A Nutty Story

Sit back my Child, and I’ll tell you a tale of how idioms can be created in the spur of the moment. Once upon a time, a man escaped from an asylum, and decided to take a nap beneath a peanut tree. He had been running all day, and hoped to catch a breather in the shade. He leaned on his back, never knowing that it was the fall season for these fruits, and they were just ripe for the picking. As it happened, a few minutes later, one particularly juicy legume happened to fall right into his genital zone. He expressed his discomfort with a loud proclamation of “AW NUTS!!!” His cry could be heard all across the countryside, and he was soon apprehended. To commemorate his capture, the tree and his outburst were immortalized. Thus was born the name of a crazy man, a profanity, the plant, and the body part.

“But don’t peanuts grow underground?” asked the Child.

“Be quiet,” said the Uncle with a dangerous look on his face.

Random Encounters / Early Warnings

When it comes to exploring unexplained phenomena, the general consensus would be to explore these ideas, examining all avenues of discovery in a manner that would make sense, but some people just wind up being incurious. With that in mind, here’s a sampling of random passages that may be of importance somewhere down the line, becoming great use to attentive readers further down the line. Beings out that refuse to conform being perceived as unnatural disasters. Or, they may just be amusing diversions to distract you from the current awful going-ons going on.

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For many years, a Doomsday Prophet gave warnings of portents, speaking of protection from an unspeakable monster, spelling out the severity with spellbinding attention-attracting speeches, but was unable to secure Government funding because the threat was too vague.

“So, you say you’re haunted by a creature who watches your every waking moment and insinuates your dreams, with the intent of spreading out to other fleshy waking minds. Yet, your description of said creature defies all known laws of physics and biology as well as certain zoning laws, and possibly time zones.”

“BUT I’M TELLING YOU – THE H’FLIGH’N (may its name never be spoken) IS COMING!!”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to redo your form. The Ancient Ones dislike sloppy writing.”

The Doomsday Prophet wasn’t alone in pursuing this line of discovery. There were other knowledgeable researchers out there who had known about the presence of the thing, having conducted independent research into the matter. What started as a monolith of one swelled into a community of many as these kindred spirits confided, souls who understood the subject and approached it with proper seriousness gathered together in search of a common goal of prevention. If there was a less pressing deadline breathing down the necks of everyone at stake, the Doomsday Prophet could’ve gone at a more leisurely pace, but there wasn’t enough time. With this newfound group, the Doomsday Prophet was able to parlay the message into a more comprehendible form to the masses into something worthy of respect. They had to up the game to get noticed, greatly exaggerating the threat to a more discernable level that could be easily understood. “If left unchecked, this being would bring about untold disaster, the suicide rate running in the millions, which would help control the population explosion somewhat. But not by much. It has nitrogen liquid for blood, grows exponentially at a rapid pace, and reproduces by spreading spores, the seeds germinating quickly, bursting out of your stomach lining after reducing you to a comatose state.”

“…Hawt. I’d hit that.”

“Were you not listening? That thing can wind up killing you!”

“There are some things worth dying for.”

“Yes, but this isn’t one of them.”

“I’d do anything to get closer to that thing!”

“Don’t speak of idle promises! Would you be willing to lay down your life for it?”

“You mean as a willing sacrifice?”

“Well, that’s not – ”

“If my dead body can bring me closer to that powerful being, I’m sure I would be able to seduce it from the great beyond, impressing it to such an extent that I’d be brung back to life.”

“…you’re saying you’d create mass graves just to attract the indiscernible presence only spoken of in whispers?”

“Yes, wasn’t that clear?”

“I’d settle for lying down in protest.”

“Will they mow us down for that?”

“There’s the risk of that, yes. Even knowing all that, would you still want to join my side?”

“If I’m affiliated with you, I’ll have a greater chance of meeting this intriguing creature with a great personality!”

The False Prophet felt conflicted about allowing members over who had dubious motives about repelling a danger that was meant to be prevented, but options were limited, and no one could afford to be picky. Over time, the number of fanatical people involved swelled into figures that couldn’t be ignored. News of internal debates were a common topic from untrusty news sources that sought the latest common low interest. Eventually, this unwanted attention attracted attention from higher-ups who were curious, and wanted to talk. This was just the thing the False Prophet had hoped for, an audience. But gaining any traction with someone with influential power who had access to this knowledge proved to be an exercise in futility, since it turned out that they had known about the nature of this threat beforehand. The False Prophet felt conflicted about allowing members over who had dubious motives about repelling a danger that was meant to be prevented, but options were limited, and no one could afford to be picky. Over time, the number of fanatical people involved swelled into figures that couldn’t be ignored. News of internal debates were a common topic from untrusty news sources that sought the latest common low interest. Eventually, this unwanted attention attracted attention from higher-ups who were curious, and wanted to talk. This was just the thing the False Prophet had hoped for, an audience. But gaining any traction with someone with influential power who had access to this knowledge proved to be an exercise in futility, since it turned out that they had known about the nature of this threat beforehand.

“If you have your own researchers, you must know how serious this is.”

“We do.”

“Why haven’t you warned the populace about this already?”

“Naaah.” “Public safety.” “We don’t want to create a panic.”

“What panic? I’ve told them and they’re absolutely apathetic.”

“Not those people. OUR people.” “People who would be upset if certain revelations came to light.” “They would lose confidence in us.” “Besides, it’s more advantageous if we take advantage of the situation.” “This disaster would create great opportunities for us.”

“All while destroying the planet in the process.”

“Surely this thing can be reasoned with.” “If not, we can always go somewhere else.”

“Once this thing hits, there’s nowhere ELSE to run to.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out somehow.” “We always have.

The Doomsday Prophet almost preferred it when these powerful figures pretended to give a damn about these things, giving empty comforting words and vowing to do all they could to prevent it, when they actually had no intention of doing so. At least that way it felt like accomplishing something. Even with the assistance of the group, finding the identity of these elusive people behind the influential powers was even more difficult than defining the H’FLIGH’N (may its name never be spoken), as they took great pains to remove all trace of their presence, and they always preferred to remain out of sight. If it weren’t for their noted unobtrusive spheres of influence in discrediting the Doomsday Prophet’s efforts, one would think that they didn’t even exist. Then for no discernable cause, the group that had once been so confident about their discovery recanted their findings, finding reason to poke holes in their impeccable logic, giving no plausible reason for their sudden change in mindset when they never had before. Soon, the prosperous group decreased in number until only a devoted faithful few were left. And even that didn’t last long, the diehards losing enthusiasm over ever accomplishing their goals, until only the original founder remained. The Doomsday Prophet was back in familiar territory, alone once again to spout unheeded warnings into the wind. And finally, after much failed proselytizing, the day came when Doomsday could no longer be ignored. When the monster finally made its presence known, you’d think that the Doomsday Prophet would be vindicated, the foreboding warnings becoming reality. Nope, guess again.

“Oh no, what a disaster.” “Who could’ve possibly seen this coming?”

“*I* DID. I told you multiple times!”

“No one likes a braggart.” “You should’ve tried harder.” “You weren’t very convincing.”

“Maybe NOW you’ll go after it?”

“You must be kidding me. I can’t take that as a threat.” “Just LOOK at how goofy its eyes are!” “It’s harmless.”

“IT’S DESTROYED FIFTY CITIES WHILE YOU WERE RANTING.”

“It’ll all blow over soon.” “Those citizens are being terrified over nothing.”

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At times like these, I wonder if the people I try to warn have a natural inclination towards a suicidal bent. It would explain an awful lot. If these writings prove prophetic, it’s not from having access to fantastically impressive far-flung technology giving insight of things before they’ve happened. All these things have been predicted before in writings from ages past. Of course, the writers who composed such ludicrous stories were classified as being unreliable and insane. Well, hindsight is always 50-50. It’s easy to look back at events and claim you would’ve handled things differently, knowing what you now know that these poor souls didn’t. But that’s the thing – these people weren’t being prophetic or casting future warnings – they were just creating stories off the top of their heads, letting their imaginations run wild on things that would appeal to the public. It just happened that the very things they were warning about came true. So what does this mean?? That we should start listening to crackpots? Of course not, that way lies madness. No, we need to broaden our horizons, and not be limited by the complacency of the way things are, but the way things should be. It would be one thing if everybody in charge were exhibiting willful blindness out of some misguided form of self-preservation, putting their faith in a higher power that would solve all their problems for them, but these people are convinced that presenting themselves as offerings en masse to these incomprehensible beings is the highest honor that can be bestowed upon their kind. How do you save people who don’t want to be saved?

Major Crimes

This sector was one of the most uncontrollable crime areas, where rival gangs fought continuously for dominance, committed wrongs on unparalleled levels were a daily occurrence, each wrong trying to outwrong the last in a show of overcompensation bordering on sadism, and loose morals being rampant. All attempts to circumvent the criminal element and bring the troublemakers under control had failed, and the authorities wrote it off as a lost cause, only good for picking up stragglers when the time came for filling out quotas.

Now, all of a sudden, the crime rate’s gone down, along with the murder rate. The first thought was that they were doing a better job of hiding their misdeeds, but that wouldn’t account for the lack of bragging. An Investigator would be sent to survey the area, and see what the cause was. Normally, this would be a two-man operation, but that was only reserved for ganging up on a suspected individual to intimidate. And since this was deemed a low-risk operation, it was up to me to figure things out.

Walking the streets was extremely peaceful. It was hard to believe this was the same place as before, considered the unenviable winner of the top worst places to live, a reputation that had gone unchallenged 12 years running. How could such a violate area become calm in such a short amount of time? The walkways were cleaner, rude behavior was downplayed, even the air smelled sweeter. Despite appearances, the populace appeared uneasy, giving off an air of apprehension, doing the bare minimum of daily routines, avoiding mingling with their close neighbors, dodging all attempts of small talk. Interviewing the residents yielded no results, and the people seemed reluctant to gossip about the sudden change, giving only evasive answers.

“Can’t complain.”
“Things are better now.”
“Why ruin a good thing?”
“Things’ve never been more safer.”
“It’s dangerous to be wandering around.”

The populace were normally tight-lipped, keeping the peace by getting along with mere nicies, being more interested in keeping up appearances than resolving underlying problems, but this unspoken silence was on a different level entirely. They seemed scared of some ineffable element that couldn’t be easily identified.

The only person who seemed unfazed by the whole sudden atmospheric change was a solitary individual casually patrolling the area. I recognized the figure – a Two-bit Hood who was never anything more than a low-key huckster. Now, he was responsible for overlooking the well-being of this shady section of town? I approached him with the intent of giving a casual welcome opening line.

“Weren’t you the prime suspect for committing a large amount of reprehensible crimes you were utterly unrepentant for?”

“Yes, and I’ve turned over a new leaf. Anybody who tries anything wrong will have to answer to me.”

“…I don’t believe you. You’re working up some angle.”

“Is it really so hard to believe I’m capable of change?”

“Yes it is! People don’t change their personalities that fast!”

The Two-bit Hood’s arm was dangling from his jacket at an awkward angle, no doubt from injecting the latest illicit substance, yet, he didn’t seemed hopped up on Bliss. There was none of that expected dilated eyes or slurred speech. If it weren’t for that diseased arm, he’d look healthier than usual.

“What are you doing here anyways?”

“There’s been a woeful lack of crime taking place. It’s getting to be a problem. I may have to move.”

“Isn’t that what you want, less criminal activity?”

“If there’s no crime, then there’ll be less reason for cops to be around, which’ll be the perfect opportunity for the criminal element to pop back once our guard’s down!”

“So you’re saying you’d be out of a job.”

I wasn’t concerned. My position was secure, but there would be a whole squadron who’d be affected, just standing by doing nothing.

In addition to the area’s unexplained status change, there was another statistical anomaly. The murder rate had gone from the thousands every day to the single digits range. The victims started out from big names, then winding down to utter nobodies who were presumed to be next in the line of succession. It wasn’t just the number of deaths that was unusual, but the method of death as well. Each body had an unusual open wound from random body parts that no amount of experimentation with creative weaponry could recreate. The injury came from within the body with no external outside force to show where it came from. The only common factor was that the exit wound came from bone marrow, as if their shattered bones exploded upon spontaneous internal impact. Whatever device was used would help in getting some answers.

“If you’re keeping track of the neighborhood, you should be more vigiliant. There’s been a rash of inexplicable murders taking place. Do you know anything about that?”

“Those were sadly necessary.”

I stopped taking notes and looked up. “You openly admit to playing a part in those?”

“I’d be amazed if you could possibly link me to those deaths. These hands are clean.”

“If you’ve been an unwilling accomplice or witness to these violent deaths, you need to make a statement.”

“I have nothing to say.”

I paused. “Are you being threatened?”

“If anyone did, they wouldn’t for very long.”

“Is someone else doing these murders for you?”

“Nobody would be capable of doing what I do.”

I ran these contradictory statements in my head. “You say you’re responsible for these unorthodox murders, yet you’ve played no active part, let alone delegated those activities to someone else. How does that work??”

“If you don’t believe me, just show me an injustice taking place, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

I considered the Two-bit Hood’s proposal. It was outside my purview to solicit advice from someone with shaky reputation, but the current conditions were anything but usual. He seemed eager to give an example, and seeing this pissant peon in action would give some clue to what was going on.

“There’s a Jaywalker over there.”

“Cliched, but I’ll take it. You!! Stop!”

Upon hearing this, the Jaywalker turned to face us, and suddenly went off into a sprint. That was quite the overreaction. It hardly even counted as a crime, since there wasn’t even any traffic on the street.

The Two-bit Hood started to chase, and I joined pursuit. If this apprehensive Jaywalker was going to such lengths to escape apprehension, there must’ve been a more nefarious hidden crime behind it. Especially since the Jaywalker was upping the difficulty by dumping stacks of strewn garbage upon the abnormally pristine streets.

“Looks like we can add stealing to the pile as well. Indulging in destruction of private property? Now you’re just littering!”

After wading through the piles of increasing debris, I finally managed to catch up to the Two-bit Hood after losing track of the Jaywalker at an intersection, out of breath.

“I… never took you… for being… much of a runner.”

“I’m still too slow. This bipedal form is too limiting.”

I didn’t pay much attention to these words, paying more attention to the current surroundings, trying to suss out where the Jaywalker might’ve gone. There were many hiding places that would be out of view from an overhead vantage point. I asked the nearest passerby if they’d seen anything.

“Have you seen – ”

“I’m not causing any trouble!” was the only response I got. All the others remained silent.

“What do you do in this kind of situation?”

“There’s always somebody else who’s equally guilty.”

“Still seems a shame to let go after working so hard.”

“All isn’t lost. I can still smell the traces of sin.”

That was certainly impressive compared to my meager tracking skills. The heat signature was still active, and I thought that would’ve been the main tracking method used, faint traces still visible despite the sudden drop in body temperature.

“The Jaywalker’s probably hiding in a densely packed cold environment. You know of any?”

“…I think I have a good idea where the perpetrator is.”

The Two-bit Hood led the way, taking unorthodox shortcuts through the impenetrable veritable maze of the region, sidestepping dead ends, backward passages through backalleys and narrow loose cracks in the fences where all kinds of life trafficked through. We made brief stops at several promising crowded establishments, our entrances temporarily pausing the rabble mid-sentence before moving on.

“Not here.”
“Not this place.”
“Not this either.”

The Two-bit Hood had certainly garnered a commendable reputation for his presence to garner such a response, commanding respect from his presence where they only showed indifference in mine. Our searching journey ended when we stepped inside an otherwise unremarkable restaurant.

“This is the place.”

The back of the restaurant overlooked a precipice also known as the Lookout Terrence, because people admiring the view would cry, “Lookout!” when garbage was strewn downhill.  We made our way through the likely front for an organization, ignoring the stares from impatient customers in line waiting to be served and staff who dared not get in our way as we marched towards the freezer.

“You’re not supposed to be back here – oh, it’s you.”
“Who used this last? Know that lying is punishable.”

All the waiters, chefs, sous-chefs and dishwashers left in silence, leaving the kitchen empty. Apparently there was no penalty for remaining silent.

“How do you hold so much dominion over these once rowdy people?”

“I have my ways. Help me with this.”

“First off, I can’t condone murder, even as an example of making an example.”

“I’m not going to kill the Jaywalker. You have my word.”

I assisted the Two-bit Hood in opening the freezer door with his one good arm. A rush of cool air wafted out, hitting us as we braved the elements in search for the criminal element. There were burst fumes of dry ice emanating everywhere, making pinpointing the source of expelled controlled breathing difficult. There was no danger of being confined inside. Even unlocked, the door was heavy and wouldn’t close suddenly. I stayed near the entrance not out of self-preservation, but to guard the way in case the Jaywalker happened to get past.

The kitchen light was the only source to illuminate the dimly lit meat locker where icy slabs of meat hung from dangling chains wafting to and fro. I had to admit, this was a very convincing facsimile for a shell company. One could almost think that these were actual bodies hanging from these –

I didn’t get a chance to finish my thoughts when one of the slabs suddenly pushed against me with more force than simple thermodynamic force would suggest possible. No amount of dormant swinging could possibly knock me on my back, and the half-frozen form of the Jaywalker huddled between the packed slabs proved me right.

I barely had time to alert the deliberately compromised location when the Jaywalker made a mad rush for the exit, stopping briefly to test the rusty hinges of the freezer door before resuming the chase.  But this time, we were closer, these were narrow quarters and there were fewer obstacles to throw in our path.

The front was overloaded with people, leaving only leaving through the backway as the only viable option, and that’s where the Jaywalker would’ve gone if I hadn’t taken precautionary measures to barricade the doors leading out there, but I’d failed to secure the windows.  My mistake was presuming the Jaywalker wouldn’t be foolish enough to venture down a near vertical path slanting downwards. This guy really didn’t want to get caught.

During the resumed eventful chase, the Jaywalker jumped down the stone stairs three steps at a time and made a misstep, tumbling downwards in a somersaulting manner, hitting the stairway at the wrong angles until finally reaching bottom breaking a leg upon impact, the bone showing through the skin, and even then, continued limping away.

The Two-bit Hood came across the scene and calmly walked down the flight of stairs, catching up to the wounded target making rapid single steps in a fruitless attempt to get away. As soon as he got close, the Jaywalker brandished a carving knife taken from the kitchen and started slashing wildly.

The Two-bit Hood dodged the glancing blow, laying his hands on the elusive fugitive, and then… something burst out of his diseased arm, splattering blood all over the place, and then integrated itself within the Jaywalker’s body, being absorbed through the mouth, eyes, ears, nose and skin pores until the slime faded away, and the Jaywalker executed spasms of rapid motor functions, then stiffly turned to the onlookers looking horrified.

“There. Anybody ELSE wanna commit crimes around me? …anybody? …c’mon, this body’s getting old and worn out.”

The Two-bit Hood’s body lay comatose.

“What have you done?!”

“He was coming right after me! I had no choice.”

I leaned in to look at the Two-bit Hood’s wound where his infected arm once was. “He was killed the same way as the others. Talk about poetic justice.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to take you in.”

“For what?”

“Disturbing the peace, unenforced littering, dumping suspected contraband, defacing public property, trespassing, contaminating meat storage, vandalism, attempted assault with a deadly weapon, wasting valuable chasing time, exposure to second-hand murder and jaywalking.”

“Does… does that mean I’m going to be locked up with lots of bad people?”

“If you had just kept jaywalking, you would’ve gotten off lightly.”

Shortly after that, the crime rate for the sector went back to normally high levels, necessitating the need for police presence there. On the other hand, there’s been a rash of inexplicable deaths in the jail, all with the same mysterious exit wound, starting with the Jaywalker, who never should’ve been there in the first place.

Well, it’s not my problem anymore.

Meeting Addendum

“I’m telling you, there’s a grand conspiracy against me!”

“Calm down”, the Paper Worker said to the Hysterical Man who asked for his services.

“How can I?! Forces have conspired to make life as difficult as humanly possible for me to live comfortably. Everywhere I turn, routines that I was comfortable with are tampered with. Just last week, I asked a respected colleague of mine to look after my stuff. When I came back five minutes later, I was told, ‘I have some bad news for you. In the brief time that you were gone, thieves snuck in and stole everything not nailed down and replaced them all with cheap identical knockoffs.’ I almost had a heart attack there and then, until I understood what was being said. I told my (formerly) respected colleague to knock it off, but soon afterwards, I couldn’t help feel that there were significant differences in my stuff.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve examined your life, and there isn’t a grand conspiracy aimed at you. You’re just a victim of unfortunate timing and circumstances. I would love it if there was, but there wasn’t, and believe me, I was looking.”

The Hysterical Man was despondent, yet unbelieving. He left feeling dissatisfied. He refused to accept the spoken facts. His feelings took precedence over the facts, and the facts were wrong. The Paper Worker was probably part of it anyways.

The truth was, there WAS a wide-ranging organized Conspiracy out there for making a specifically selected individual’s life as uncomfortable as humanely possible.

It just wasn’t aimed against THIS guy.

There was no need for the Paper Worker to reveal the inner workings to the true targeted instigator of the full-blown Conspiracy solely designed to increase his stress levels.

Let HIM come to him for help first.

Meeting Minutes Notes #1

In a secluded dimly lit location, a coalition of some of the most influential people around were gathered together; some of whom sound familiar, and some who don’t.

They converged around a table where they laid out their very important documents and the Mysterious Chanter in charge did an elaborate rhythmical movement with his arms while chanting the following words:

“Omma Gemma Op. Meeting Neyt Yo.”

The words spoken had the direct effect of making everyone present automatically respond in unison:
“What?”

The Chanter snapped out of his trance, and said, “We have progressed so far that our meetings have to change with the times. And our language must change as well.”

This caused some nervous sideways glances in the room.

“Do we really need more meetings?”

“They’re a necessary evil.”

“We’re already operating in hard mode. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it needs to be. Let’s just do what needs to be done and get this over with.”

“What about the ritual – ”

“You just made that up on the spur of the moment.”

“Hewing tradition means having a tradition to begin with.”

“There’s no need to speak in code. None of this will ever get out. No one will ever know.”

“Who would even want to?”

“Confidentiality is paramount.”

“Now, let’s go over the minutes of our last meeting.”

• Asked where the minutes of the last meeting were.
• After some frenetic running around, they were found in the lobby, buried with all the other top secret meeting documents.
• After some panic, it was determined that no one else noticed them, which was both reliving and annoying.
• Queries were made if any notes of past secret meetings from other secret organizations were leaked. They were, but were determined to be too boring to care.
• Moved onto the main agenda, where old grudges flared up between members, and nothing productive got done.
• Said influential disruptive members were immediately executed and replaced. Meeting progressed smoothly from there.
• Meeting ended.

“Well, hopefully we’ll be more productive this time around. What’s the status?”

“The Birth rate and Death rates are fairly consistent.”

“That’s not good. At this rate, there’ll be more living than dead. We can’t have that.”

“And the wrong kinds of people aren’t dying quickly enough!”

“But the Death rate is equal across all lines.”

“Shift the goalposts until we get the results we want. The results we need.”

“Speaking of life and death, how’s the teaching going?”

“We’re still having trouble meeting our quota for honor students replacing the brain drain.”

“They’re just not motivated to learn.”

“The rising Death rate might have something to do with it.”

“There’s been numerous protests, mainly along the lines of, ‘You can’t get killed at school if you don’t go to school!’”

“A surprising statistic is that the number of deaths in schools is higher than for child soldiers in the Army.”

“So it’s safer to ship kids to War Zones than to teach them. Gotcha.”

“There’s another thing – we haven’t gotten as many replacement Teachers to make up for the losses.”

“Didn’t we get another influx lately?”

“They’ve been going off-world more than usual. We may have to outsource.”

“A sure way to raise the numbers for both is by having immigrants pick up the slack. They’re low-risk, and won’t get in too much trouble out of fear of being sent back.”

“What do we do once they’ve outlived their purpose? They’ll still be here.”

“Not to worry. First, they come over legally, then we claim they did something illegal in the process, detain them legally and deport them legally.”

“What basis do we arrest them for?”

“There’s any number of laws they can be infracted of. You’re imaginative enough to think of something.”

“‘They’re smuggling Immigrants inside their Children!’ Something like that?”

“We’ll workshop it. Moving on…”

“We keep finding ancient Artifacts that are far more advanced than anything we’ve been able to make.”

“The secrets behind the creation of such devices before our time shows a level of craftbuilding that has been largely lost.”

“One could say that these advanced civilizations were wiped out by falling prey to Barbaric less intelligent tribes.”

“Hence the need for increased Army investment above all else.”

“Agreed. You’ve got it.”

“From where?”

“Just divert funds from the Educational district.”

“Defund us at your own peril.”

“What’re you gonna do, fling second-hand erasers at us?”

“Our pencils are pretty sharp.”

“How’d you afford those?”

“You’ve never operated under a limited budget before.”

“I knew extending the Educational district to the Army was a bad move.”

“Well, there’s always the Health district.”

“Do that only if you want a short life,” an apathic voice echoed behind the pages of a trashy paperback.

“Well, that’s not much incentive.”

“Who wants to live forever?”

“What do we even need you around for anyways?”

“What’s the status on the frozen germs?”

“All virulent viruses and strains accounted for, ready to be released at a moment’s notice. Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”

“I guess the Food district will have to go hungry again.”

“That’s settled then. What’s the status with the Religions?”

“Still centered around the Crater.”

“They’re all safely within their comfort zones, each testing the waters, trying to carve out a piece for themselves, their territory remaining replenished even as parts of their membership are chipped away.”

“The only new element is this new group that’s popped up out of nowhere, vowing vengeance against all other religions. They’re mostly disorganized, but could be a problem sometime in the future.”

“We’ll look into it. Anything else?”

“There have been protests in response to our latest stringent rules.”

“Ungrateful ungrates! Why don’t they appreciate our oppressing them?”

“You’d think they’d look forward to being protected from having their internal nervous system expanded inside-out.”

“They’re saying that it’s their right to have their internal nervous system expanded inside-out if they want to.”

“As if they foolishly believe they have any rights.”

“Let them have their foolish beliefs. Let them expand into infertile Religions of their own.”

“Moving on, where are we, regarding Citizen RN^6GXx?”

“It’s looking troubling.”

“His stress levels has been dropping in several areas.”

“He no longer gets as upset when our people run into his path and get in his way. He’s getting too used to these constant interruptions.”

“That’s not good.”

“Haven’t the detours worked?”

“He’s skipped the normal paths entirely and chosen a completely different method of travel.”

“Those routes are specifically designed! It doesn’t work if he doesn’t get upset where he’s supposed to.”

“I checked those routes out. It’s a matter of timing.”

“Explain.”

“He’s still leaving too early before circumstances have reached their full potential. If he’s delayed half an hour later, he’ll be besot with glare in his eyes from multiple reflections. In addition, the noise will reach new crescendos that’ll play havoc with his relaxation time. Add all these factors up, and you’ll increase the likelihood of an accident, which will further slow down traffic, causing further stress.”

“Will the bottleneck create additional stress to all surrounded?”

“Of course. The question is whether we can afford a drop in schedule.”

“Considering the alternative, it’s a reasonable compromise.”

“Anything else we can do to increase his stress levels?”

“His only relief comes from drinking a particular brand of drink that only he consumes.”

“*I* happen to like that particular brand!”

“What changes would you be willing to accept?”

“None! It’s perfect the way it is!”

“This is for the greater good.”

After some grumbling sounds, the following advice was reluctantly given: “I suppose the outer container could be modified to be bumpier and the top made smaller.”

“That certainly would make ME upset.”

“Why don’t we just poison him and get it over with?!”

“His suffering at these specific points is paramount.”

“Otherwise, it’ll just go to waste.”

“Last item on the Agenda, the ever-popular request from our Founder.”

“Thank you. For far too long, we’ve been at the mercy – ”

“We’re all familiar with your pitch. How ‘bout you get straight to the point?”

“God is becoming too much of an hindrance. He’s constantly setting us back light years while simultaneously propelling us years ahead before we’re ready.”

“You’re mixing your metaphors again.”

“The numerous plans I’ve accumulated are in danger of running dry, and are little more than band-aid stopgaps in place of an actual solution. I propose that we take this endeavor I’ve outlined here.”

Numerous pages of flipping through data could be heard.

“The cause of our setbacks is because of GOD’s obsession with the Black Man. Once the Black Man is taken care of, GOD will become easier to deal with.”

“We’ve seen the plans. Most of us still aren’t convinced.”

“I concur. I’ve gone over the math, and the colours don’t work. There doesn’t seem to be much motivation for undergoing a task of this dimension. Following your present plan is too risky. It is sprawling and unfocused.”

“What do I need to do to convince you otherwise?”

“Outline the benefits and demerits for doing so. It is a massive undertaking and needs to be broken down.”

“Either change it or create more favorable circumstances where your plan has a higher rate of success.”

“Thank you for your valuable input,” the Man with the Mustache cooly replied.

Integration

The Man with the Mustache inspected the new arrival. “How are you feeling?”

The Arriver blinked unsteadily, looking up at the familiar outline of the multicoloured kaleidoscopic sky. “I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking for a long time.”

“That’s to be expected. Your subconsciousness is still recuperating after being constantly barraged by outside forces.”

Before the Arriver could ask any more redundant questions that was basically a repeat of the last seemingly nonsensical words back, the Man with the Mustache asked first, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

The Arriver tried to think back, but what had been so clear was now becoming hazy. There was the knowledge of being surrounded by thousands of like-minded people, all working in unison in service of some higher power. There was no time to rest, because everybody was enthusiastic to engage, even as they didn’t understand what it was in purpose for.

“I’m not sure…”

“That’s to be expected. Nobody ever does.”

On some level, the Arriver knew that the multicoloured kaleidoscopic sky was supposed to make whoever looked at it uneasy, but had already grown accustomed to it. How could the Arriver be aware of a swirling mass when they’d never seen it before?

The thoughts that once came in a rush were now slowing to a trickle, and it became a struggle to pick the disparate ideas from each other. One that stood out among all the others was the distinct memory of being caught in a crowd that was growing panicked over some unspecificied threat, and then winding up here, wherever ‘here’ was.

“Where is everybody else?”

“I wouldn’t know. You people all look alike to me.”

“That’s kinda racist.”

“Is it? How many heads do you have?”

“Well, I – ”

“Do you have more than one eye?

“That’s – ”

“How many ears do you have? How many noses?

“It’s not – ”

“Any hair on your body?”

“That’s private!”

“Do you only have one mouth?

“Okay, you’ve made your – ”

“Any horns? Which body part? How many sacs? What kind?”

The fading questions were drowned out by the sudden announcement made over the speakers in a garbled language that didn’t sound familiar to the Arriver’s ears. It went on for 2 minutes to the attention of the Man with the Mustache who just nodded sagely.

“What WAS that??”

“Oh, nothing important.”

The Arriver cast a look of skepticism that demanded answers.

“If you must know, they just said ‘The q@$%lj)(^m% lost.’ Though frankly, it wouldn’t change things much if they ‘won’.”

“Is that relevant to me?”

“Unless you’re a q@$%lj)(^m%, then otherwise not.”

“How do you pronounce that?”

“With great difficulty.”

“Kw…ats…” the Arriver stammered, attempting to repeat the ethnic taxonomy, biting a tongue in the process.

“Don’t force yourself. That’s one of the few words we’ve managed to decipher.”

As this rush of information came pouring in, the Man with the Mustache added to the data by handing over a name and address.

“Well, it looks like you’re fortunate. You’ve still got some living relatives a few generations removed. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get your bearings from where you’ve been ejected.”

There were so few words uttered, and yet, they were massively revealing while revealing utterly nothing. “…ejected from where?”

“From God’s domain; he gets bored easily. Once he’s sucked someone’s experience dry, he dumps his batch of collected souls back where they came from. In theory, they’re supposed to be put back with no time passed, but that’s not been so in practice. There’s been an exodus of all kinds of displaced species far from where they started. The diaspora has been an absolute dysphoria, keeping track of who’s disappeared and come back after such a long absence, most of them having no function in society, where their learned methods are widely out of date.”

After so much hemming and hawing, an explanation for the vast confusion was finally given, but it was less reassuring than expected.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Well, you could always go into teaching.”

“I have no credentials for that.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll have to earn your keep.”

“How can you make that decision for me?”

“Don’t knock it. It’s better than being heavily educated and then sacrificed to the ONEs out there.”

“Sacrificed to – is that what you’re doing?”

“I said educated, not sedated.”

“Get away from me!”

“You don’t understand – ”

“What is there to understand? You’re trying to delay our execution by their hands by trying to appease to their better nature. What possible good could come from this?”

Just then, a light came down from the multicoloured kaleidoscopic sky in front of them, materializing into a grotseque parody of a human shape that started talking at hyperspeed in a ranting frenzied manner.

“Sometimes they come back.”

Twin lights appeared opposite the ‘human’, tripping it in the process and snatched it away, even as the ‘human’ vainly tried to convey some kind of message through.

“Understood,” the Man with the Mustache replied.

“What WAS that?”

“The ‘good’ reason for doing this.”

“How could you understand what it was saying?”

“I couldn’t. That’s why we recorded it. Easier that way. Unfortunately, they speak in high pitched whistles that only dogs can hear. It’s annoying, since one of them is called “     ”. We call that ‘The Unnamed ONEs.’ It sounds silent, but is actually several frequencies piled on top of each other. When played back at slow speed, we found there were fifty different pitches, some of them interchangeable and indistinguishable. We still haven’t deciphered what some of those frequencies ARE. What those sounds mean, we haven’t discovered yet.”

Suddenly, being unable to say the previously unpronounceable name didn’t seem so bad.

“We’d recently found that only certain people were more likely to survive whatever it is they do to us in there. Believe it or not, they used to gather HUNDREDS of us at a time. Now we cherry-pick for them.”

“What assurance do you have that they’re doing the right thing?”

“We don’t.”

The Arriver didn’t want to hear any more, but was compelled to listen.

“Mixed with the constant messages about wanting to go home are descriptions of what they went through. It seems to be different for everyone, but the basic process is the same. The common element is that whenever they acquire their new bodies, they love and hate it at the same time. Some bodies undergo a cocoon state and emerge in a new form unlike their pupa state. Others originate in space, and are able to evolve enough to enter worlds with air, though there’s still the problem of burning up upon re-entry.”

“Burning up upon re-entry?”

“We’re trying to understand how these beings can survive in the vacuum of space. Amphibians manage to live in water and land simultaneously. Cosmobians manage to live in space and land. That’s where their name come from – ‘two lives’. We just need to grow a life in space and conform it to living on land. Trouble is, space isn’t like water, so we have to work harder.”

“I’m not a Cosmobian either.”

“And even then, we still haven’t evolved enough to comprehend their language. It’s like ants seeing the aftereffect of a war that’s bigger than we can possibly comprehend. It doesn’t matter whether you’re for the red or black ants. In the end, we’re still ants. And we don’t know which side to root for, let alone how many ‘sides’ there are.”

“Surely there’s one side you favor over the other.”

“Is fire good? Is gravity evil? Good and evil don’t apply in their worldview. We’re living under the constant knowledge that something has gone horribly horribly wrong. But we have no idea what’s wrong, let alone how to fix it. As bad as you think things are, things are actually worse.”

The Arriver absorbed all this extraneous knowledge in stunned silence.

“You know the most frightening thing? In a generation or two, Cosmobians will appear perfectly normal. The populace won’t be able to imagine life without them.”

“That is pretty scary.”

“You have to go now. I’ve kept you long enough as is.”

Upon leaving to the new abode, the first thing the Arriver saw was children running around, acting out their childish plays, and thought, ‘Enjoy your playing around while you still can. It’s better that you remain ignorant. You’ll never be truly prepared for the reality of life.’

The Lord of the Walnuts

The Mustachioed Man was worried.  The construction for the latest contraption hadn’t been completed yet.  The deadline had been pushed back and pushed back due to the unintended loss of many workers on the team.  He had threatened and cajoled the remaining researchers to finish the device on time, but without the presence of people who knew what they were doing, it was an uphill climb.

 

Up until now, they had finally made a major breakthrough, and were on the path to success.  But all that progress would be lost if it wasn’t completed in time.  He tried to put fear as motivation behind them, but that could result in more mistakes, costing them resources they couldn’t afford.

 

Looking at his options, he decided that the best course of choice was to remove the source of sponging his best and smartest people out of commission.  However, the paradox was that the very device these people were working on was devised to do that very thing.

 

But this wasn’t the only recourse available to prevent this outwardly cause of brain drain.  He’d set out several options in advance just in case such a time became necessary to implement them.  Of the remaining contingencies, one was still too risky, two were still in development, one was still experimentative, three were currently missing, and one had ended in failure.

 

The Mustachioed Man sifted through his mail, looking for viable resources for the task at hand, and was surprised to find confirmation for meeting with a recluse.  He had sent the request ages ago, and only just now got a response.  Considering the scarcity of this happening, and the lack of viable options, this was looking more and more like an alluring choice.

 

He hadn’t wanted to use up his strongest Trump Card so early in the game, but considering the stakes involved, he figured he might as well use it, otherwise there might not be another chance.

 

He could’ve very well sent one of his delegates to do the task, but decided to make the persuasive 

argument himself.  Any one of them could’ve been sent away, or worse.  And he couldn’t afford to lose anybody for what was a time-sensitive matter.  This guy wasn’t somebody who could be easily convinced if a stand-in was in his place anyways.

 

After a day’s journey, the Mustachioed Man arrived at the front door of the Hermit.  It was in an out-of-the-way location that was far from the civilization he was more accustomed to.  The lodgings looked perfectly ordinary to the outside, perfectly camouflaged to resemble the organic surroundings, and would’ve gone by unseen by anybody who’d bother to notice.  He took care to knock a specific number of times, evenly spaced in a rhythmic pattern that was cadence for a song long since forgotten.  The ritual finished, he stepped back and prepared to wait however long it’d take for an answer.  He took care to avoid stepping in the garden.

 

The door opened a crack.  “Oh, it’s you.”  The door widened, letting the expected visitor inside.  There were a fair number of oddities within the cramped interior, which contained the entirety of the Hermit’s belongings, knickknacks lining the shelves, a pantry full of stocked food, obscure books that had never been reprinted, furnishing with no trace of dust upon them and a single solitary chair.  This was not a place accustomed to receiving company.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I got your notification that you were open to discussion.  Honestly, I wasn’t expecting a reply.  Normally, I wouldn’t bother, but times are desperate.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Straight to business it is.  I have need of your services.”

 

“When I sent that letter, I needed assistance.  I was suffering from an unforeseen ailment, with no one around, and had to deal with the matter myself.  I still don’t feel quite the same.  And now that you’ve finally decided to show up, you want my help?”

 

There was a sudden thumping sound emanating from the wardrobe.  The Mustachioed Man turned his head towards the noise, but the Hermit paid it no mind.

 

“There’s not much you can say to convince me.  I don’t feel much like leaving the confines of this room.”

 

Regaining his composure, the Mustachioed Man continued.  “You won’t have to.  There’s been advancements made so that insiders can venture the great outdoors without having to experience all the dangers of outside.”

 

“I can already do that from here.”

 

“Yes, but you can go outside, but still feel like you’re inside.”

 

“I don’t need the outside world, and the outside world has made it very apparent that it doesn’t want me.”

 

“I need your services if only for a moment.  No one else but you are capable of this.”

 

There was another insistent thumping sound.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Nothing,” he said a little too quickly.

 

The thumping was becoming more rhythmic in sequence.  “There’s definitely something coming from that closet!”

 

“No, there isn’t.”

 

“Should I be concerned?”

 

“I don’t hear anything.”

 

“You can hear a pin drop across a room filled with heavy running machinery.  You’re not going to check it out?”

 

“Are you calling in that favour?” he asked hopefully.

 

“It’s not a disembodied body part is it?”

 

“I should only be so lucky.”

 

The Mustachioed Man decided to belay his concerns.  His curiosity could wait.  Securing the Hermit’s cooperation took priority first.

 

“Look, no one better knows how to contain malicious threats than you.  We’re on the verge of a breakthrough, and we need an extension.”

 

At this, the Mustachioed Man brought out a hooded helmet.  The Mustachioed Man would’ve preferred to bring an offering over, preferably in the form of a well-prepared meal, but the Hermit was notoriously difficult to shop for.  Anything that he could’ve wanted, he could find an alternative, provide for himself or get well enough on his own.  But this wasn’t one of them.

 

“With this, you can bring all the comforts of home with you.  You can bring your children, your family, your pets, without any of them being very far from where you are.”

 

“Sounds promising… if I had anybody I wanted to keep close by.”

 

“You’re missing the point.  I’m saying that you can come with me, and help settle this business.  After which, you can choose to stay where you are, or use this new tool to explore new avenues.”

 

The Hermit considered this, cocking his finger against his chin in deep contemplation.  Of course it was all for show.  The Hermit was a creature of habit.  He was still wearing the same style of clothing since the last time he’d gone out.

 

“After this, you’re not going to ask for my help again?”

 

“I wouldn’t ask for your help if I didn’t think I needed it.”

 

“Alright, though I’m not sure how much help I can be with your research.  It’s been a long time, and I’m a little out of practice.”

 

“This isn’t that kind of job.  I need your other talents.”

 

---

Having clarified the specifics of what was needed, the two of them waited at the assigned place, the The Mustachioed Man looking up at the constantly shifting multicoloured kaleidoscopic sky.  He had the Hermit stay in the doorway while he looked upwards from the roof, expecting his visitor to come make the necessary formalities.  Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any need to intervene, but past experience had never been a reliable indicator.  The timer ticked down, and The Being that had Once been Human showed up on schedule.  It was vaguely Humanoid in appearance, but cloaked in a tattered cloak, and rapidly shifting eyes that refused to stay still for long.

 

“Hello, God.”

 

The Being that had Once been Human spoke with a voice of Authority that was tainted with power, knowledge and madness.

 

“If you’re facing me, you must be trying to talk me out of my mission.  I don’t sense any Technology pointed in my direction.”

 

“At this stage, it’d just be a waste.  I’m here to convince you to give us some more time.”

 

“That’s not good enough.  I need a better reason than that.  I need my Tithe.”

 

“Yes, I know.  I’m just asking for you to wait a little longer.  We’re on the brink of a great breakthrough, and need our current team for it to reach completion.”

 

“You should be able to find suitable replacements for them.  You’ve always been able – ”

 

“We may NOT be able to find any replacements!  It took the time between when you last came and now, just to find suitable people for the team we’re using today!  Removing them from the equation could endanger the whole operation!”

 

“You don’t know that.  They could be reaching their peak potential now, and never be able to reach such heights later.  I can’t take that chance.”

 

“So, that’s it then?  No compromise?”

 

“Not unless you can convince, impress or eliminate me.”

 

“So it’s come to this after all.  Alright then, he’s all yours.”

 

Upon this signal, the Hermit came out of the doorway to God’s derision.

 

“ONE Man??  Is this intended to be an insult?  You know that One Man isn’t enough of a sacrifice to feed my need!

 

“So, you won’t be satisfied with having just me?  That’s good to know,” and the Hermit turned to leave.

 

God zoomed in closer, his full form appearing within the confines of the Hermit’s Helmet-Room.  “Don’t ignore me!  You think you can – oh, this is a rather elaborate design”, God praised, visibly impressed with the elaborate confines of the miniature space, an exact replica of the Hermit’s home.  He extended an arm to test the room’s range.  “It even has limiters to keep family from straying very far.  I should consider something like that.”

 

The Hermit looked nonplused as he casually cracked open a Walnut on the table, and offered the contents to his hostilely receptive guest.  God reluctantly took one, his need for nourishment having long since phased out, but still wanting to put up appearances of politeness.  Only when the Hermit popped a Walnut in his mouth did God absorb the contents of the nut in the palm of his hand.  It was a pleasant sensation revisiting the memory of dissolving food within his body.

 

“Just the right combination of proteins and amino acids,” God analyzed, struggling to come up with suitable complementary words.

 

“I grew them myself.”

 

“Limestone soil, huh?  What kind of Fertilizer do you use?”

 

“Whatever comes around to die in my garden.  I’m not very picky.”

 

There was a sudden thumping sound.

 

“What was that?”

 

“You didn’t hear anything.”

 

“Don’t tell me what I cannot hear!  I’ve already had too much of that in my life!  Far too much…” God trailed off becoming more despondent.  “It came from that closet!”

 

“You better not look in there.”

 

God was about to open the door wide until he reconsidered the Hermit’s warning.  There had been multiple instances in the past where he was told not to look in a forbidden area that he would later regret.  If there was a reason not to take a peek, then it must be a pretty good one.

God released his hands off the closet handles, backing away.  A resigned sigh from the Hermit was all the verification he needed.

 

“You won’t catch me with your perverse psychology!”

 

“Reverse pyschology.”

 

“Whatever.  I can see clearly into your mind and – ” then God stopped short.  “What have you done to your head???”

 

Where there should have been a functioning malleable brain, there was instead a large firm mass in the shape of a walnut.  This man clearly had walnuts on the brain.

“I had a pounding headache.  This was the only cure I had available.”

 

The sudden thumping from the closet resumed.  God looked at the closet to the Hermit’s head and back again.  Then God suddenly remembered why he was here in the first place.  “Don’t think this is enough to save you from my wrath!  I need more implementation of information, and from the meager brain waves you’re emitting, you wouldn’t even serve as a tasty snack!”

 

“If that’s how you feel about it, then I won’t bother you any longer.”  And with that, the Hermit faded and disappeared from God’s sight.

 

Perplexed, God removed himself from the confines of the Helmet-Room and looked around.  The Hermit was nowhere to be seen.  Only the Mustachioed Man was still on the rooftop with him.

 

“Where’d he go?”

 

“You said you didn’t want him.  You’re so smart.  Figure it out yourself.”

 

God stared incomprehendibly at the Mustachioed Man.  “Well, it doesn’t matter.  I might as well get what I came here for.”  And God lifted his form up into the sky.  He scoured the ground below looking for his intended targets.  Normally, they’d be as easy to find, since their intellect glowed like stars in a dark universe.  But after several seconds, he was surprised he couldn’t even sense the slightest glimmer.

 

He zoomed in closer, figuring that maybe they must’ve been hiding themselves better, and the previous altercation had been nothing more than a minor distraction.  No matter.  He’d find what he was looking for sooner or later.

 

At this point, he’d zoomed in close enough that he realized that he was swooping within the confines of cities, towns and large swatches of land without having sensed or seen a single soul in sight.  What’s more, apart from the now vacant buildings, there was no proof that any life had ever existed.

 

Feeling visibly concerned, he made his way back the way he came, hoping to get some answers out of the Mustachioed Man.  But even that was denied him, as the Mustachioed Man was no longer there.  And neither was the Helmet-Home the Hermit used.

 

Then he realized – the reason he didn’t see the Hermit-Home was because he was still holding it in his hand.  How silly of him!  But he’d never admit it, even in the presence of no witnesses.  He took another look inside, just to be certain, but there wasn’t anybody inside there, including the absence of a thumping closet.  There was nothing particularly elaborate about it – it didn’t have any reality-warping properties, save for potential suspension of belief in this elaborate safe space.

 

When he looked up from the Helmet again, he sensed that something about this world had changed.  Without even rising up to the Heavens, he could feel it.  It now felt smaller, somehow.  But the dimensions of the world hadn’t changed.  To verify his unease, he lifted himself up into the stratosphere, only to find that there was sudden resistance that had nothing to do with atmospheric pressure.  Curious, he exerted more pressure against the invisible wall, testing for all kinds of signals and feedback it was giving off.  Then, an opening appeared, smaller than a fraction of a split atom.  But size wasn’t a factor – shrinking himself to fit, he flew through… only to find himself transplanted at the opposite side of the world he was in.  This empty world that only had an occupancy of one.  That seemed to be shrinking at every interval.

 

And then, at last, he understood where he was, and what’d happened to him.

 

---

“Is he gone?”

 

“He’s currently trapped in a rapidly shrinking empty bubble Universe, similar to this one.  It might take him awhile for him to notice, but he shouldn’t be able to get out of there.”

 

“Oh, he’ll be back.  He Always comes back.  But at least, we’ve bought ourselves some time.”

 

“So, I have your assurance then?  You won’t be coming around again?”

 

With gritted teeth, the Mustachioed Man said, “…Yes.”  Then, thinking on it, tried one last time to appeal to the Hermit’s sensibilities.

 

“You don’t have to live your entire life alone.  There’s a whole world out there if you’ll just let it in.”

 

“Thanks for the consideration, but I’m too set in my ways.  I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with it anymore.”

 

Inwardly, the Mustachioed Man fumed.  He’d used up his strongest Trump Card with no obvious payback further down the road.  There wasn’t even any assurance his current team actually understood the notes left from the previous teams.

 

There were only so many ways that they could delay The Being That had Once Been Human.

Sooner or later, they were going to run out of ideas, and THEN they’d be in real trouble.

 

The Mustachioed Man went down to the Research Room where the researchers were frantically racing around the room, waiting for the dangling sword above their heads that they had no way of knowing wouldn’t be coming down upon them anytime soon.  It would, but not for the next three months.

 

The Mustachioed Man left them scrambling around.  He’d tell them the good news tomorrow.

 

I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space… were it not that I have bad dreams – Hamlet

Writer Notes #8 – Bugs

When it comes to using animals as metaphors, is there one as universally widespread and repellant as bugs? Unlike other creatures who’re bounded by the terrain they’re living in, there’s no limitations imposed by minuscule insects who can slip through even the staunchest defenses and reside inside habitable and inhabitable homes alike. As a result, they can be found all over the world, despite all attempts at wiping their population out through rolled newspapers, flyswatters and roach sprays. Since scrubbing pestilence through sheer persistence was an impossibility (despite our best efforts), we just had to go on living with them, and as a result, they’ve gained notoriety through fables and earworm songs such as The Ants go Marching One by One, Flight of the Bumblebee, 100,000 Fireflies, La Cucaracha and the perplexingly popular I’m a Bug! I’m a Bug! by The Nostrils.

With such far-reaching influences making their awareness known despite remaining out of sight, it’s no wonder their presence looms largely in our minds. And when they show up in our sights, they intrude on our thoughts, being a nuisance much larger than in reality. So when any depiction of them appears in mass media, they’re given unflattering traits, stereotypical negative portrayals and being shown fatter for the cameras. And when bugs are made larger, their features are exaggerated to the point of otherness. Given the biased propaganda, is it any surprise that the general reaction to bugs is closer to Shoo Fly, Don’t Bother Me than Ladybird, Ladybird, Fly Away Home?

The previous story isn’t the only story regarding gigantic bugs. In fact, there’s a shorter story that may be more to your liking. This being the trailer to a horror movie. Your millage may vary.

---

She wandered the complex complex that was lit with flickering light sources that could use an electrician to fix. It was a wonder anybody could even see anything under these conditions. She had no memory of how she arrived here, let alone what she was doing in this place. It had something to do with looking for something?

She crossed a corridor that was filled with hundreds of shed empty exoskeletons that got progressively larger and larger the further she ventured in. There had clearly been something living in them before. She passed them without paying much notice, being more concerned about her current situation.

Moving around was becoming progressively difficult. Apart from the numerous rudimentary barriers blocking the corridors, every room looked exactly the same. On the walls and floors were numerous dirty warning signs of barely readable text consisting of:

Genectic Experiments
Attracted to Humans
Find them Delicious

It was getting harder to concentrate under such undesirable conditions. The more she wandered, the hungrier she became. For a lived-in facility, there was very little source of leftover food. How long was it since the last time she ate? She couldn’t remember.

She rummaged through the piles of refuse, looking for something of substance, her actions drawing attention from those becoming aware of her presence. Dangling from the ceiling were crawling things wrapping bodies in cocoons that went by unnoticed.

She found an unopened container, and driven by some deep impulse, looked for a tool to open and cook it. It didn’t matter what was inside – anything tastes good enough if you deep-fry it long enough. It might even be possible to use one of the exoskeletons as a food source if there was any remaining meat. She was that hungry.

She’d somehow managed to heat up a pot of boiling oil and was about to dump the contents in when she became aware of being watched. Turning around, she found herself surrounded by hundreds of large bugs with glowing eyes. She didn’t even notice their presence. Had they been here the whole time?

She backed away, trying to keep her distance as they continued edging in, getting closer and closer. She could’ve left this place at any time, but right now, it was already too late. She threw the container at one, the can bouncing off harmlessly. Out of sheer desperation, she threw the pot of boiling oil at them to no effect. She was getting so tired and they were getting so close and she was so hungry, so out of sheer instinct, she reached out and bit into the nearest bug. Upon making contact, she swallowed and found the resulting fluid to be very tasty, and wanted more of the substance, which only caused consternation from the surrounding bugs.

They tried to bite the threat, but upon making contact, their mandible jaws fell away. With their mouths left wide open, she leaned in and started sucking out the interior fluid through the opening, moving from one hole to another.

She started gnawing away indiscriminately at whatever bug was closest, chowing down on the nearest bug, her body glowing with a luminescent light that attracted the wide surplus of food surrounding her that couldn’t run away, even as they wanted to.

This was the natural outcome of researchers trying to produce the perfect pesticide, which only resulted in more resistant breeds to the point that poisons no longer affected them. To combat this, they’d been doing progressively incremental Genectic Experiments involving gigantic insects to remove vermin, keeping the excessive population explosion under control. Somehow along the way, they’d unleashed large scale bugs that were naturally attracted to humans, eating unsuspecting victims from the inside before bursting out through their orifices, which was especially embarrassing at parties.

The problems kept escalating with every introduction of a new addition to the food chain, until they stumbled upon a simple solution – one single bug that would get rid of all the problems once and for all. A single bug that would feast on the remainder of the prior cumulative bugs, her internal digestive system modified for mass consumption, and would never get full, no matter how much was eaten.

They could figure out how to get rid of the latest solution later. It’d just require the creation of another nascent predator.

Assuming there were any survivors.

---

Now, this story might seem unconventional due to its sudden ironic happy ending, but that’s only because it’s an adaptation. In the original source material, it was the Humans who were Bugs, and the Bugs who were Humans. And the boiling oil was substituted for the fluid in a predator pitching plant. And the Deep-frying was substituted in place of another system that I can’t make heads or tails out of. It’s still not completely clear what species were being conveyed in the first place. Bugs & Humans were the closest equivalent to what I can figure. I only made substitutions so it’d be more relatable to our kind.

And this kind of story isn’t particularly original – there are dozens of variations told throughout the ages in numerous formats. So just remember – the next time a scary story is told, it may not necessarily cast you in a good light.

“Coming up – SEE the tragic tale of an experimental Fruit Fly who’s suddenly given awareness, combined with a foreign element and thrust into a body that’s not her own, her sense of perception and taste irrevocably changed. Despite her new powerful form, she struggles to live with new sensations, forced to live beyond her natural lifespan.

THE HUMAN. Her name doesn’t really matter. Coming to a Theater far away from you.”

–Don’t be afraid…

A Vow of Science 22

“Okay, we’ve got all three artifacts in place. Now, all that’s needed is a blood sacrifice to…”

“I’m ready,” the Girl said, ceremoniously disrobing herself and laying down on the parapet.

The Archeologist seemed surprised at this sudden turn of events. “That took very little persuasion on my part!”

“I deserve this.”

“You sure you don’t want to struggle a little? Maybe beg for your life?”

“Will it help the ceremony any?”

“A little flavor for the surrounding offerings, but – ”

“Then go ahead and get it over with.”

The Archeologist seemed hesitant at first, then gradually grew into his role, his expression taking a look of determination as he chanted a few customary ritual passages before plunging the knife towards her chest…

---

And then she woke up, the sheets surrounding her chest feeling damp. She removed the offending material and wasn’t surprised to find the cause. Her breasts had leaked milk overnight.

Groggily, she got out of bed ahead of schedule, which would play havoc with the recap for tonight’s dream later. She dully got washed, got dressed, ate without much motivation, and started making her way to work as she’d done before. Only, this time, the mood was different.

She decided that instead of taking any fancy transportation there, she’d go there on foot. It was still early yet, and this part of the world was still in its waking moments. It seemed to take forever to get there, even though it didn’t take that long in reality.

She got there five minutes early.

“You’re early!”
“Yes, I know.”

She bypassed the usual gate with a different creature floating in the tube without much enthusiasm. Friendly greetings from the staff were accepted without much awareness or acknowledgment. She was dimly aware of such things happening, but felt disassociated, as if they were happening to someone else.

After being ostracized for so long, she was finally accepted into the Baby-Maker team, but only after having lost the only people she’d ever cared about. And they weren’t even people to begin with.

Despite her rise in social status, her daily tasks remained mostly unchanged. She was still in charge of taking notes for the Technican. She was still in charge of getting food for the staff. Only her feeding assignment was changed to a new Subject in another room. This Patient was even less amicable than BugBoy. It would just hastily shove the entire contents of the tray – including the bowls and utensils – inside its stomach, not caring about the taste at all, then nurse its desert for a good 50 minutes. It was more concerned about getting the main course out of the way to get to the good stuff, and paid little attention to the Girl at all.

She wondered how she’d get the trays back.

Even though she didn’t have to, she still went through the motions of preparing food for BugBoy. She placed the concoction of bananas and toothpaste outfitted with a durable straw for drinking onto a spare tray for serving. And when she opened the door to the room, there was no one there.

A Vow of Science 21

After that kerfluffle, she was kept separate from the two BugMen she’d associated with. She was now all alone in an empty room to ruminate upon past events and collect her thoughts.

She berated herself for having put the Scientist through such an ordeal. And SHE was the one who allowed it to happen! She had no idea what would happen to her as a result of her actions. At worst, she would be fired from her job.

Then she reflected on what that might mean. Hadn’t she wanted to get away from this dreadful business in the first place? This was her out! Considering the amount of trouble she was in, she’d surely be removed for her incompetence in letting an outsider inside, and would surely be transfered to another facility where she’d be put to better use.

Surely they’d interrogate her for what she’d done, but she wasn’t willing to give everything up just too soon. These guys would have to work for it. And all it would cost would be to betray the only person she felt comfortable with… who was probably in a lot of trouble right now.

If she was to have any chance of getting out of this unscathed, she needed to be unemotional and disconnected. Pay no heed to his plight.

---

Several hours later, her confidence began to wane. She was wondering what they were waiting for? Shouldn’t they have started asking her questions by now?

Another hour of pointless waiting later, she decided to take a nap in the corner. It was notoriously difficult to relax, as there were no tables or chairs, and the protrusions made just standing on the floor uncomfortable. She figured she could tough it out, only to give up thirteen seconds later.

Soon after, as if sensing her discomfort, a woman entered the room, and opened up with the banal greeting of “Are you comfortable?”

“No, not really.”

“Good. This shouldn’t take too long to determine your level of involvement.”

“My…?”

“Whether you were working willingly or unwillingly.” The Inquisitive Mother held up a hand to ward off any upcoming objections. “Don’t worry, this is just a formality. What’s important is to verify the conclusions we’ve already come to. Let’s start with an easy question. What colour are your eyes?”

“Brown.”

“What number are your eyes?”

The Girl was annoyed. Didn’t she just answer this question? “Brown.”

“Now that we’ve started with the basics, let’s move on. Regarding the invasion of the sudden intruder, we traced his route back to an address in – ”

“Don’t open it!” she yelled, losing her composure. “There’s a self-destruct function if you force the door!” Even though she loathed working with these people, she didn’t want to see any of them hurt.

“How would we bypass the front entrance?”

“There’s a system that records someone by the user’s bodily functions.”

What colour are your eyes?”

“Brown,” she responded with confusion.

“What number are your eyes?”

“Brown.”

“How would we get past security?”

“You’d have to use my urine or stool samples for that,” she responded without thinking.

“Earlier, the intruder revealed his true form. Did you know he could do that?”

“If I’d known about him, I would’ve flown to work on his back!”

“What colour are your eyes?”

“Brown,” she repeated with some annoyance.

“What number are your eyes?”

This time, the Girl understood the question she misheard before. “Two.”

“I see. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. You’re free to go.”

The Girl was confused by this turn of events. She was expecting a larger punishment for her ineptitude. “That’s it?? Aren’t you going to raid the Scientist’s lair?”

“We already have access to his place.”

“But – what about the code?”

“There was a panel near the door, but it was completely unfunctional. It wasn’t even hooked up.”

“But – my urine and stool samples?”

“At the back of the room were multiple containers of feces and pee. The BugMan had been collecting and preserving them from the toilet outside. Surely you must’ve noticed?”

She hadn’t. All those times she’d walked in, the Scientist popped out of the room with leftover food on his face. She shuddered in revulsion now knowing the implications of how close he was.

“But – his inventions! He made all that stuff up!”

“Did you ever once see him conduct an experiment? Use any of the abandoned running tests?”

“Of course! He – ” But she hadn’t. Everytime he did one of his ‘experiments’, it was always out of her range of sight, insisting on privacy to avoid bias. Most of his ideas were spurred on by her suggestions. He spouted plenty of platitudes, but only contributed things that were already available.

“So who… what IS he?”

“You know the purpose of our research. Any successful cell combinations are subjected to three experimental tests. One kept under observation, one released into the wild, and one used for secretive purposes. We’d lost the Subject released into the wild who’d gone off the radar, his tracking device being forcibly removed and plugged by the Weird Scientist’s backup personality in its place.”

“His backup what?”

“The Weird Scientist left multiple fragments of his mind in his wake, the majority of which still haven’t been found. They’re a menace, and far too easy to install. They were supposed to give access to his thought process, but gave animals the capacity of speech instead.”

Wait, so the Scientist guy she thought might be the Scientist guy who turned out not be the Scientist guy turned out to BE the Scientist guy? This was confusing on multiple levels! Take control of one role and stick to it!

“With this investigation concluded, you should be able to come back to work.”

“So… I’m not fired?”

“Over this? Pfft. You’d be surprised at how often this happens. There are still undocumented locations of the Weird Scientist’s hiding places that have yet to be found.”

This news wasn’t as welcoming to the Girl as the Inquisitive Mother would’ve thought.

“On the plus side, you’ve really bonded with the Patient. It shows that engaging with children isn’t fully beyond your reach. There’s hope for you yet! Particularly for dealing with unresponsive Subjects like that.”

Unresponsive? “But – I talked to him! Multiple times!”

“You’re clearly fatigued. You’ve had a long day, and have permission to go home early. Be sure to come again in the morning.”

“You’re wrong! He can talk! He has trouble sometimes, but he – ”

The Girl was led out in agitated protest, continuing saying delusional words about the Patient. The Inquisitive Mother silently filed this misconception away. The Girl was surely mistaken. All attempts to get the Patient to speak had been met with failure. She obviously must’ve mixed the Patient up with the Escaped Subject infected with the Weird Scientist.

The Inquisitive Mother looked at the photo of her child on her desk, a successful hybrid that just barely resembled a human being. The Building was the only place that had subsided child care that would take care of her baby.

The Girl’s indiscretion could be forgiven for her immaturity, postpartum depression, and her dialogues with the Patient could be written off as subjective bonding. The Patient had no ability to speak – it had no intellect to do so. For everyone knew that without the implant, BugMen were incapable of speech.