zhengie and I see one another as it is, and we're bloody engaged. If you start cutting in on the deal, we're going to have to get into visitation rights."
Before Weiss could answer, a cup of black coffee was placed on the table and a familiar face sat down to drink it. Smithson cheered. "Fuckin' hell! My hero and savior has descended from the heavens to mingle with the plebs!"
Treasure Aluko chuckled. "I swear, you help save a guy one time, he never lets you hear the end of it…"
"Mate. I've told you to stop saying you only helped. Way I heard it, you pretty much carted me out of there single-handedly."
"And she helped stop the bleeding," Zheng said. "More than I could do," she added, not quite quietly enough.
"Love. We've talked about this."
"I know, but—"
"You'd never seen someone shot up for real—"
"Yes, but I—"
"—let alone the bloke you fancied."
"…Do you have to remind me about that five times a day, Jason?"
"Yes."
That laughter again. "Well, you're consistent, if nothing else."
"Speaking of consistency" - Smithson got up - "I'm trying to avoid being consistently late for afternoon classes."
Aluko raised an eyebrow. "Of all the things I thought you might get into when I met you, that was about last, Jase."
"Teaching? Eh, it's alright if the students are alright, and we usually get decent people in. Present company excepted, obviously."
"Obviously," said Weiss, punching Smithson's hip lightly.
"OW! You bloody KNOW that's my bad hip, you twa—"
"Jason."
"—you… mean lady," Smithson finished, before glancing accusingly at Zheng. "And that's not fair, love. You can't just do The Voice to stop me swearing."
"I can do The Voice for any reason I please," said Zheng with a smirk.
"Mint. Can you use it to stop Paulie quitting?"
Zheng's face fell. "I wish. He says he wants to come to my group, and I'd be happy to have him, but it just seems so…" She waved her hand. "Not right."
Aluko sipped her coffee. "He hasn't been the same the last few months. We've all seen it." She nodded at Weiss. "You saw it first, though."
Weiss sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. He just looks like… someone drained all the motivation out of him and replaced it with being tired all the time."
"Maybe he is," said Zheng. "I was worried enough for Jason when he got promoted, even though he mostly does training now. Let alone the stresses Dimaccio's been under. You've got to wonder how long someone can carry on as the commander of even a little MTF like this before the stuff they've seen and the stuff they've heard becomes too much to deal with. There are some things that amnestics can't help. Not if you still want to be you at the end."
"Well, one thing's for sure, love. I'm gonna need amnestics to forget the arse-kicking I get if I'm late to teach class again." Smithson kissed Zheng's cheek, and waved to the others. "Pleasure as always, my friends. Stay lazy!"
Aluko pointed at Weiss. "Her? No chance. Me? I don't need to be told. See you later, Jase!"
"Yeah," said Weiss, her mind somewhere else: on a worn-out, drained face that had seemed so confident and intimidating just a few years ago.
"See you later."

« Running Out | Theta-90 Hub | Turning Points »


The droning noises of machines fill the background, as a wet slap of a mop hits the hard tiled floor. The scene is quiet, the chairs are empty, and the tables untouched by food. The restaurant is completely deserted save for one; an employee, with tanned skin and dark blue eyes, dressed in company uniform complete with the signature golden arch on her plastic visor.
A bell ringing is heard as the door opens and a man walks through, dressed in a black duster coat. The door closes and the woman stops cleaning before looking up and asking happily "Sorry, It's been a slow day, what can I get for you?", pausing midway through the last word and turning down to a playful semi-monotone voice "Billy Fischer? Been a while." partly in a familial smile. Billy darted his eyes towards the woman, jumping back slightly and then calming.
"I could use a double quarter pounder cheeseburger, add an entire pickle", Billy trembled a smile, sitting down on a nearby seat with a thud. "So, this is what you've been doing this entire time?" he asked, "Victoria Cortistine, former site director of a top-secret world organization; now a fast food worker, what an evolution." he laughed, whilst Victoria is preparing the burger seemingly amused by the banter.
"I know, had to lie on my resume to get in here, you'd think with all my experience I could get a decent job around here!" she chuckles.
Some silence ensues, broken by the occasional flip of a burger and the sizzle as it slaps the cooker. Victoria walks over to Billy's table placing the boxed burger, Billy looks up and beckons "Sit down, we need to talk" while pulling the still hot burger out of its casing. Victoria complies, sitting down "Not much else to do anyways." she says.
Billy takes a bite of his burger, a pickle slips out and some of the sauce spills onto his fingers, his hands tremble as his eyes meet Victoria's. He sucks on his sauce-covered fingers before looking up and raising a harsh, serious voice "So, why'd you do it, Vick." Victoria stares off "Now that's the question everyone is asking isn't it.”
She sighs "Not the career path I wanted to walk Billy, that's about it. I mean, the pay was mediocre at best, the job was dangerous as, well, actual hell and there was no recognition"
"No recognition? You were doing important things, Vick! You were my boss, you always told me-"
"For the light, from the shadows. I know what I said, I still remember our secret handshake, don't worry. True recognition, Billy, on a personal level, with real people. Back there I was a name on an employee list, a picture on a placard. Look, I just wanted to do anything else, is that too much to ask?"
"Apparently for them yes, you knew what you got yourself into. I just don't get it, you had everything going for you, you had my dream job, you had everything and you gave it all up for this? Really, Vick; did you even think this one through? If you wanted to quit, you could have taken some amnestics and gotten off fine!”
"And what, lose 10 years' worth of memories? Of time I had on this earth? All those moments, the memories I had training you and the other agents, my first birthday with you all, those are priceless. Not happening. We only have so much and just losing that? I can't imagine. I mean I've evaded them for a few years now, that's got to count for something right?"
Billy shifts in his chair, seeming to be in consideration, "They plan to kill you. Say you're too dangerous to be left alone." He says, lowly.
Victoria turns to a neutral expression, before smiling again, "So let them. We're all going to die at some point anyways. The knowledge I have from being site director taught me that, Keters, Apollyons, XK, WK, GT whatever the hell end of the world scenarios are inevitable. I mean, it's just a matter of time. Entropy is unavoidable, so all bets are off."
"So… why try? What's the reason for living then, why continue if it's all going to end one day, why do anything when you know that it's all going to be meaningless, that your contributions, your memory, will be lost to time.”
"Because I don't live at my death, Bill, I live right now. I live when I flip a burger, when I see others living, I'm living when I live alongside them, seeing them enjoy eating this corporate slave food, seeing the children gobbling up their cheap mass-produced meal toys like it's sunken treasure. These are the moments! I'm even living when that damn ice cream machine is broken." she grimaces, shaking her head.
"So, is there a purpose to all of this? Is there a purpose to me? To life? Is it that I or you or anyone ever come to exist, just here to live to die?”
She hits the table and bleats out triumphantly "Of course there is a meaning to all this, but that's not up to objective fact, we live in moments. I don't live in the past or my future. No XK end-of-the-world event is going to stop me from enjoying this moment. Here? I get to be human. We find our own reason for living. And death gives us a time limit, a reason to pursue that reason, that purpose. The reason we die is to give us a chance to understand why we live. That's a life lesson for you, rookie, live now, not later."
Billy smiles, flustered and stuttering "I told you to stop calling me rookie!" he laughs heartily before being interrupted by a sound coming from his ear.
A brief murmur is heard from Billy's earpiece, he snaps back to a serious expression and presses the earpiece "Yeah, reporting in, still alive… living."
Victoria stares him dead on "That them?" she asks.
"Yeah, that's them. You know why I'm here, right?"
"Knew it from the second you walked in" she responds, equally serious in tone "I can tell you're terrified, but the biggest trap is believing you have something to lose, cured by understanding death. We all have our purposes in life, mine is here, I hope you can find yours Bill," she says, warmly.
Billy nods "Any way I can get you to come peacefully?"
"No; I don't think there is." Victoria says, solemnly.
"Then I'm done here, thank you.” he pauses, “And, I'm sorry," he says, reluctantly staring at the table, his voice just noticeably cracking. He notices that Victoria is now eating from a container of fries that were not on the table before.
Billy stands up, his sandwich reduced to a small puddle of sauce in the box. On his duster jacket is the foundation logo printed in white, just below it are the words "Negotiator."
He steps out of the restaurant and pauses, looking back at her "I'm rooting for you."
“That sorry that you said; wasn't for me, was it.”
“No, of course not.” He stands, frozen, still.
"13 billion and a half years, and we've only been around for 200 thousand of them, there is no possible way we are the pinacle, that's human arrogance speaking, there is no way there isn't something bigger out there. An infinite universe and we act like it was all made for us. If there is one thing I know, if there is a god, it sure as hell doesn't look like me."
Her eyes glimmer a bright blue "The world is changing, Billy, I can feel it even now. Something is coming and it won't be kind to the Foundation, it won't be kind to you. But know that I can also feel hope, something or someone to save us, someone like you, I can feel that from you. In the grand calculus of the universe, somehow even amongst all the noise, you will matter."
Billy turns his head. They share a brief smile with each other, their expressions communicating much more than just words; before the door closes, ringing the little bell again.
Billy taps his earpiece "Type green is uncooperative. Repeating, type green is uncooperative. Send in the calvary, we're dealing with either a suspected phase 3 type green reality bender or thaumatergic blue. There are a lot of unknowns, proceed with extreme caution," as he walks away from the scene. The fast-food restaurant is cordoned off by police tape, surrounded by helicopters, black vans, mobile task force soldiers, and various reality anchors placed strategically.
He pulls out his phone, a notification appears; it's an email letter granting approval for his proposed research project, “Well, how about that.” Billy smiles to himself.
As Billy walks he whispers shakily under his breath "Good luck, boss."
He hears in his ear shortly after, a disembodied whisper "Thanks, but I won't need it." Billy turns his head, trying to find the origin of the sound, unable to. He calmly continues walking.
Gunfire is heard, screaming.
Paying no mind to the violence behind him, Billy lights a match and holds a cigarette between his lips, his hands shaking too much to properly light it.
He can see flashes coming from behind him and reflecting off a nearby wall, a splatter of blood splashes at his feet, fresh and red, smells of rusted iron.
His body decides against turning around to face the source, in spite of every instinct.
He bursts out a restrained chuckle “So that's how it is." Billy drops the lit match from his quivering, shaking fingers as he stumbles onto his knees, his palms meeting the pavement.
The match hits a puddle of blood as the flame is extinguished and a trail of smoke, all that is left lingering. The unlit cigarette, now bent, still placed firmly between his cracked lips.


No Reflections
Joseph Minster didn't deserve the death penalty. After all, he was innocent! At least, that's what the evidence said. At least, that's what his lawyer said. Joe thought back to that conversation, held in a dimly lit office not much bigger than the cell where he was now confined. "You'd be a fool to take that plea bargain," the lawyer had said, seemingly full of confidence, "the only reason they're offering it is because they know this case won't stick. It's too high profile!" Joe remembered how that sleeze had grinned as he gave his explanation, "You've already been hanged in the court of public opinion. The DA trumped up the charges to satisfy the mob, but they have no way to prove aggravated murder. Maybe they could get you on second degree. Manslaughter? Then you'd be in some trouble. But aggravated? First degree? No way! The guy's dead, and you did it, they've got hard evidence on that. But they've got nothin' for intent."
The man thought he was so slick, and he'd talked a good game as far as Joe could tell. He made it sound easy. Joe should've known it was too good to be true. Should've known not to trust… him. What was his name? Joe realized that he couldn't remember, but supposed it didn't matter. That guy was a fraud in a cheap suit. The only thing slick about him was the grease in his hair. Joe shouldn't have listened to him. He should've gotten life in prison. They'd had his fingerprints and a witness for god's sake! There was no way they wouldn't have convicted him! But the lawyer had kept on talking and Joe had kept on listening.
"Look, we're in Illinois, not Texas. No jury here is going to approve the death penalty. A life sentence is the most the prosecution could go for, and that ain't how a plea deal is supposed to work. They're supposed to show you a stick, and offer a carrot… or uh, a slightly smaller stick, I suppose. Instead, they offered you the biggest stick they got, because they wanna scare you enough that you won't realize they can't swing it. And if they do, you're only getting exactly what you'd get if you took the plea bargain! You've got no incentive, trust me." And he had. The man threw him a lifeline, so he grabbed it.
And sunk like a stone.
He'd appealed the decision, of course, and that's when someone approached him with another bargain. One month of work at some secret facility, and he'd be free to go. He should've gotten life in prison. This was his way out.
He was still a prisoner, obviously. He still slept in a cell, still wore an orange jumpsuit, still ate the same awful food. The difference was that he knew it was temporary. Now he had hope, and that was all he needed.
There were other differences too, the nature of his work being the most obvious. Joe saw things in this place he never would've believed before, and heard about more that he never could've imagined. But there were smaller differences too. Little details, easy to overlook if you didn't care. In prison, Joe had seen all kinds of haircuts and styles. Here though, the D-class all had military-short buzz cuts. Another way to strip them of their individuality, he supposed, like their numbers.
It must be easier to send us to our deaths if they think we're all the same, Joe thought to himself as he walked through the cafeteria one day. He was waiting in line for his second daily dose of nutrition (he refused to call that stuff "food"). Moving through a sea of orange, he understood his exact value in the eyes of the Foundation. I'm just another criminal to them.
"The 'D' stands for 'disposable'," he'd been told on his first day, alongside a number of other new conscripts, "because that's exactly what you are if you cease to cooperate." The introductory speech had been brief, but absolutely clear. Their work was important, but potentially extremely dangerous. That was why people like them were selected for certain tasks. Joe looked around the room at his fellows, some eating, some laughing, some staring sullenly at nothing. He wondered how many of them would survive their month.
It doesn't matter how many of them survive. I just need to make sure I do.
He remembered the end of the speech clearly, "Yes, D-class die. But believe it or not, we try to make sure that happens as little as possible. You're disposable, but you're not cheap, and there isn't an endless supply of qualified inmates. Just do what you're told, keep your wits about you, and you'll probably be fine." So that's what Joe did. He kept in line. For two weeks now, he'd done what he was told without question, and for two weeks, he hadn't died.
A puddle of over-boiled vegetables and some kind of processed meat patty were dispensed onto his tray, and he began to look for a relatively empty table. Joe didn't see much point in socializing with the other D-class. None of them were here on a long-term basis, and most of them weren't really social creatures anyway. He spotted a table with only two occupants and turned to walk towards it. As he turned though, another man pivoted to stand up from his stool and bumped right into him. In an attempt to keep his tray from spilling, Joe stumbled through the smaller man, who promptly fell back onto his seat. Had the stool not been bolted in place, he may have fallen all the way to the floor. But it was, so he was saved from that embarrassment, at least.
Hoping to leave well enough alone, Joe continued awkwardly on his way. Unfortunately, the other man had too much pride or too little sense for that. Possibly both. "Hey! Watch where you're going old man!" Joe rolled his eyes and kept walking. "Old man"? Was that really the best he could come up with? The other man looked to be in his early twenties, certainly younger than Joe, but not that much younger.
"Hey, I'm talking to you old man! Are you deaf and blind?"
Joe sighed and turned around. He wasn't surprised to see the other man had again gotten up from his seat and was now walking towards him. "No, you're just stupid. Now-" Joe was going to say "walk away before you do something to prove it," but the smaller man beat him to the punch. Right in the nose. Joe took the hit without flinching and glanced at some guards by the wall. They had apparently decided that the situation did not require their interference. Not yet.
Joe let go of his tray with one hand and grabbed the other man by the shoulder. The man tried to pull back, but Joe's grip was firm. He tried to resist as Joe physically moved him down the row of tables, but he weighed maybe 120 pounds, soaking wet. How a twig like him ended up here, Joe had no idea. He moved the man back to his stool and pushed him down. Without letting go of his shoulder, Joe leaned forward, "Listen here, you little punk," he said, "I don't know where you think you are, but this isn't prison, and it ain't the streets. Look around you." The man took a moment to react, but then slowly turned his head to take in his surroundings, his eyes flicking back to Joe as he did so. "Look at these guys," Joe continued, "no one here cares how tough you think you are, because you're not. And even if you were, it wouldn't matter. I saw three men die today at the hands of a monster I literally can't describe. Do you honestly think I care about a skinny little shit like you?"
The man didn't respond.
Good.
"We're here to do a job. We do it right, and maybe some of us get out of here. Focus on that, and let your stupid little pride get you killed somewhere else." Joe let go. The man did not get up. Joe decided to look for a new table, he wanted some distance from that man, just in case. As he walked, he noticed a warm wetness dripping onto his lips. He touched gingerly at his nose. Broken. Joe looked at his tray and saw a spatter of blood had dripped on it. Whatever, maybe that would make it taste better.
The table he ended up sitting at was almost full, but he didn't care at this point. He just wanted to finish his meal in peace. "Was that true?" Joe looked up from his food, one of the men sitting across from him had asked the question, but he wasn't sure which one, or how he should answer. "Hmm?" he asked, glancing at the two men closest to him. It was the one on the left who had spoken, a thin man with thinner hair. "Was it true," he asked again, "that thing you said about three people dying?" Joe shrugged noncommittally. He hadn't actually seen anyone die that day. He hadn't seen any indescribable horrors either. But should he tell them that? I suppose it doesn't matter.
"Nah," he said around a mouthful of the vegetables, "I just cleaned up some kind of black goo and fed it to a bag with teeth. It was weird, but not really terrifying." The other man cocked his head slightly, and his eyebrows furrowed. "So… why'd you say that, then?" Joe thought about the question before answering. "The guy's an idiot," he finally said, "I just told him what he needed to hear to get a proper sense of perspective." The thin man chuckled, and Joe might've smiled in return if the stuff he was eating wasn't so awful. Blood did not make it taste better, apparently. "I'm Craig, by the way," the man said, holding a hand out across the table. Joe hesitated briefly, then shook his hand. "Joe," he said. With the social ritual complete, the two men released their grips and resumed eating.
When Joe returned to his cell at the end of the day, he had intended to look in a mirror and see how crooked his nose was. It was only then that he realized that his cell didn't actually have a mirror. One more difference from prison, he thought. In prison, his cell had had a small mirror mounted to the wall above his sink. Not glass, for obvious reasons, but a sheet of reflective metal that served well enough. Here though, all he had were dull, grey walls. Of course those are the same. Joe found the thought oddly discomforting as he went to sleep.
The next day, Joe woke up sore all over. This had happened every day since he came here. "Stupid, cheap mattress," he muttered as he cracked his joints and stretched his limbs. While waiting for whatever task he'd have to perform that day, Joe brushed his teeth, drank some water, and dropped to the floor. Some people in confinement let their bodies waste away, but he wasn't one of them. He began doing pushups. Not so many that he would have trouble with his work later, just enough to get his blood flowing. He was going to make sure he was ready for whatever got thrown at him. He was not going to die here. He did not deserve the death penalty.
Later, as he was shuttled from one location to another, Joe kept an eye out for a mirror, or some other sufficiently reflective surface. He still wanted to get a look at his nose. After a few hours though, he became frustrated with how dull everything was. Not only were there no mirrors, there were no windows either, and the metal doors were all painted various shades of boring. Eventually, it became less about seeing the damage to his face and more of a personal challenge. There had to be something around here that was at least a little reflective, and he was going to find it.
That day, Joe was brought to the cafeteria for lunch at 11:30 rather than noon. He wondered if that was due to yesterday's mishap, or if the D-class schedules were regularly shuffled to keep them from getting too comfortable. He decided it was probably both.
He received his rations, some kind of chowder this time, and once again pondered where to sit. As he scanned the crowd, he noticed a familiar face. It's Craig, he realized, they must've changed his meal times too. Moving quickly, before he could second-guess his plan of action, Joe walked across the cafeteria and sat in the empty seat beside the man he'd met yesterday.
"Hey, Craig, funny seeing you here," he said. It sounded stupid even as he said it, but he didn't care. He wasn't here for small talk. Craig looked up, mildly surprised at hearing his name. "Oh it's you!" he said with a grin, "see anyone die a horrible death today?"
"Oh, um… nahhh, heh," Joe said, trying to force a laugh, he ended up just clearing his throat. A big man at the far side of the table looked at him with a placid, almost uninterested gaze, the man beside him with a weaselly face glanced briefly at Joe before looking back at his own trey. Joe continued, "Hey um, have any of you guys seen any mirrors around this place?" The big guy furrowed his eyebrows, Weasel looked at Joe suspiciously and glanced around, but didn't say anything.
"Mirrors?" Craig asked, "Why? You hear rumours about an anomaly or something?" Joe shook his head, "No, nothing like that. I mean just a regular mirror, or anything you could look at your reflection in, really. I don't think I've seen one since I got here." Weasel smirked, without looking up he said, "For you, I think that's for the best." Joe rolled bis eyes, then Craig sopke up again,  "I hadn't really thought about it, but I can't remember seeing any. What about you, Pedro?"
"No." The big man spoke softly, but with a strong voice, one of Weasel's eyes twitched at the sound, "I haven't seen any either. It's weird."
"To be fair though, this whole place is weird," the Craig said, earning shrugs of general agreement from the others. "Well, it's pretty obvious why you want one," he continued, "any idea why they wouldn't have them?" "I don't know," Joe confessed, "but they were pretty thorough about it. I've been looking since yesterday and haven't found anything."
Pedro seemed a bit more interested now. "My abuela used to say that mirrors can act like doorways for spirits," he said, "I never really believed in stuff like that, but now…" he let the thought hang in the air, and the rest of them nodded. This was a place where anything could be real.
"It's gotta be something locked up here, specifically," Craig said, gesturing around with his spoon, "they've got something that does something with mirrors, so they gotta keep it away from them." Pedro, nodded at this, but Weasel, was unconvinced. "They've still got rearview mirrors on their cars, right? We saw them when they brought us here." "Did we?" Joe asked, "I don't know about you, but when I was brought in, I was a bit too preoccupied to notice whether or not the cars were road-legal." "I don't think these guys care too much about the law, anyways," Pedro added.
"Maybe you didn't see them," Weasel retorted, "but I did. Granted, it's an easy detail to miss, but I'm attentive." "Is that what you call it?" Craig asked, quickly looking around with exaggerated jerks of his head. They all laughed at that, and it felt good. Joe couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good, honest laugh about something. His life had been a mess before he got here, even before he'd become a killer. He'd been cycling between dead-end jobs and unemployment, skirting the edge of homelessness, and generally focused more on his next fix than his next meal. When he got out of here, all of that would change. He didn't deserve the death penalty. He should've gotten life in prison. This was his second chance.
"-ven if they do have mirrors on their cars, that wouldn't matter if they were far enough away," it was Craig talking again, Joe realized that he'd been spacing out. "It would have to have some kind of limits to its range or keeping mirrors out of the facility wouldn't matter. It would just use one somewhere else in the world." "Unless the thing is outside, and they're trying to keep it from getting in," Pedro suggested. "Maybe," Weasel allowed, "but I don't think it has to do with an anomaly at all. It's about us." "How do you figure? Joe asked.
Weasel seemed all to glad to explain himself, "It's all about control," he said with a confident grin, "they wanna make sure we know our place. TV, books, windows, mirrors, all things we might get in prison we can't get here. We won't be here long enough for stuff like that to matter one way or another. They wanna make sure we know that. I guarantee that if you went into the guards' barracks or one of the proper employee bathrooms, they've got mirrors, a magazine rack, hell, they've probably got vending machines!" Craig laughed, "I guarantee that if you went into the guards' barracks, you'd be shot!" They laughed again, despite their circumstances, and because of them. It's the one thing they haven't taken away from us, Joe thought with a smile, our laughter.
When the half hour ended, they all went their separate ways. Joe was made to go with a group of six other D-class and three guards. The guards didn't say where they were going, and no one asked. They just started walking. So they went, through checkpoints and down corridors, until they arrived in a part of the facility that Joe didn't think he'd been to before. Granted, it was hard to tell since it looked the same as every part he had been to, but he thought it smelled… different. Less sterile, more fresh. Maybe we're close to the outside. The thought gave him hope. Not hope of escape, that would be stupid. The feeling wasn't well defined, but promised that the future would be better than the past.
As they walked, Joe paid close attention to his surroundings. There still wasn't anything reflective, but the conversation at lunch had given him another idea. When he saw what he needed, he steeled his nerve, stopped in his tracks and asked, "Hey, can I use the bathroom?" It was poorly timed, the D-class walking behind him didn't react quickly enough and bumped into him. "Dude, what the hell?" the other man complained as the group came to a stop around them.
"Keep walking," one of the guards ordered. "Sorry, sorry! I just really need to use the bathroom," Joe said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Then you should have gone during your regularly scheduled lunch break," the guard said with agitation, "Keep. Walking."
"You're right, you're right, that would've been smart! It's just, well, that wasn't my regularly scheduled lunch break. See, I usually eat at noon, but they moved me to 11:30 today, and…" Joe swallowed, "well, I know it sounds lame, but I really didn't have to go then!"
The guard made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl, "That is really not my problem." Joe tried to sound just the right kind of desperate, "I know, I know, you're right, I- I'm sorry. I don't wanna be a problem, I just also don't wanna piss myself! And there's a bathroom right there!" He pointed at the door they'd just passed. The guard looked over, and sure enough, the sign marked it as a restroom.
One of the other guards spoke up, "Just let him go, Hitch. The lab coats can wait an extra thirty seconds, who cares?" "Fine," the guard named Hitch conceded, "but you have to watch him and make sure he doesn't cause trouble. That isn't a monitored restroom." So they did have cameras in the D-class bathrooms. Not surprising, but still disconcerting. "Okay, if anyone else has to go too, say something now or forever hold your peace," the second guard ordered. No one said anything.
The guard went to the door, knocked, called inside, then waived Joe over. Here we go… This was it. This was the place where Joe thought he was most likely to find a mirror. His heart was pounding, and he realized just how ridiculous he was for taking this so seriously. He chuckled despite himself as he walked towards the door. The guard must have taken it as a sign of nervousness, but showed no concern. "Just hurry up, I'm not gonna hurt you," the guard said, rolling his eyes. Joe nodded, "Y-yeah." He took a deep breath, pushed on the door…
And was met by the sight of a toilet, a sink, and three empty walls.
He walked in, feeling deflated, and the guard followed. He knew it would look suspicious if he suddenly decided not to go after all, so he walked over to the toilet and did his business. As he did, Joe saw a small trash can nestled between the toilet and the wall. A discarded newspaper was rolled up inside of it. Not much of a magazine rack, Weasel. As he bent over to flush, Joe reached out and grabbed the newspaper. He might as well get something out of this charade…
"Hey," the guard said "what's that?"
Damn.
"Just an old newspaper," Joe answered, unfurling it to quickly scan the front page. He hoped that the guard would let him keep it, but doubted that he'd be lucky enough to be granted two favours in such quick succession. "I don't think I've seen one since…" the sentence died on his lips. He read the date at the top of the page, closed his eyes hard, opened them, and read it again. It hadn't changed. It read "June 4th, 2017".
The guard was shouting something, but Joe couldn't hear him, couldn't see him tear the paper from his shaking hands. All he saw were those four numbers. They didn't make any sense. It wasn't 2017, it was 1995. He'd only been here for two weeks! And yet, as the world moved in a blur around him, certain details about those two weeks stood out to him. Names he couldn't remember, joints feeling sore and stiff, and behind it all, a stupid, twenty-something punk shouting at him, "old man!"
Joe didn't need a mirror anymore. He didn't want one. He was too afraid of what he knew he would see. Not just a badly broken nose, but wrinkles, dimming eyes, and grey, receding hair. His mind processed this as he was made to sit in a chair fashioned with restraints. A chair that he didn't remember getting strapped to hundreds of times before. He couldn't speak. Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn't make a sound. All he could think was that this wasn't fair. He shouldn't even be here! He… he hadn't deserved the death penalty. He should have gotten life in prison.
He did.


« Required Reading |=| World Of Wolves |=| Episode One »
While the world was ending, an old man found himself at the base of a hill in a forest, watching the trees sway in the soft wind. It had been a long hike, but his condition meant he didn't have to pack many supplies.
He watched as a few birds flew overhead, squawking merrily. A weak smile formed on his lips as he wondered if the animals even knew of the chaos plaguing the world at large. He himself did not know much, but he could certainly suspect.
His focus eventually shifted to his surroundings, and his vision soon fell upon a red plastic frisbee laying on the grass. At this, he grimaced; he had come here for seclusion, and yet his fellow man continued to hound him, ignorant of the carnage he always wrought.
Sighing, he rose from his stone lounge, walked across the small clearing he had staked out, and picked the disc from the earth, waiting for it to crumble to dust or melt into petroleum in his hand, to remind him of his unmendable ostracization.

…And yet, it stayed whole.
The Old Man was puzzled by this; usually simple objects like the toy wouldn't last 15 seconds, but he'd been staring at it for more than a minute, and it hadn't lost a single flake off its surface. He briefly considered the notion of extraterrestrial toymakers when a noise from the woods caught his attention.
A small dog bounded out from the foliage, its fur brown & curly, a blue vest around its upper half. It stopped to stare at the Old Man for a few moments, before trotting right up to his pant leg, yipping with eager anticipation.
The Old Man winced. He had seen the fates of pets such as this too many times to bear; he could not look into blank, dead eyes again. He waited, for one minute, then two, bracing for the pants to slow in frequency, for that ghastly impact to sound once more.

…And yet, it stayed whole.
At this, the Old Man was bewildered; this animal was indisputably connected to humanity, and yet it was not succumbing to the same fate all the others had. This, as one might imagine, was an unusual occurrence.
Now the Old Man pondered if Bigfoot had caught onto novelty pets, but before he could explore those ramifications, a decidedly non-Bigfoot child came bounding from the woods, seeming to call the canine at the Old Man's feet.
"Norman? Norman, here boy, where'd you go?"
The girl turned in their direction, and the Old Man's instincts, honed over millennia, were called to action. He scrambled away, attempting to put as much distance between him and the child as his travel-weary legs could manage, begging all the while;
"No, please! Don't come over here! I don't want you to suffer!"
The girl, puzzled at this strange man's irrational alarm, did not listen, her gaze instead focusing upon "Norman," as it yipped in delight.
"Norman, there you are!"
The canine & child bounded toward each other, the latter coming within normally unacceptable distance of the Old Man. They embraced, & the Old Man winced, waiting for the girl to splay upon the earth, as all had before & all surely would after.

…And yet, she stayed whole.
The Old Man shakily stood from the soil, gawking as the girl strode right up to him to take the disc, the puppy cradled in her hands, licking her face.
"Gee, thank you for finding Norman & his frisbee, mister!"
The Old Man said nothing, even as two more human people emerged from the woods.
"Abby! What were you thinking, running off like that!"
They rushed over to take the girl's hand, eyeing the Old Man with suspicion all the while.
"I'm sorry, mommy, I had to find Norman! This nice man found both him & his frisbee."
Still, the Old Man said nothing, lost in contemplation as the parents led the girl back into the woods.
"Ok, that's understandable, - thank you sir - but next time, when Norman runs off, we find him together, alright?"
"Alright, mommy…"
And like that, they were gone, their voices fading into the forest's din, leaving the Old Man alone once more.
It was then that he felt a presence behind him, dark & foreboding, like a shadow in an alleyway. He turned, to see a figure across the clearing, dressed in improbably immaculate black robes, their bone-pale face betraying no emotion.
And behind them, as if it was always there, stood a gargantuan shape, clad in a cloak of gunmetal and rubble, the flesh underneath blackened & perforated by holes. Their form constantly shifted and warped, a flowing portrait of carnage & destruction; the very eidolon of War.
And behind them, an even greater figure. It stood with legs as wide and tall as the Old Man, as the trees, as the great hill. Their robe shone of ivory, of azure, of flesh, silk, mail, stars, void. It loomed over its' kin, somehow disappearing into the depths of the sky, though they clearly couldn't be that tall...
At this last sight, the Old Man reached for his hip, for the sack he always kept strapped to his person, but an echoing, authoritative voice stopped his hand.
There is no need.
The largest figure did not move, yet the Old Man could sense its shadow receding away from him, though the sun remained overhead.
The Haven of Man has bargained for control of your chains. You may now do as you wish before they attempt to collect you.
The Old Man did nothing, at first, contemplating the giant's words. When he managed to speak again, the words were quiet, & hesitant.
"…What.. what do you mean by 'bargained'?"
This time, it was the metal monolith who spoke, in the bored & casual tone of a veteran diplomat given time to vent.
Hrmhahm. We mean bargained, of course. With me, primarily; my brothers aren't used to negotiating. Out of their purview, it seems.
The monstrosity leaned down, their laser-sight eyes remaining fixed on the Old Man, burrowing into his soul like a mortar into the earth.
They were hagglers, too. Reminded me of your younger years. Hrmhm.
Something like a chuckle forced its way out of a hundred bleeding mouths.
Still, an agreement was made.
The Old Man could feel his knees start to buckle as the weight of the figure's words fully set in.
"…may I ask what this agreement entailed?"
Through the disjointed cluster of features, the faint impression of a condescending smile could be discerned on the colossi's face.
I'm sure you'll find that out yourself. Or perhaps not. It's not of much concern to you either way. Hrmmhmm.
Silence.
"…What happens to me now?"
The smallest figure is the one to respond, striding across the field in smooth, level steps.
"I suppose that is up to you. If you desire to, you can rejoin your brethren at long last. I'm sure it'll be quite the touching reunion."
Even at a distance, the Old Man could see the humor on that gaunt, bone-white face.
"Or, perhaps, you can continue to wander, as you had before. You've always seemed like a man stuck in the past."
A soft snickering, like the rattling chains of a derelict dungeon's holding cell.
"It is your decision; we shall have no more part in it. There are more.. relevant matters at hand."
All at once, the three figures seemed to shrink away, fading into the darkness of the forest, leaving three comments in their wake;
"Make your choice."
Decide your fate.
We will be watching.
And in an instant, they were gone.
The Old Man stood, shellshocked, his weary mind working to comprehend the events he had just bore witness to; when at last, his thoughts settled, there was nothing he could do but laugh.
Starting as a few soft chuckles of disbelief, this laugh soon ballooned into a manic guffawing, which then seamlessly transitioned into hysterical weeping, as the previous centuries of repressed loneliness & despair came crashing onto the Old Man's frailed psyche.

…And yet, he stayed whole.
« Required Reading |=| World Of Wolves |=| Episode One »


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SPOILER ALERT: This tale spoils content and twists of the following articles from the Into The Void Hub.;

SCP-5623 "Star Euthanizer"
SCP-5651 "Wretched Core"
SCP-6983 "Kelvin"

I woke up in a state of drunkenness in a godforsaken bar. Everything was spinning, and my vision was blurry. I tried to move, but couldn't. Too much pain and too numb to move. I don't remember entering this bar, let alone how much I had drunk. The last thing I actually remembered was me falling down on a planet like a meteor.
I must confess it was quite comfortable laying behind the counter but there was this feeling of being watched by an unknown presence. Yet my perception didn't spot a single soul around, probably because I hadn't lifted my head yet, and fuck, these lights were killing me! Almost as if they were the stars itself, which not much later, I realized that they actually were. Half of the bar, roof and floorboards alike, deteriorated slowly into space, as if it was slowly floating in the universe.
I was able to move one of my heavy arms and rang the bell on the counter, to no avail. I turned my head and smacked down on the other side of my face. There were multiple, wildly different, sundials on the wall. It reminded me of clocks in an airport terminal, just prettier, although I didn't understand how they'd work inside.
Right below was a liquor cabinet full of foreign bottles I didn't recognize even a single one from. They would probably make for some good cocktails, but I didn't want to find out. Before I could let my gaze wander further, a person, or at least a being resembling a person, gained my attention. I did not hear them coming but it was clear they stood in front of me. I slowly raised my pulsing head to face my new acquaintance.
Their torso was dressed up rather formal, a white shirt complimented by a black tie and a golden clip folded underneath an equally black vest. But the face before me was-
Well, there was no face.
There was a complete pitch black void in front what mostly seemed to resemble a human head. And it moved inside itself like some kind of stream. The sides of his face were normal and his hair was as dark as his face, but seemed to sparkle as the night sky. I kept staring, most likely something that would be considered rude, until I was snapped out of my focus.
"What would you like to order, Sir?"
"Uh… Excuse me?"
"Ah, my apologies. I forgot that you are new to this establishment. Would you like to-"
"Okay… hold on a second. What is this place? Where am I? Who are you? How-"
"How did I get here? How did I end up in a bar whilst traveling the universe? Did I have a drink last night? Oh Sir, I know the questions on your mind, or rather on every newcomer's mind. Please, let me elaborate whilst I pour you a drink."
"But I don't have-"
"Any money? Sir, I never take payment for drinks or food. It's on the house anyway. Now please tell me, what can I pour you?" They said as the void in their face seemed to swirl yet be at a complete standstill at the same time. God, why couldn't I have those obnoxious smiling barmen with a real mouth instead? I couldn't get a read on this guy.
"You know what, can you get me some water?" I answered.
"Wa- Water?"
"Yes, Water! Please! It's been so long since I was able to drink anything. I don't care if it's cliché but I need to ease this thirst."
"Please, give me a moment." And they poured a glass of crystal clear water in a rather fancy glass. In excitement I took the glass and downed it before they could add the ice.
"Aaaaah…"
"Please, feel free to help yourself." He said, as he put another glass before me, this time the ice was already floating graciously on the surface.
"Don't mind if I do!" I probably drank more water than a Viking drank beer during a feast, and I was only stopped by a short;
"So, my dear guest, shall we start over?"
"Yeah, so where am I?"
"Well, this bar is mostly called the thought-end tavern by others. In some simpler dialects, they refer to it as the void-end pub. It exists somewhere between unconsciousness and being awake. I made it rather hard to find. Keeps most abysmal drinkers from entering."
"So I'm something like the noosphere? I never really got that 'plane of collective consciousness' stuff."
"Yes, something like that."
"Well, seems like it's indeed hard to find. Not to be rude, but you don't have much patrons here at the moment."
"Normally, as within any bar, a barman only serves one at the time whilst overlooking many."
"Based on the rather fine style here, what am I doing here? I feel rather out of place in this… noospheric plane? Even if it isn't for some elite class, this is quite the unique situation."
"You tell me, how did you end up here? I must confess, I already know, but I would love to hear things from your perspective."
"Well, I can put it real simple but the full story is gonna take quite a bit of time."
"Hmm, not that we don't have time, I mean you already took three months to regain consciousness once and get here. But I think the short version is good enough for now."
"… Wait, three months?! I was out for three months?"
"Look, I don't know how you survived or were able to reform yourself, but you were reduced to a pile of red liquid you call blood. The fact that you somehow came back is already more than impressive. Even without accounting that you are in fact a human."
The silence that fell took more than just a moment.
"What about my body?! How is it?!"
"It's taking its sweet time. You should consider yourself lucky the planet you crashed into doesn't have predators, or rather life at all. I could show you."
"Please do." I hesitantly said, hoping to not see myself as some piece of body horror. A circular opening opened behind my host and showed me my current state.
"Fuck, that's … Oh God!"
"Need a drink? I can also offer you a bucket if you need to puke."
"I'd rather have that drink." I looked back to the weird cabinet and still didn't recognize anything. There were bottles of all kind of colours and shapes but some stood out more than others. One whose liquid glowed and moved like a lavalamp caught my eye in particular.
"Actually, I'm probably going to need both after trying that." as I pointed to that horrific drink.
"That one it is then." And suddenly the liquor appeared in front of us.
"Also, you still haven't really told me about yourself."
"I'd rather not, and before you claim you told me about yourself, again, I already knew. Also I don't believe I've been a rude host. But if I may ask, it's partially my face that makes you curious isn't it?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, I've seen some humanoid anomalies where I came from, but I just can't place you. And I seem pretty much stuck here for the time being."
"I'm not against it, but I only reveal things to people that have bested me."
"Please don't tell me you mean as in actual combat."
"I suppose you could challenge me in combat, but anything is fine really. Just a heads up, you can give it a shot and you don't have a thing to lose, but don't expect to win. I won't go easy on you. Anyway, here is your drink."
A small shot glass of glowing liquid stood in front of me. Bright enough to tingle my eyes, but not enough to hurt them. Perhaps I'd taste like that as well. "A shot, huh?" I took the glass but didn't down it.
"Would you like a drink that resembles something you are more familiar with?"
"No, in fact, give me another shot."
Another shot was placed right next to the other glass. "Well, someone wants to get buzzy." Somehow I got the feeling a small grin would have been on their face. I began to like them.
"I think you misunderstood me. This glass is yours."
"Uh, excuse me?"
"I challenge you to a drinking game."

We had changed our seats to a more secluded table adjacent to the sundial wall. Whilst the table clearly ended there, my companion had poured out two infinite rows of shots that seemingly went beyond. Then the empty face in front of me stopped swirling.
"What, don't want to drink on the job?"
"It's not that, whether you win or not, this is gonna be quite the ride. Well… Cheers!"
"Cheers!"
We both raised our glass and downed it.
One.
We suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a deep body of water with a glow underneath our feet even deeper below. Some kind of liquid planet perhaps? It didn't matter, we didn't stay long.
Two.
We now sat in a pub, only our table was set on the ceiling, as if we mirrored one of the tables below- above us? How didn't we fall down was beyond me.
Three.
Dark, it was dark. Then the walls around us moved by the wind and revealed themselves to be the petals of a giant flower which gently fell open, showing us a lushious garden of-
Four.
WHAM! Back in the bar.
"Can't keep up?"
"I mean this is some pretty strong stuff, but I am not down for the count just yet."
"Relax, I know you were taking in the view. I quite like it too."
"Where the hell did you find this drink?"
"I brew it myself, used quite a bit of power for it."
"I'm drinking your power or some Hick. shit like that? Who the hell are you?"
"I believe those answers were part of our wager, weren't they?"
"You got me there." And we clinked our next glasses. "Bottom's up!"
Five.
Ruins around us, floating in the sky on multiple islands no less. A giant two-headed bird spotted us and seemed to take us for it's next meal. Immediately it torpedoed at an incredible speed towards us in a nosedive that would put a buzzard to shame. Oh god, wouldn't you know it, that thing has goddamn tee-
Six.
Complete white.
Seven.
Prokaryotes around us. The sound of them moving was very unsettling, if not straight up disturbing. Wasn't as bad as the smell though, something was either being digested or decaying. Then I heard it;
"Aight, fuck it, I'm gonna pull a little stunt here."
Eight.
Site-19. Middle of the cafetaria. Our table floating no less than a meter over their heads. I couldn't hold myself back when I realised;
"Good luck with the paperwork suckers!"
Nine.
Back at the bar. However, somehow we changed from seat… and clothes. I just realized that I could have gone back to earth multiple times by now… My drinking mate, knew as well. And yet, I was not having any regrets at the moment. Perhaps it was the alcohol? Aaaah, the alcohol.
Ten.
Some random place in the middle of space, with stars and stars wherever you could see. Reminded me of the face in front of me. How do they even drink? Fuck it, I might not see how they drink, but I certainly will see if they can hold their liquor.
Eleven.
Back at the bar. On the right side of the table, and more importantly back in my own clothes. Neither of us reached to the next glass.
"Please don't tell me I'm the only one that's feeling like vomiting after all this."
"Can you even do that? You pour drinks into your bottomless face and get drunk, didn't think it could work the other way around."
"If you thought it was bottomless, why would you challenge me to drink with you?"
"Well, I kinda expected you to not have much of a body, if at all. Especially since- Hick. If this weren't some conceptual or mind boggling plane or whatever, the Foundation, and I to a certain extend, would definitely already found out that much."
"It surprises me how you are both so right, yet so wrong and you don't even know it."
"Care to explain?"
"Oh, I will… if you manage to beat me."
Twelve.
Overconfidently, we took our shots. Their face started to lower to the table a mere moment earlier than mine. And then they hit their face against it. Then the weird shifting stuff happened again, not uncontrollably or continuously as I expected now that my drinking mate was out. No, it happened just one more time.
We ended up on a bench. You know, one of the wooden kind you'd find in a well kept park. It looked out over a nebula partially hidden by a pink fog that subtly emitted light. I raised my head, which reminded me of how I got into this situation in the first place, and let my eyes rest on the breathtaking view. They probably were glimmering from, and back to, all the stars it showed me. Whilst I waited for my new friend to sober up, the silence had fallen gentler than a hatchling's plume and kept me company.
I don't know how long I'd been there, it could have been another three months for all that I cared.
I did not mind.
…
And they, they too liked the silence and the change of pace. They didn't talk right away, perhaps due to the influence of a hangover as well. But eventually my fairly won explanation came.

"So, who do you think I am?"
"Weren't you supposed to tell me that?"
"Yes, but I'd like to know how you see me before I drop the facade, or rather, some facts."
"I don't know. A spiritual celestial being or something? You make for one hell of a bartender though. A shame I can't tip you."
"Thanks, but money isn't really an issue. I'm- I'm-"
"Hmm?"
"I'm the universe. No, I'm just the awareness of the universe nowadays."
"Wait, how would that wo-"
"I lost control of my body, or at least nearly all of it. You know, stars and constellations, planets, orbits, entire clusters, and all the rest."
"How would that even happen. Like aren't you omnipotent or something?"
"No, I'm not. You see I can do a lot, or at least, I could. Still can do some tricks though as you saw between our drinking. The problem is… my body, the actual universe- Wait no, the original universe died a long time ago."
"The original?"
"Yeah, it- I died or rather am dying repeatedly. Or at least something in those trends. It's a bit hard to explain, especially since it happened so long ago. I know we have all the time in the world- No universe, now, but it is complicated."
"Wait so the universe is dying or something? Can't you interfere?"
"Why would I? Hell, why should I? I am just letting most things run their course. I don't mind living a bit longer if it makes everyone happy, but I won't go against nature anymore. Besides I can't do that anymore even if I wanted to."
"So you have manipulated things here and there along the lines?"
"Yes and no, see when I first thought I was going to die, and didn't because I wound up in a reset loop, everything seemed fine. But after more and more loops things started to get a little weird. More different settings and anomalies as you'd know them appeared. Some things keep existing, others disappear, sometimes even reappear."
"That does not-"
"Answer your question? No, it doesn't. Well, one day something showed up. Even I don't know how to look at it. Is it like a corruption in computers that happened over multiple reboots? Is it a thing enforcing something natural? Is it perhaps a part of me that wants to die or became its own being? Regardless of what it actually is, it is destructive and I could not make it disappear in the following loops. Trust me, I tried. That's what I tried to manipulate. Whether it's the right or wrong call I don't know. Even the universe makes mistakes."
"Making mistakes is a human thing to do as well."
"No, making mistakes is a universal thing to do, I just look humane to you because this is the form I shifted into. I think it's just a nice courtesy."
"So what you gonna do about it?"
"I was able to trap it in a planet, only for it to keep appearing from inside said planet. Then when it began breaking out, I reached out to other species to help."
"How did it go?"
"They are now extinct."
"Oh…"
"Well, if you can think of a way to stop it, feel free to let me know."
"I guess I can do a pitstop before trying to go home, also I think I'm pretty much unkillable. Not that I want to but it definitely might come in handy."
"Please, don't actually consider that. Because that thing will kill you, and if not you'll just die on repeat as well. Loops like that aren't something to take lightly, you should know from what I just told you."
There was a genuine trembling in their voice, and it was at this moment that I saw one last shot at my feed.
"I'll think about it. You've been one hell of a dude but I think it's beginning to be time for me to take my leave."
"Dude? Mate, I'm the universe, I'm unisex. Anyway, I'll get you out of here but please promise me-"
"My bad, won't happen again. Oh, and about leaving, I wasn't asking."
"Huh?"
I took the shot between my two fingers and raised it; "Ad fundum!"
They shouted; "Wait!" and reached out with one hand.
Now, I can't say for sure if they helped me get back, but I woke up in a desert with dried blood all around me. I don't know if something happened in between, but everything hurt a lot, more than expected.
But my hangover was the worst.