#anyway just like. watch dirty computer instead if you want to see systems destroyed by janelle monae

[arielmagicesi]

as hard as it may seem to believe, just because a film has Janelle Monae in it doesn’t mean it’s a deep and meaningful film that’s deconstructing modern society. Glass Onion can just be a fun silly murder mystery with exciting little twists that says “Elon Musk is an idiot” and nothing more in the “theme and message” section, and I think that’s fine. but yes Janelle Monae is in it which elevates it to Film That Has Janelle Monae In It

[twiceblackvelvet]

Purgatory

TW// mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts

To say that Kim Jisoo has had very little in life would be an understatement. Whilst most people grew up in loving households, parents doting on them every waking second of the day and teaching them life lessons in preparation for adulthood, Jisoo was forced to fend for herself at every turn.

The care system is a broken one and quite frankly, the number of foster homes she had been a part of and then ultimately removed from was never-ending. Some of them pretentious and with unrealistic ideals of who they thought she should be, none of them ever right. The others barely able to keep a firm grip on their own lives never mind hers too. 

It was only a matter of time before she decided to stop trying with the fake parent’s people kept trying to give her and live out her teenage years among what society would consider burdens. However, the addicts, the desperate, and the people without homes all offered her a sense of belonging. After all, they too likely come from the same place as her. Broken home after broken home will quickly make you believe that no home at all is the better alternative. Dysfunctional has a craving for the chaotic. 

It’s been this way for a few years now, no longer considered a child of this earth, instead, a full-grown adult who should have responsibilities, career prospects, friends to take funny selfies with, a life, essentially. But none of those things exist when you’re stuck in Purgatory. 

That’s what everyone calls it. Purgatory. The area is known for its increased number of people living in doorways or alleys. Sleeping near houses belonging to those of social status and wealth. Being stepped on both figuratively and literally every morning by them and their mammoth security detail who scurry everyone away. A blight on humanity is what she and the others here are considered and it’s something that those whose most difficult decision in life is whether today is Gucci or Dior don’t wish to see. But there’s nowhere else for them to go. So when they drive their fancy cars down the street, they’re forced to see life from the opposite end of the spectrum whether they like it or not. 

Not that any of them ever spare her a second glance. Simply raising their perfectly sculpted noses in the air and turning a blind eye. A single drop of their wealth could bring an end to what she’s sure they call a “plague” on society and yet, their crummy little hands keep a firm hold on their expensive tiny purses that are worth more than her entire life. 

It’s almost spring, the weather hasn't been so bad recently. The harsh conditions of winter have passed without claiming her life, though, a very small part deep down wishes that it had so she could be put out of her misery without having to do anything to cause it. Not that she hasn’t tried, multiple times in fact, but things just never want to go her way. Thus, the air continues to fill her lungs, her pulse remains strong, and the idea of attempting again seems futile.

The latest “spot” if you can call it that, where she has been staying, has recently become unavailable, however. Fences being built in place especially to stop her and a few others lingering in the alleyway between two buildings. It’s a shame, truly. Though it wasn’t the warmest area she’d laid her head, it was comfortable and spacious enough for her to share with some of the friends she’s made. 

However, once again, she’s picking up the holed, stained blanket that is barely even holding itself together nowadays, and moving on to find somewhere else to get some rest. The only time she ever feels peace is when her eyes are jammed firmly shut and her brain escapes to the dreamland. Ironically, none of the illusions her mind creates ever include her escaping this life, but rather, delving further into the horrors of the underworld. 

She drags her feet slowly across the pavement, head down watching her small steps, idly kicking a pebble along with her whenever one ends up before her mangled, dirty shoes. That is until her forehead ends up pressed against a soft material that propels her body back a few places. 

“Watch where you’re going, freak!” The mouth, belonging to the body she just collided with shouts abruptly causing her head to snap upward and meet their eyes with her own. Well, she would do that if they weren’t concentrating wholly on the phone screen in their hand. 

Cascading dark hair frames the girl’s face. Her eyes covered by the biggest pair of sunglasses Jisoo has ever seen. Her features appear small and delicate, though Jisoo shifts her focus to her outfit and recognizes quickly that this is another of those rich kids she despises. Her coat lined with fur and designer shoes a dead giveaway that they are from two different worlds. In fact, she’s amazed this girl hasn’t called her daddy to request her coat be put into quarantine to rid it of all of her homeless bacteria, or burn it. 

“You… You  aren’t even watching where you’re going... brat.” She offers in retort, however, the girl has already pushed past her and carried on walking by the time she stutters them out. She simply raises her middle finger over her own shoulder and carries on staring at her phone. 

It’s people like that, Jisoo thinks, who will somehow end up in positions of power in the future when their brain cells are likely so fried from the amount of time they spend staring at themselves, they can’t focus on anything else. 

A few blocks down and finally, there are buildings that aren’t blocked off with the same fencing that just destroyed her last “home” if you can call it that. Shops line most of the street, restaurants mostly. The windows filled with decorations and lighting hoping to entice people in on their way home from work or simply enjoying a family outing.

Out of curiosity, Jisoo stops in front of one of them to read through the menu that is stuck to the window. Words she isn’t even capable of reading beneath the food item, describing what goes into the recipe, however, she tries her best to make out what she can from it all.

A couple dining inside and sitting close to the window begin to watch her, or rather judge, having noticed her torn clothing, a dirty appearance, and unkempt hair. She ignores their staring eyes though a big part of her wants to burst through the restaurant door and yell at them for having no manners. Money can bring you everything in the world and yet they still choose to be rude, she thinks.

However, the door ends up opening before her anyway. A tiny bell rings above it to signal that someone has pulled it open and small steps reveal shoes that are clean, an apron covering casual clothing, hair tied in a messy bun that makes for a face that is coated in sweat but clean. 

Whoever this is, they are not one of those snobs she’s grown used to dealing with. There’s no way any of them would allow themselves to be caught dead looking like they’re actually doing a day’s work and not just inputting numbers into a computer repeatedly. 

“Hey, are you coming inside? The special menu is just about to end,” you ask, voice trembling slightly under Jisoo’s intense gaze hovering up and down your frame. “It’s um, on the house, for… you know…” 

She does know. Many places had recently begun to offer warm meals to those who are homeless in the area during certain hours of the day, however, she’d never ventured into any of the places offering it. Pity isn’t exactly an easy thing to deal with, especially when you have the false sense of pride that Jisoo does. Nor does she wish for the actual paying diners to judge her.

“I was just looking but thanks.” 

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other which causes you to notice the holes in her shoes. Despite hoping you’d convinced her to take up the free meal, she starts to shuffle away slowly. With her back turned toward you, your first instinct is to dash inside, grab anything easy to pick up, and hand it to her away from the eyes overseeing this exchange. Without even realizing, your body had already begun to move to do just that.   

Heavy footsteps that seem to be getting faster can be heard behind Jisoo from your feet. She turns around lazily to look over her shoulder to come face to face with a takeout box full to the brim with food as well as two different sets of utensils. 

“You don’t take no for an answer, do you?” Her face is stern yet curious as she speaks. 

“I don’t want you to go hungry is all.” 

“Wow, thanks so much for the concern.” Sarcasm, you think, though you’re sure at this moment if either of you are the condescending one it would be you hoisting the food up into her face. Thus you lower the box toward her hands instead. She reluctantly takes it. 

“I don’t need these.” She offers back the extra set of utensils. Just as your hands grasp around them, she pulls them back toward herself instead which pulls your body along with it. The two of you now inches away from each other until she steps back almost out of instinct. “Sorry, um… would you…” 

Her eyes dart between you and the extra utensils a few times before you finally figure out what it is she’s attempting to ask. 

“Sure, I’ll eat with you.” The gracious smile that presents itself on her face is one of the best things you’ve ever born witness to, however, an idea presents itself in your head and before you can think twice, the words are already blurted out. “But, please, come back to the restaurant. I own the apartment upstairs, you can shower and grab some clean clothes if you want. “

Her features contort into uncertainty, confusion, and suspicion all within a matter of seconds. You assume because she’s either never had such an offer or hasn’t for a long time. It’s easy to forget what basic humanity feels or looks like if you’re not used to receiving it from people. To your surprise, she does turn around and even manages to open the door and step inside for herself this time without hesitation. 

The same couple who were sat by the window is now at the counter to pay for their meal, heads low as she passes by them to sit at a table toward the back of the restaurant. You join her, sitting in the seat opposite her own. She places the tray of food between you both and immediately begins to engulf it. You simply pick at the sides and allow her to take in as much as possible. She doesn’t notice, though, you’re glad her only focus is on lining her stomach. 

“My name is Y/N.” you interrupt her mid forkful of vegetables. She simply nods in response until she’s finished chewing. 

“Jisoo.” she bluntly offers. 

“It’s nice to meet you Jisoo.” 

No other words are exchanged between you both. She continues to eat until her stomach can’t possibly handle it anymore. You watch as she simply looks around the entire room, noticing every little detail to the walls and paying close attention to the old television in the corner of the room. Her eyes are dark and lifeless as they try to follow along with the characters acting out a scene in the drama playing. 

One of the servers grabs ahold of the apron you pull off from around your waist and places it behind the counter as you stand abruptly blocking Jisoo’s view of the screen. She shifts her body to look around you and back to the television but then up to meet your eyes once she realizes you aren’t moving.

“Come on, I’ll show you where the shower is.” 

You point her toward a door behind the counter and she reluctantly stands to join you, though not before she takes one last glance toward the television to see the characters involved in what looks like a heated argument. 

The two of you head up the flight of stairs above the restaurant to the quaint apartment that doesn’t look as if it has been touched for quite some time now. Once more, Jisoo’s eyes pay attention to all of her surroundings, not that there’s anything on these walls nor is there a television playing. Instead, she runs her hand along with the wallpaper that is barely clinging to the walls. Her fingers tracing the outlines of the floral design. 

A small cough is all you let out to break her concentration to direct her to another door.

“Come on, there should be some spare clothes in here for when you’re done.” However, she remains still. “It’s just here.”

You can sense the nervousness radiating from her despite the distance between you both as she stands at one end of the hallway and you at the other. Her fingers removed from the wall now so that her other hand can fiddle with them idly. 

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice quiet, almost inaudible. 

The question perplexes you at first, why wouldn’t anyone wish to help her? How could someone see a young woman in such a dire state and simply ignore her? However, not everyone shares these thoughts, nor would everyone invite a total stranger in to use their shower after only meeting them seconds ago. 

“Call it my good deed for today, whatever helps you accept it.” She nods and slowly begins to walk toward you. 

The two of you spend several minutes hunting through the drawers and wardrobe for clothes that not only fit Jisoo but will keep her warm. She settles on a black hoody that you don’t recall ever seeing previously, a white fitted t-shirt, and some old jeans that are long worn out. You offer her an old scarf and coat, however, she refuses to give up her own torn one. She spends a few seconds simply feeling the fabric between her finger and thumb before placing her new items under her arm and leaving the room without a word. 

Following her, you find her standing awkwardly in the hallway once more, frozen in place. 

“The bathroom is this way.” She strides beside you but quickly dashes in front of you and into the bathroom before you can even tell her how to use the shower. Instead, you’re forced to shout it from behind the door she also locks. “There should be a switch on the side of the wall here, I’m going to  turn it on but be careful, the water will be cold at first.” 

Flicking the switch, you can hear the water begin to run out of the showerhead and hit the bottom of the bath. Deciding that it’s probably strange to stand outside the door as she washes up, you head back toward the bedroom the two of you were both previously in. It’s been a long time since you’ve stepped foot in here, and yet, floods of memories hit the second you’re alone in there. 

Moving out on your own, opening up the restaurant with her, it all feels like a made-up fallacy. Especially since she’s no longer here to live it out with you, instead finding her own dream to live out, alone. However, it had all been worth it in the end. A small picture of her and you sit coated in dust atop one of the side tables, the corners slightly curled and beginning to tatter but your smiles ever-present. A lifetime ago now, or so you’d like to delude yourself into believing. 

It’s strange how despite having not thought about her, or anything to do with her for the last two years, you can still remember the very day in which the photo was taken as if it was yesterday. 

“Who is she?” The words startle you out of your thoughts so much so that you throw the picture frame in the direction of the voice, just barely missing Jisoo’s head, hitting the wall behind her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It’s fine, I just didn’t think you’d be done so quick.” You try to catch your breath as you watch her dry her hair in her clean clothes. 

“It’s been like an hour.” She points toward the clock on the wall in the hallway. It has indeed been an hour of you simply reminiscing and staring at one of the biggest mistakes you ever made.  “Do you have a dryer?” 

“Yeah, um… It’s in the other room, come on.” You brush past her, quickly picking up the now smashed picture frame as well as the fragments that had bounced across the floor and place it into one of the drawers in your own bedroom whilst retrieving the hairdryer for Jisoo. 

She quickly finds a socket to plug it into and begins to brush through her still wet hair. 

“Do you,” She pauses. “Do you mind doing it for me? It’s been a long time since I’ve used one of these.” 

“Sure.” 

Handing you the dryer, she sits down on your bed making herself comfortable and then closes her eyes. You maneuver to a kneeling position behind her and begin to dry her hair for her. From this angle, you can see that her scalp is severely damaged and hair is still matted in places where she’s been unable to brush through it. However, you can see that it would be painful to attempt to get rid of the knots and decide not to take the brush from her also. 

It only takes a few moments before the strands of her hair are all flowing as dry and clean as they can be.  She remains seated even after you’ve unplugged the dryer, face straight and eyes still without a sign of life. Once she does stand, she simply grabs her things and heads out of the apartment entirely. You try to race after her, almost tumbling down the stairs more than once. 

Almost colliding with her body stood completely still in the middle of the restaurant floor, attention once again on the television which is now showing the latest music video from a male singer you can’t recall the name of. Disappointment etched on her features, likely because she missed out on seeing what happened with the drama she had become interested in after only a matter of seconds. 

“They replay it quite often you know, you could always come back to eat and watch it.” You whisper, not wishing to startle her as she had done you. 

“Thank you.” She flatly says. “But, I’m good. I have to get going now.” 

Before you can protest and offer her some more food to take with her, she’s out of the door with a flash, quickly looking over her shoulder and toward you through the window to give a small nod of appreciation. 

[familiarlyfrigid]

Ruin or Redemption Chapter 5: Rescue

[Part 1]

Bhir walked outside to scan the city for alien animals. Her metal body reflected the light of the rising sun in white sparks of light. She activated the jet boosters in her legs and rocketed into the sky, leaving a cloud of dust on the ground. She flew above the city, too high for anyone to see more than a blur in the sky. She landed at the edge of the city and hid herself in a patch of trees.

Bhir walked through the trees along the city's border, scanning for alien life. When she reached the end, she started down an alley. This section of the city was mostly empty clearings and storefronts that never had anything in them. While she walked along a fence enclosing an abandoned building, she found a long, thick thorn stuck in the fence wiring. Bhir picked it up, recognizing it as a quill from one of the animals that attacked her. She quickly flew back to the base to analyze it.

When she went inside the house, Gir was sitting in front of the TV. She rushed past him and went down to the lair. Zim and Kay were at the computer.

“Kay!” she yelled, “I found evidence of one of the animals!”

Kay turned to face her robot.

“What did you find?” she asked.

Bhir held up the large quill.

“Put it in the DNA analyzer,” Zim ordered.

She went over to a machine, put the quill in one end, and turned it on.

“While that’s analyzing,” said Zim, “let’s go explore that planet I was talking about yesterday. I found out its name is TS-43. It’ll take a while to get there.”

Kay thought about it for a moment and said, “I guess I have nothing better to do. And I wanna be there to laugh at you for trusting internet rumors.”

They went to Kay’s ship, which used the same holographic technology as her disguise to make it invisible, and brought it to the backyard. The Ripper was bigger, faster, and controlled better than Zim’s Cruiser.

“Since you’re not going to help, I’m piloting,” Zim said snarkily.

Kay glared at him. “If anything happens to my ship, you’re fixing it.”

After gathering everything they needed, they called for their robots and got in the ship. Zim entered the planet’s coordinates into the ship’s version of a GPS. Then, he started the engine, and the cloaked ship blasted off into the sky.

It took nearly two hours to reach TS-43, with Kay apprehensively telling Zim how to pilot for most of the way. The planet looked a lot like Earth, only smaller, with smaller oceans, and large bodies of water scattered across the continents.

They landed in the Northern Hemisphere, at the base of a towering mountain range. A white haze of snow fell from the sky, making it impossible to see into the distance. The Irkens came out of the ship in heavy coats and snow boots. Zim took out a device that looked like a remote and scanned the ground with it.

“I’m picking up traces of energy,” Zim said, grinning. “It’s close.”

They walked towards a valley between two mountains. Anything that wasn’t buried in snow was coated in ice. Gir ran around the others, throwing snow in the air and jumping in mounds of it. Bhir flew above the ground so she wouldn’t sink into the snow.

“It doesn’t look like there’s any ancient ruins around here,” Kay teased Zim.

“Well maybe they were destroyed by the weather.”

They stopped as they heard a muffled crash ahead of them. They looked up a mountain to see chunks of rock rolling down the mountain, pulling sheets of snow down with them. The rocks crashed to the ground, and they heard a loud crack.

The ground around them suddenly started to shift. They didn’t realize they were standing on unstable ground, now knocked loose by the rockslide. The land beneath Kay started to sink, the snow dragging her down. At the bottom was a cave, partially flooded by the snow.

[Part 2]

Kay brushed the snow off herclothes. It didn’t burn like the water on Earth did.

Bhir hovered above the slope. She called out, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered.

“I’m gonna go look for the source of this energy reading,” Zim said, holding up the tracking device he was using. A red light was blinking on the small screen on it.

“Ok... I’m going to look around this cave. Bhir, watch Gir.”

Zim wandered into the valley and Gir ran off to play in the snow. Bhir followed him.

Kay looked down the dark, monochrome tunnel ahead of her. Instead of climbing up the pile of snow she slid down, she decided to see where the cave led to. The cave was wide, but natural walls of stone split it into narrow pathways that often crossed each other. When light from the surface faded, she took a flashlight out of her coat pocket and turned it on. The cave system looked longer than it really was with all the twisting paths.

She wandered in silence through the cave for a few minutes before seeing sunlight filtering in from the other end. Kay could barely see the snowy surface in the distance between the walls of stone that blocked her path. She turned off her flashlight, put it away, and started climbing over a chunk of rock. After she climbed over it, she stopped. Slow footsteps faintly echoed ahead of her.

Kay slowly and quietly stepped towards the sound.

She thought, “It can’t be Zim... Who else— or what else— would be down here?”

The footsteps stopped. Kay slowly walked around a pillar of rock. Then, she froze, staring in total shock at what stood before her.

“That sound,” she thought, “the footsteps... it was... another Irken!?”

She stared at the Irken for a moment, awestruck. It felt as if time had stopped. He was quite short and thin, and looked surprisingly young, only seeming to be a teenager. He wore a torn black coat with a fur hood that was once white, black gloves, worn black pants, and dirty black hiking boots. His eyes were jet black, and Kay just barely noticed that he had pointed teeth—the same defective traits she had. He stared back at her, wide-eyed and exhausted, shivering in his tattered clothes that were soaked from melted snow.

The young Irken staggered back, uncertain if this new stranger was a threat or not. His antennae were flattened under his hood. He quickly noticed her unnaturally dark eyes, though. She was a Defective, like him.

“Who... are you?” Kay finally asked.

“K-K-Krest,” he stuttered, his voice hoarse and shaky. It had been so long since he’d spoken to anyone that it felt strange to hear his own voice.

“How’d you get in here? And why are you on this planet?” She asked, although she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

He said nothing, but pointed at the other end of the cave where the ground had collapsed. A slope of snow and rocks led up to the surface.

“What are you doing on this planet?” Kay asked again.

“I was e-exiled...” he said quietly, ashamed to admit he was kicked out of his home.

Kay stepped closer to him. She expected him to have been exiled, since he was defective. She asked, “What happened?”

He leaned against the hard wall, shifting his gaze to the ground. “I-I wouldn’t fight... I d-didn’t want to be a soldier l-like they wanted. I said Irkens sh-shouldn’t fight with everyone... they w-wouldn’t listen...”

His voice became more strained as he nervously glanced up to see her reaction. She just stared, shocked. Krest avoided making eye contact and wouldn’t say more.

Kay suddenly remembered the times in her training when she’d avoided fighting because she thought it was unnecessary.

“You... wanted to be peaceful?” She asked.

“Yes...”

She thought, “I used to say Irkens should only fight when we don’t have any other options. I’ve handled missions peacefully before... It’s part of strategizing. Why did Krest get exiled for trying to do the same thing I did?”

“I’ll get you out of here,” she said. She wanted to help him—she felt like she had to. What Krest said was genuine. Kay was going to give him a chance.

“My ship isn’t far from here. I’m living on a planet called Earth. I’ll take you there.”

“R-Really?” He looked up at her, a faint flicker of hope in his dark eyes. He started to relax. He had to trust her if he wanted any chance of survival.

“Come on,” she said, walking towards the snow-covered exit of the cave. He slowly followed behind her.

Kay climbed up the mound of snow to the surface and waited for Krest. He used his PAK’s spider-like legs to pull himself up. Their pointed ends needed to be sharpened. It wasn’t snowing as hard anymore and Kay could see the other hole where she had entered the cave. She headed towards her ship, Krest stumbling through the snow beside her.

They got to the Ripper and went inside. Kay turned the ship on and got it ready to take off. It was much warmer inside.

“I came here with someone else, so we have to wait for him to get back,” Kay said. She wanted to know more about Krest, so she asked him, “How long have you been on this planet?”

He answered, “About... two years. This planet’s years.”

After talking to him for a little while, she found out that he’d studied survival techniques for a few years and that he was afraid of being forced to be a soldier. He couldn’t say much before he was too tired to keep talking. Kay looked at the ship’s screen and saw the SIRs approaching, followed by Zim. She told Krest to wait in another room. They came into the ship, Bhir carrying a cluster of light green crystals.

“You found something?” Kay asked. She was admittedly surprised they brought back that much of anything.

“Yes,” Zim answered arrogantly. “I found a vein of these crystals that can store energy,” he paused, “but they’re not that strong on their own. I’ll have to combine them with something else.”

“I told you not to trust everything on the Internet. Anyways, I need to tell you something,” her tone was suddenly serious. “In the cave... I met an exiled Irken.”

Krest hesitantly showed himself, staying behind Kay.

“HI!” Gir shouted and waved.

“What?! What’re you planning to do with him?” Zim snapped, glaring at Krest, who shuffled closer to Kay.

“I’m bringing him back to our base. He’ll stay with us until I find him a place to live.” Kay decided Zim didn’t have a choice.

“Letting an exiled Irken live with us?! What if the Tallests call and find out?” he retorted. “What use is he, anyways? He was exiled for a reason!”

“He’s still a kid. I can’t just leave him to survive on his own,” she said sternly. “He doesn’t have to stay for long.”

Zim continued arguing about there not being enough space for someone else to live with them, and that they’d get in trouble with the Tallests, but Kay ignored him. She started piloting the ship.

During the long flight back to Earth, Kay told Bhir everything she knew about Krest and told her to keep his information a secret. She only told Zim that his name was Krest and he was a skilled survivalist.

Bhir set the pile of crystals down and walked up to Krest, who was sitting on the floor of the ship. He could barely stay awake, even though Irkens don’t normally need to sleep.

“Will you let me take a look at

your PAK?” she asked.

He nodded weakly, too tired to be afraid of her. Bhir examined his PAK, which had dark grey ovals on it instead of the usual pink. She checked for any damage, and opened one of the panels to examine the inside. She took a chord out of her head, with one end plugged into her, and plugged the other end into Krest’s PAK. She read all the information she could, then disconnected herself.

The ship reached Kay and Zim’s house and landed, disguised to be completely invisible from the outside. It was midday on a weekend and there were a lot of people outside. They made sure nobody was around before getting out of the ship and entering the house.

Zim put on his disguise went back outside to unload the ship and bring in the crystals he’d collected. Krest took off his coat and boots and practically collapsed onto one end of the couch. He grabbed a blanket that was draped over the back of the couch and covered himself with it. Kay sat on the other end and turned the TV on. It was only a few minutes before Krest fell asleep.

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

S.O.S (Ch. 1/2)

Hello, I am back from a stretch of not writing like. Anything. And what am I here to give you all? Angst, of course. 

A while back, @wordsysayswords made a little post. I then asked if I could write a fic based on said post, and she said YES.

Title: SOS

Words: 3376

Characters: Sherry, Ohio, Terrill, Idaho, Iowa, Darryl, Freelancers mentioned

Relationship: Ohio/Sherry

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/language; implied/referenced character death; characters thought to be dead; angst

Summary: Maine’s distress beacon is the first to set off the Triplets’ comms system. But it isn’t the last. Read also on Ao3.

I

Their first temporary truce is celebrated with vodka and kisses, but their second is accompanied by sobriety and the incessant shriek of a distress beacon.

Huddled together in front of the only functioning computer on their base with Mike, Ezra, Sherry and the others, Vera tries to block out the noise. She can tune it out okay, and she doesn’t really mind shutting her ears off. No one’s saying anything anyway, just holding their breath.

A green glow illuminates the cold, dusty room, barely big enough to be a closet, interrupted only by a flash of red light every few seconds. The green light is from the outline of a suit of armor—of a body—displayed at the left side of the screen. There are words on the right, but either they’re scrolling by too fast or Vera just can’t read the language. She thinks it’s English. Too blurry to tell.

What she can tell is who the armor belongs too, and she chooses to focus on this fact for as long as possible.

But it’s kind of hard to ignore the flashing red light coming from the armor’s throat.

“Is that—?” Ezra starts to ask, but Vera cuts him off.

“Agent Maine.”

“Another Freelancer?” Terrill asks from behind Mike’s elbow. He and Darryl stand shoulder to shoulder hunched over Mike and Sherry, who are pressed tight up against Vera and Ezra.

A wave of irritation washes over Vera—maybe at Terrill, maybe at the elbow digging into her ribs, maybe at the fact the room is no longer cold but is, in fact, very warm—and she sighs.

“Yes, Terrill,” Vera retorts. “Agent Maine is a Freelancer. Just like Iowa, Idaho, and myself.”

“You don’t have to talk so slow, I’m not an idiot,” Terrill says. “It was a valid question!”

“Shut up, Terrill,” Sherry snaps.

Vera can hear the hitched breath and clicking of teeth as Terrill contemplates arguing before closing his mouth, and she sends Sherry as many vibes of gratitude she can muster. She can’t turn around to look at her, because, well, she can’t fucking move in this computer “room”.

“His vitals are so fucked,” Ezra mutters. Vera glances over at him. His eyes are glazed over, reflecting the alternating red and green lights.

“But he’s still alive!” Mike points out.

“Yeah.” Vera looks back up at the computer screen. She wonders if it’s possible to go blind from staring for too long. Then she realizes it’s been about a minute since she’s blinked.

Closing her eyes, she lets out the first of many exasperated sighs.

“How long do these distress thinga-ma-jigs last?” Sherry asks, leaning forward. Vera feels her breath tickle her ear and she shivers.

“I don’t actually know,” Vera answers. “Never seen one before. I’m surprised this one reached us.”

“Did your helmets’ comms systems notify you of anything?” Sherry asks.

Vera blinks. She hasn’t put her armor on yet today—the distress beacon screaming at them from the computer room is what woke her up. After that it was a blur of shaking Mike awake while Ezra put up the blue flag they found in the lower levels of the base. Some sim trooper thing they used as a truce signal.

Sherry, Terrill, and Darryl rushed over, brandishing their guns in case it was a trick, dropping them and shucking their armor when they realized it wasn’t. Then they gathered around the nine-by-thirteen computer screen, watching in silence as almost certain death claimed their old teammate.

“I don’t know,” Vera says. “And hopefully there won’t be another chance to find out.”

At that moment the computer flashed one last time, flickering out with a final squawk. The sudden darkness was both refreshing and disorienting, the silence unsettling.

Vera popped her jaw, trying to get rid of the ringing in her ears.

The beacon had been going off for an hour, the only change being Agent Maine’s erratic vital signs. It hurt to look at, but now Vera would give just about anything to get it back.

“Does that mean he’s—ow!” Darryl squeaks as someone—probably Sherry—jabs him in the ribs.

“I don’t know what it means, okay?” Vera snaps, leaping to her feet.

Or, she tries to leap to her feet. As she rises, Ezra is knocked backward, taking his chair, Mike, and Terrill with him like a row of sentient dominoes. Terrill lets out a squeak as he smacks the back of his head into the metal door. It beeps and slides open, something it’s not technically supposed to do without a code, but whatever.

Everything’s broken here.

“Ow, the back of my head!” Terrill cries.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Vera exclaims, whirling around to help Ezra to his feet.

Sherry grabs hold of Mike and pulls him up while Darryl takes care of Terrill. Massaging his head, Terrill gives her a dirty look, but it quickly softens.

“It’s all right,” he says. “It, uh, doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Hey, you okay?” Sherry places a hand on Vera’s shoulder.

Vera’s face goes hot, and she’s not sure whether to shake Sherry’s hand away or lean into the touch. She decides on option C, which is doing nothing, standing frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Yeah, just,” Vera sniffles, unable to finish the thought. She reaches up, presses her fingers into her eyes in a feeble attempt to stop the tears.

She’s not even sure why this hit her so hard, she hardly knew Maine—and the boys only met him once or twice. The Alpha Team were like, likened to gods practically. When David and Connie moved up, Vera was afraid they’d forget about her, Mike, and Ezra, leave them all behind to choke on their super badass Freelancer dust.

Not that they were around long enough for that to happen.

“I hope David and Connie are okay,” Mike says, echoing Vera’s thoughts. Ezra hums his agreement.

Sherry coughs, tightening her grip slightly. Vera looks up at her, praying her eyes aren’t too red. She’s managed to stop her tears, but she still feels as exhausted as she might be after sobbing her eyes out.

“We, uh, forgot our extra ammo, so we surrender,” Sherry says. Darryl nods so hard it looks like his head might fly off as Sherry continues, “Why don’t we make some coffee and watch a dumb movie, or something?”

Vera nods once, head heavy, and follows the others out of the computer room.

“We’ve only got, like five movies to pick from,” Ezra says. “I vote—”

“Four,” Mike interrupts.

“What?” Ezra asks, turning his head to squint at Mike.

“Four movies,” Mike says. “Someone accidentally blew up ‘Charlotte’s Web’.”

“Goddammit, Mike—”

Sherry halts, grabbing Vera’s hand and pulling her gently backwards. Vera, unprepared, yelps, almost toppling over. Sherry holds her steady.

“Hey.” Sherry grips Vera by her shoulders, looks her dead in the eyes.

Vera can’t decide whether to be concerned or enticed by Sherry’s gorgeous fucking eyes, then shakes her head.

Snap out of it, dummy, she scolds herself.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherry asks her.

Something that Vera can only describe as a stab knifes through her, allowing those feelings she had just locked up tight to leak out. She wants to scream, she wants to cry, she wants to break something.

Instead Vera reaches up, wraps her fingers around Sherry’s wrists, and gently peels her hands from her shoulders.

“I’m fine, Sherry,” Vera says. “I don’t want to talk about it. Maine wasn’t my friend, anyway. I hardly knew the guy!”

Sherry frowns, but she doesn’t protest. Doesn’t yank her hands away either. Vera, suddenly very shy, lets Sherry’s wrists go.

“I’m fine,” Vera repeats. “Now just drop it, okay?”

“Okay,” Sherry says, voice short.

They walk the rest of the way to the breakroom in silence.

  II

 Vera can feel the room closing in on her and she struggles to breathe. Black spots dance before her eyes as she sinks to the ground, hands around her ears as if it’s going to block out the beacon’s scream. Muffled voices come from the blurry shapes fussing around her, but she can’t bring them into focus. She presses harder on her ears, slamming her eyes shut.

But she can still see it.

It’s still there, burnt into the back of her eyelids.

The outline of the soldier on the screen is unmistakable. Like Maine’s, one of a kind. But this one’s much shorter.

“Connie,” Vera croaks. Tears, hot and heavy, roll down her face. She brings her knees in as close to her chest as possible, trying to fold into herself, to make herself smaller. Maybe even disappear.

Everything happened so fast.

Vera’s helmet screeching in her ear mid-skirmish. Vera looking over at Ezra and Mike, also frozen, before throwing down her gun and sprinting towards their base. Sherry shouting something. Stray bullets smacking into the snow around Vera as she ran. And with every heartbeat, with every strangled breath, one name reverberated through Vera’s head.

Connie. Connie. Connie.

Vera reached the computer first, chucking her helmet to the side. Eyes burning, she watched the little green-and-red model of Connie rotate on the screen. It didn’t take long for the vitals to bottom out.

But the distress beacon kept going.

For forty-five more minutes.

For forty-five minutes, Vera sat there, hardly registering the sudden warmth of Ezra and Mike sinking to the floor beside her, wrapping their arms around her.

For forty-five minutes, Vera wishes they’d destroyed their comms systems. It’s painfully clear no one is coming for them, that they’re clinging like idiots to false hopes.

For forty-five minutes, Vera considers shooting her gun next to her ears to drown out the computer’s eerie lament. She considers it, but she can’t bring herself to move even a finger.

For forty-five minutes, Vera wants to murder the Director. Because if anyone’s responsible for Connie’s death, it’s that motherfucker.

When the beacon finally dies, Vera’s run out of tears. Blinking, she lets out a shuddering sigh and returns Ezra and Mike’s embrace. Her arms and elbows complain as she eases them from their tensed position to drape them over her friends’ shoulders. Mike sniffles, but Ezra stares at the floor like he can see through it, eyes miles away.

Their grief eventually gives way to discomfort. Power armor isn’t ideal for sitting in a sad huddle with your friends. Extracting herself from the hug, Vera rises to her feet, knees popping. She looks over at the computer screen, watches the cursor dart across the screen, writing out the date, time, and cause of death in bright green letters.

One word at the bottom of the report catches her eye, and Vera shuffles over to the computer, eyes narrowed.

There, at the bottom of the screen is one word, this time typed out in glowing red letters:

MISSING.

What the hell does that mean? That Connie’s missing? Missing where?

“What the fuck is going on?” Vera shouts, kicking the desk chair. It clatters across the room and smacks up against the wall.

Ezra and Mike don’t say anything, but Ezra comes up beside her to look at the computer as well. His brows furrow when he reads the red lettering.

Vera growls and stomps out of the room, making her way down the corridor and toward her bunk.

This isn’t fair, how come she and the others are here while Connie, Wash and the others are out risking their lives and—and fucking dying? If Freelancer was looking for soldiers ready to die for the cause, they threw away three of them on this frozen planet.

And now—what, Connie’s freaking body is missing? Vera has no idea what’s going on, and those old feelings of helplessness, of being useless, surface after months of figuring out how to shove them away. Freelancer continues to haunt them, which is hilarious to Vera, because shouldn’t she, Mike, and Ezra be the ones to haunt Freelancer? Of course, that would only make a difference if the Director had a conscience.

Reaching the door to her bunk, Vera punches the button to open the door. As the door slides open, the pad the button is attached to pops, sparks, and fizzes. The door freezes half way, and Vera groans. She tries to shove the door the rest of the way open, but the base is content on working whenever the fuck it wants, and right now, it doesn’t want to.

Vera huffs and removes her armor, dropping it all to the floor right outside the door before slipping inside her bunk.

She doesn’t even bother turning on the light before falling into bed. Shoving her face into her pillow, she closes her eyes, only to find Connie’s face smirking at her. Eyes flying open, Vera flips over and stares at the small sliver of light cutting across the ceiling.

Maybe they should just shut off the computer.

  III

 They don’t shut off the computer, of course. The miniscule chance someone would contact them, or hear their distress signals, keeps them from blowing it all up.

Deep down, Vera knows—and she knows the others do too—that no one is ever going to call their names over that radio.

“You could take turns checking the computer,” Sherry suggests to Vera one night.

They’re laying in Vera’s bed, limbs intertwined and tangled in the sheets, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bare skin. Sherry’s arm is around Vera, and she reaches up to stroke Vera’s hair.

Sighing, Vera leans into Sherry’s hand. Electrified by the touch, she almost forgets what Sherry said.

“Maybe,” Vera says, closing her eyes for one. Two. Three seconds. Then she says, “I guess. I don’t know.”

“Then maybe you wouldn’t have to have it thrown in your face every time,” Sherry goes on. “Take turns reporting what you see?”

“I don’t think Mike could do it on his own,” Vera says. “Shit, I don’t know if I could be in there alone. What if—god, what if it’s David who dies next? I mean, Connie’s gone, Maine’s—Maine’s maybe gone! What if they all just fucking die, Sherry?”

Vera sits up, slipping out of Sherry’s embrace and pulls her legs up towards her chest. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she presses her eyes into her knees. She shivers, her back now exposed to the barely tolerable chill. Since the base’s energy is finite, they’ve started turning the heat down. Vera would almost rather die warm than freeze her ass off.

Almost.

There’s the swish of sheets as Vera feels Sherry sit up as well, and a warm pressure around her shoulders as Sherry holds her once more. Sherry rests her chin on the top of Vera’s head.

“I’m sorry, sweet cheeks,” Sherry murmurs into Vera’s hair. “If I knew a way off this ice cube, you’d be the first to know.”

“Ha!” The corners of Vera’s mouth twitch. “Thanks, Sherry.”

Straightening out her legs, Vera moves to lay down again, and Sherry follows suit. Vera reaches up for the light switch, remembers there is no light switch, and sighs.

“Lights off,” she commands, and the room goes dark.

Well, it sort-of goes dark. There’s still light peaking in through the door, which is still freaking busted. Luckily Mike and Ezra’s rooms are a floor below her, and they… probably can’t hear anything.

Soon Vera can hear Sherry’s breaths deepen and slow down as she falls asleep, humming softly into her pillow. Vera stares at the gap between the wall and the door, listening to Sherry sleep, trying to find some of her own. She’s generally good at falling asleep—a master, really. When her body finally realized no one was going to play “Reveille” every morning at 0500, Vera even overslept.

It’s kind of hard for Vera to fall asleep when she’s waiting to be awakened by the sound of someone else dying.

Eventually, maybe two hours later, Vera starts to drift off. She nestles a little deeper into Sherry’s arms and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. Her last thought before she slips into an uneasy sleep is that she should probably just ask Sherry to move in.

At that same moment, far away in a distant corner of the galaxy, the Mother of Invention falls from the sky.

 IV

Vera crosses every name off in her head, each Freelancer popping up for a few seconds, screaming out vitals, and vanishing to make way for another soldier’s injury map.

Kansas. Louisiana. Vermont. Minnesota. South. North. York. Carolina.

Washington.

(It’s easier than calling him David, than seeing his first name glaring at her; easier to picture Washington with all those broken bones, to picture David smiling, using that dumb silly straw—)

Some are dying, some dead. The lucky ones only have a few broken bones—well, the lucky ones are probably the Freelancers that aren’t showing up on the screen. Did they escape whatever fate the others met? Off on other missions, out of harm’s way? Or maybe they’re just out of their power armor—Vera shakes her head, refuses to consider the option a second longer.

“It’s gotta be an ambush,” Ezra says, his voice hitching up an octave. “I—I mean, how does someone get the drop on a ship full of fuck—fucking Freelancers?”

They’re all crowded in the computer room once again, this time without Terrill and Darryl, still asleep at their base. Sherry is the only one not huddled around the screen. Instead, she stands in the doorway, permanently open after the boys fell into it the one time, wrapped in Vera’s itchy wool comforter.

“Whoever attacked them, or whatever happened,” Vera croaks, finding her voice, “Lots of them died from some huge impact.”

“The Mother of Invention?” Ezra looks over at Vera, wild eyed. The green and red glow from the screen casts odd shadows on his face, making him look hollow. Horrifying and horrified. “You mean, like, something hit it?”

“Or it fell,” Mike suggests.

“Or it fell,” Vera echoes.

They watch until the distress beacon screeches to a halt, about fifteen minutes too early. Something must have happened to the ship’s comms, or maybe it was something else, but Vera is the last person to ask about technology of that caliber.

What she does know is her friends are dead or dying, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Letting out a shriek, Vera leaps to her feet and punches the computer. The screen cracks, but doesn’t go out, and Vera feels her anger surge, clawing its way out of her throat. Howling in frustration she strikes the computer again and again and again, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She lifts her leg up and brings her bare foot down on the keyboard, and the machine finally pops and fizzes out.

Chest heaving, Vera watches the smoke rising and the sparks spitting from the screen. She hoped to feel some satisfaction, but all she feels is more anger.

Vera feels a hand on her shoulder and jerks away.

“Don’t touch me!” she hisses.

“Vera,” Sherry says, softly.

“Just—just go,” Vera says, face hot. “You don’t wanna be around me right now and—and I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

Sherry doesn’t say anything, but Vera can feel her eyes burning into the back of her skull. It takes everything she has not to turn around and scream, curse, break something. She can feel Ezra and Mike on either side of her, tense, waiting—not for her reaction, but for their own.

Vera sucks in a huge breath and lets it out. Then she turns around to face Sherry. Their eyes meet, and Vera sees her pain reflected in Sherry’s.

“I love you, Sherry,” Vera says. “But right now, me and Mike and Ezra need to be alone, okay?”

Sherry looks ready to protest, but then she seems to see something in Vera’s face. Nodding, she reaches out one more time, pausing inches from Vera’s face, and then let’s her arm drop.

“I love you too,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

And then she leaves the three of them to mourn.

[ecotone99]

[RF] [MS] [TH] Escapism

I came-to midway through a vivid dream. I was not in my bed. I was not lying down. I was standing; staring blankly outside a broken window from the first floor. The glass clung to the skeleton of the window frame in lonely, trianguloid polygons. The sill was covered in scratches, and caked with grime, and seemingly years’ worth of dust. It looked especially filthy after the recent bursts of rain had blessed it with moisture.

I could smell my sweat; it was a sweetish sort of odour. My wet T-shirt was stuck to my back. My legs felt weak.

Outside, I could only see the forest of triangular, perhaps, coniferous trees all the way to the end until they went out of sight. It was dusk. As if in response to my observation, the remaining slice of the large crimson disk hid itself behind the safety of the shadowy mountains, as if it too was afraid of being ripped right out of the sky by a species prone to pillage, exploit, and destroy all that was natural, including themselves, and each other.

The sky was aglow in funereal orange; the clouds were heavy, sombre, and gathering. They looked like they were mourning the cowardly departure of the sun, or rather, were they celebrating it?

The agitated inhalations and exhalations of the flower-patterned curtains seemed to reflect my own condition. They were stained and damp as well. Like me, I thought. The damp, dirty smell of wet cloth hung in the air.

I blinked and returned to myself. I had been staring outside the window for quite some time now. I had forgotten what I was going to do, and I could no longer remember what I was dreaming about either. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I turned around to behold a dilapidated room. I didn’t know where I was, nor what I was here for or how I got here.

An immediate fear materialised somewhere within my gut and a rush of paralysis entombed my body. I was unable to move. I had gone from dazed to wide awake in thirty seconds. And from wide awake to deadly scared in another twenty. A static, spidery electricity seemed to have zapped my stomach.

The thought of computer filesystems came to mind. There are a bunch of different choices out there – for Linux users. Windows users can only use the NTFS file system. Windows’ NTFS can’t even mount Ext4 but Ext4 can mount NTFS. Momentarily, I contemplated a sexual connection between the two inanimate filesystems.

A filesystem determines the way data is accessed and stored. You have different types of filesystems such as Ext4, which is the most commonly used Journaling file system. Then there’s Btrfs (pronounced butterFS) which is an advanced copy-on-write file system. There are also other ones such as XFS, which I use, and ZFS. All of them function in different ways and are ideal for different use cases.

A filesystem helps a computer keep track of where every file is stored so the files don’t get lost in the delirious planes of 1s and 0s. Every read and write operation, no matter how small, is logged. And metadata about these operations is stored, and there are event files, and everything else that enables the computer to never forget how to interpret any binary data, or where it is stored.

Mostly even in the case of power outages, using metadata and logs, a filesystem can get back to where it lost its track of its work, but sometimes it becomes unable to figure that out. Or sometimes the hardware itself, that it operates on, starts to behave erratically, and that’s when all computer hell breaks loose. Everything will go wrong and get worse from that point on. The data can become mangled and interfere with other data too. It’s a mess. Ensue binary delirium.

Well then, I thought, which bug is affecting my filesystem, causing it to malfunction this spectacularly?

The last thing I could remember was watching a documentary film with Amanda. We were on a short vacation trip in the middle of Europe, and we were living at her elder sister’s house. It was afternoon, and Amanda was in one of her odd moods. She was deeply engrossed in watching the narrator describe in graphic detail, with photographic evidence, how the infamous serial killer, Jefferey Dahmer had sex with his victims, killed them, had sex with their dead bodies, photographed them, dismembered them, sometimes preserving the finer looking genitalia, and then, for him, the rest was just dissolve, drain, and repeat, if you know what I mean.

The scene cut. For me, it was all about the control, Jeffery Dahmer said, I wanted a completely obedient person under my full control. Living humans were too much hassle. So, I killed them, but that was not idea. That’s why I tried to puncture a hole in one of their skulls and poured acid inside in hopes that I could try make them more obedient. A picture of a sexually positioned torso appeared, its chest ripped open, and blackish organs spilling out. I felt nauseous even looking at it, so I looked at Amanda instead. She was engrossed. Amanda was so deeply obsessed with these things: sometimes it frightened me.

Every so often she would pause the movie and sit in silence, lost in thought. I watched her face closely. Sometimes small lines of tension formed on her forehead in response, as the documentary went on. What was she thinking? I wondered. Then, I asked her this. She didn’t even hear it, and if she did, she ignored it. I reached out to touch her breast, more to snap her out of it than in a sexual manner, and she hit my hand. Hard. She immediately apologised. Not right now, she said, not when I’m thinking, and she fell silent again. I didn’t try to touch her breast again.

I don’t remember what we did next. That was the last thing I remember, and it was probably this afternoon when these events took place.

The room that I found myself in was full of dust. If I had any term to describe the room with, I wouldn’t use abandoned, dilapidated, ominous, foreboding, flaking, run-down, collapsing, fear-inducing, paralysing, claustrophobia inducing, or such, despite it being all the above. I would say it was Dusty. The most prominent thing was dust. Everything was covered with layers of dust, undisturbed, for years at stretch, by any intelligent life. And it was not the light kind of dust that could be blown away in a breath, but sticky, heavy dust that had settled deeply into this room and burrowed into its metaphorical soul like a parasite into its host. The particles were heavier and larger than usual. It had descended endlessly and declared everything an extension to itself. Everything: the flaky walls, the moist, leaky ceiling, the rotting wooden tables, the broken bed, and even the humid, sallow air belonged now to no man, but only dust.

On the floor there were the imprinted souvenirs of my trawling feet; I, the intruder in the realm of the dust. I could not look at the corners of the room. The caked filth evoked, in me, a severe sense of disgust.

The walls were heavily flaking. The wallpaper, wherever it remained, was yellow and stained. An unrecognisable pattern was visible. The ceiling seemed ready to collapse at any given moment. To the far side of the room, the ceiling had a dark, wet, leaky patch on it which reminded me of the sight of Amanda’s wet panties, and the walls were tattooed by the shadowy trail-memories of water droplets.

The air felt heavier, much heavier than outside air. It had some kind of weight to it that made breathing hard. Odours of the ageing wood of the bed, the moist walls, the rotting mattress, and the ubiquitous dust had mixed together into something jaundiced and sinister which pricked the lungs, and stuck to the alveoli.

The side table looked like it was eaten up from inside. Parts of it had turned into powder, or more appropriately, dust. The drawers were half-open, as left by the inhabitants, or the post-inhabitant raiders. On top of the side table stood a lamp. It looked like a bearer of unspeakable burden, it’s shade slightly tilted, as if in an expression of shame.

The bed was the only thing in this room that looked like it hadn’t aged badly. The mattress, however, was a different story altogether. It was ripped apart, it’s insides gouged out just like the victims of Jefferey Dahmer, exposing clumps of eaten wool infiltrated with dust, and springs that languidly stuck out and fell off-ways like they had lost all purpose to their life a long time ago.

Outside, it was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining. It had rained in quick bursts multiple times since the two days I had lived in this remote European town with pretty Amanda; Amanda who scared the wits out of me sometimes, but who I had desperately fallen in love with anyway. Being in a strange place away from home seemed to have made her more reckless and nihilistic than I had ever seen her before.

Hey, I know where you are, I said to myself aloud but softly, in order to stifle my fear of being alone in a strange place. Remember that abandoned mansion that Sophia was talking about? Amanda was so excited to see it. So that’s probably this place. But then, where are they? And how did I end up here alone?

I don’t know, I replied.

Talking to myself soothed me somewhat. I used to do this even as a child when I had to walk to the bathroom at night. I used to imagine snakes behind me for some reason, and I used to think that talking aloud would keep them away. Apparently, it did, because none of those snakes was ever able to bite me.

The initial paralysis that had gripped my body, prompted by the fear of being alone in a dilapidated, abandoned place was a lot more permitting now. My fingers were twitching because of the adrenalin rush. I could feel a warm sensation under my skin as if my insides suspended in a warm, viscous liquid. I slowly checked my jean pockets. No phone. My phone was not there. My phone was missing.

Once I had familiarised myself with the surroundings, more strength had returned to my body, but I was still fearful of stepping out. What exactly I was fearful of, though, I don’t know. Anyway, I grabbed a weak-looking wooden beam from the footboard of the bed and ripped it out. It took more strength than I thought it would, and the loud cracking it made took me by surprise. The dust exploded in anger, but nails and all still clinging to it, no more an extension of dust, the wooden beam was now an extension of my white-knuckled fist. I listened carefully for any sound in the house. Still complete silence.

Maybe she’s asleep somewhere too? Could that be? I asked.

I really don’t know, and I don’t think so. But you can try to call her, I replied.

Right, I said, I should try to call her.

And so, I did.

Amanda?

No response.

Sophia?

No response.

Amanda? I shouted, a little louder this time.

Where the fuck did, they go? I whispered to myself.

Is this a prank? I shouted. If this is, then you got me! Let’s go home now.

No response.

I knew I had to get home before it got dark outside, but I just could not move. I felt only fear. Fear of wild animals. An unfounded fear of cold-blooded killers lurking in the darkness. Whoever said that fear was based in rationality anyway? Nobody. No, it’s rooted in instinct, I thought. Clutching the wooden beam, hands shaking, heart thumping, sweat dripping, I walked out.

Look, I have a wooden beam in my hand to protect myself against wild animals, so don’t startle me if you’re around, I shouted to anybody who would listen.

No answer. I trawled on.

I could not have guessed that I would ever find myself in this kind of a situation a year prior, or even six months ago. I lived a happy life with my then-girlfriend Laura. We were happy, we were in love, we had plenty of sex, and lot to look forward to. Then Laura left me, and I found Amanda. Amanda and her slim, white body, her tiny breasts, her many, many tattoos, and a madness that scared the wits out of me, yet, at the same time, drew me deeper and deeper into her.

Amanda and Laura were so different.

I walked outside, ears ever-receptive, eyes darting, knuckles white and ready. There was nothing to fear. There was nothing here. And whatever was there, was probably harmless. Why was my imagination unnecessarily bothering me, then? Nor was I fearing rational things. I was fearing ghouls and fiendish creatures from another world. Why? I asked myself. But the fear did not simper and scurry away.

I had suddenly become aware of an odd feeling in my entire body. My vision seemed to have gotten darker as well. I felt a deeply ominous feeling creeping over me, like the dust was taking over me, making me a part of itself. There’s nothing to fear, I said to myself aloud. My voice was small and did not sound like my own. I said the same thing to myself again, louder this time. I felt a strange nausea, and my stomach seemed to be revolting to something. Probably just the fear, I thought and went onwards.

There were two more rooms on this floor. One seemed to be another bedroom on the far side, and the door was shut, and maybe a bathroom, whose door, too, was shut. I had no interest nor strength to explore these areas. I just wanted to get out and be home before dark. I kept feeling the presence of something behind me, but I urged myself to recognise the foolishness my imagination; and of this entire situation. I reminded myself of the truth: that this was purely manufactured fear, conjured up by my imagination.

I heard Amanda call my name. I heard her clear voice from the room below. I felt a flood of relief. Thank the fucking gods, I thought.

Hey, I said aloud, I’m up here! Let’s go home.

There was no response again.

Listen, enough messing with me. What had we taken? Let’s go! It’s getting dark and I’m extremely hungry!

No response.

Amanda?

No response again.

Why is she being like this? I thought. That was not like her.

I slowly descended the stairs, my grip on the wooden plank was lighter now, having heard Amanda’s voice.

As I climbed down, I could hear more sounds coming from below. It sounded like a lot of different voices, like a large group of people was gathered around in the backyard. Maybe this was a party that we had attended? A party at an abandoned mansion sounded pretty cool. And maybe I had gotten completely drunk or something and gone upstairs where nobody really went?

With my newfound strength I began to strut down the stairs, but out of some clumsy mis-coordination I tripped and fell face first onto the ground. Luckily, I was able to shield my fall with my hands, but I hurt my elbow hard. I stood up quickly. Too quickly, I suppose, because a flood of white obliterated my vision. I rubbed my elbow intensely to make the pain subside. Once my vision had returned, I looked at the back of the room. there was no backyard, just a dark room, shelves, books, other left-behind junk, and a dirty sofa, ripped, too, like every other soul in this mansion.

But there were no people around. No people. No Amanda. No party. No nothing.

What? I thought. I could swear had distinctly heard many voices, and Amanda’s voice too, and her voice especially was unmistakable. That’s when I saw a darting shadow from the corner of my eye and I froze. This time the fear was like something I have never felt before. My hands were violently shaking. I found it hard to focus. I turned in the direction of the darting shadow. There was nothing there. No killer. No fiend. No ghoul. But no Amanda either.

There was some lazy, amateur graffiti on the walls. “Boo!” Was written in blue spray paint. And besides that, perhaps drawn by someone else, was an image in silver spray paint of a phallic object entering a hole with the caption “Boo, Ooh!” There were also a bunch of names, and other random words here and there.

I was here – Jeremy, 12th May 06:41 pm. The year when Jeremy was here was not mentioned.

Another darting shadow. I turned in that direction so quickly, I almost lost my balance. Again: nothing.

The walls were swaying slightly. I told myself that I was simply imagining things in my present state of agitation, and I walked outside through the main door. My legs were heavy and seemed to be refusing to co-operate without plenty encouragement. I was feeling helpless.

I stepped on to the gravel. It crunched. I could hear random tapping and clicking sounds from behind, but I didn’t turn to look in that direction, instead I looked for a way out of this place. No roads for a car, just a thick forest some distance away. The forest looked sinister and evil. The bad elves are waiting for me, I told myself, they are just waiting for me to leave...

I turned to my left and decided to circle the house in that direction. There had to be a path s

omewhere. But I stopped mid-stride. Wait. Wait. Wait, wait, wait! I whispered aloud. My voice did not sound like my own at all. It was heavy and cracked. What bad elves? I asked myself, silently. You just said that the bad elves were waiting for you in the forest. Where did that come from? I questioned myself. It’s like you’re falling asleep while wide awake, I said.

I jumped on my feet to wake myself up, but I was unable to. The sky was getting darker, but it wasn’t too dark yet to see.

Was this an in my mind or was the entire world shaking? Everything around me was swaying to an unheard rhythm. I could not think clearly anymore. There was what felt like static at the edges of my vision. The entire mansion looked foreboding, cold, and dangerous, but I had nowhere else to go. I knew I had to return to the room I had found myself in. I could not walk outside in this condition.

My mouth felt sandpaper dry. I wanted water, but I had none.

I slowly trawled back into the dark mansion. It seems that spiders had emerged from the depths of the house as it was getting dark. They were everywhere, and I was afraid that they had entered in my room too. I did not try to run lest I trip and fall into them, but I had much difficulty avoiding them. There were so many of them I felt sick and afraid. Most of them were small, fast, and translucent.

After an eternity I made it back the dilapidated bedroom. To my disdain, there were spiders here too, but they seemed to be content crawling in and around the mattress, and the corner walls.

I somehow felt less afraid of any fiendish things that I imagined resided in the house this time. I felt like I was one of them now. Inside the room I looked outside the windows. Soon it would be completely dark, and I would be enveloped in my shroud of darkness. My personal hell.

Someone said something right behind me. I heard it distinctly. And I turned around fast. I was still holding the wooden beam in my hands, but I couldn’t lift it up to defend myself anymore. Forget trying to use the wooden beam to defend myself, my own hands felt too heavy to lift. My eyelids too were heavy.

That’s when I saw my shoulder bag lying there. It was previously hidden from my sight because of where I was standing. My phone was probably in there. I ran to the bag. Or at least I tried to. My legs didn’t want to co-operate, though, it seemed, and I fell face first on the hard-wood floor, and I heard the eerie sound that my shoulder made. I felt a vague pain, but it felt so distant. My mouth was open, and I had gathered a quantity of the floor-dust, which tenaciously stuck to my tongue.

I tried to spit it out, but not a drop of moisture remained in my mouth. With much difficulty I lifted every muscle in my body and sat upright, or as close to an upright position as possible, and I wiped my tongue on my T-shirt. The sensation made me begin to retch and dry heave. Then I spilled my guts on the dusty floor. With much difficulty, I was able to regain my breath. I couldn’t breathe. I looked at the little puddle that I had birthed, and there were little moving beetles in it. I had thrown up live beetles. There were live beetles inside me. The sight of that made me heave more, but this time nothing came out.

A different sort of fear had gripped me now. There were parasitic bugs inside of me, eating my insides. Maybe this is why my stomach had felt odd previously. Maybe they had found their way into my brain, and that was causing all my madness. The dancing shadows. The wonky co-ordination and heavy limbs. The primal fear… I probably knew what had happened somewhere inside myself even when I came-to. I had just forgotten. There were bugs inside of me eating me alive from the inside out, and I had no way of saving myself here. I was about to die very soon, and this time I knew why. It was going to be a slow painful death, and I shivered at the thought of it. Horror. Horror was the only thing I felt.

I wanted to scream for help. SOMEONE. ANYONE. I was in tears. I began to cry uncontrollably. I could not bear the horror of my sad, pathetic, demise. I could not. I didn’t want to be eaten alive from the inside out by tiny, hard-backed beetles. The pain was about to get much worse, and I would not die until the very end. Why? What had I done? I said, but my mouth did not move. I knew the answer. I was being punished for what I had done.

If anything, I deserved this death.

Laura, I called out in my distress. Laura. I wish you were here, but I knew she was elsewhere. And I screamed a blood-curdling scream that sent an icy chill down my own spine. I fell into silence. Dark spots were dancing in my vision. I could barely move. The parasitic beetles had swum, with apparent difficulty, to the edge of my pool of bile and digestive sludge that lay withering on the dusty, hard-wood floor. Laura, I whispered but no sound came out. I wish I hadn’t…, I said, I really wish I hadn’t… I didn’t mean to.

There was a cacophony of sounds all around me. There was the sound of utensils, and voices talking over each other, there were people calling my name, and typing, and a scraping sounds coming from behind the walls as if some creature was trying to escape, and I just sat there among it all, insensible. I, the silent centre of the universe waiting for a painful end. At least it would all be over soon, I thought. This life wasn’t even worth living after Laura had left.

The beetles that I had coughed up seemed to have multiplied in my vomit and were clumping together and rolling and moving in a joyful, lively manner. I felt disgust to the pit of my stomach, but there was nothing more left to throw up. I had given up. A pang of pain rushed through me, as their beetle-brothers feasted on my juicy insides.

The world was completely dark now. I could not see a thing. I could sense the shadows. There were people moving around. Some creatures were still trying to break out of the walls around me to feast on me too, but so far, their endeavour seemed to have been fruitless.

I saw hordes of spiders scurrying around in groups whenever I opened my eyes. I tried to swat them away, and they went off. I cannot describe how it feels to be surrounded by insects. To have them inside you, eating you alive. To have insects crawling over you. Climbing you. Climbing your feet. Entering inside the cavity of your skull and eating your juicy brain as you slowly lose your sanity. No, this cannot be described. You can only imagine it, and that too would give you only a vague idea of the disgust, and true horror that I felt. I did not know this intensity of helplessness could even be humanly experienced.

I suddenly remembered that I was looking for my phone. Despite the impossible weight, I reached my hand out to the bag which was only a silhouette anymore, and I dragged it to me. I could not keep my head straight and it kept falling on my shoulders, lolling lifelessly on my neck.

A faint white light seemed to be streaming in from the windows, casting a ghostly-blue glow on this entire room, and on my clumsy, dying, figure. The curtains leisurely swayed and rolled, oblivious to my condition.

I managed to open the zipper of my shoulder bag and dumped everything out. One torch, two water bottles, four condoms and an assortment of pills fell out. My wretched little life lay thus defined.

I found no phone.

I opened the bottle of water. There was a sort of dark liquid inside. Suddenly a horde of tiny spiders began to crawl out. I threw the bottle and the liquid drained. It did not flow like water. It was a lot thicker and darker. I was dying of thirst, but I did not want to drink anything anymore.

I must have blacked out for a while then.

“Hey,” said Amanda. She was sitting beside me. It was still dark outside.

“Careful of the bugs,” I said.

“M’h’m,” she nodded, “I’m not scared, they don’t do anything to me.” she said, nodding several times and swiping them away whenever they approached her.

“Well, they’re inside me. Eating me alive,” I said. “I’m about to die very soon.”

“Cool,” she said. “Does it hurt?”

“I can’t feel anything anymore.”

She H’m’d.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, of course you can!” she said.

“I think I am in love with you.”

“Are you?” she inquired. I could feel her narrowed, suspicious eyes boring into me.

“I don’t know.” I said, honestly. “I feel like I am. Stupid me. What’s the point of bringing this up right now anyway?” I shook my head.

“Well, I think that you’re a liar. You keep talking about Laura. Even in your sleep you say her name. How can you say you love me, then?”

“Because” I said. “Because…”

I turned to look at her face; to look at her clear, emerald-green eyes, but she was gone.

I must have become so senseless. I didn’t even notice her leave. I felt like she had left me forever this time. It was true, I had loved Laura, but she had left me, and just so Amanda had too. That’s when I noticed my phone where Amanda had been sitting. She must have left it behind as she left me forever.

I picked it up and tried to call her.

The line clicked.

“Hello,” a sleepy voice said.

“Hey,” I said, and then immediately recognised her voice. I was in fact trying to call Amanda, but instead, I must have called Laura in my delirium. Maybe Amanda was right about my obsession with Laura.

“Um, hey,” I said again, “I’m really sorry I called you this late. I was trying to call someone else – but don’t go away yet. Can you talk for a bit?”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said, and I felt a warmth spreading in my heart. I could talk to her one last time, at least. I was relieved.

“Well, how have you been?”

“I’m…” she paused, “I’m getting well you know.”

An icy chill rushed down my spine. Getting well you know…

I dropped my phone in my surprise. I tried to get pick it up, but it had sunk into the ground. I could only see the top of it like a drawing on the floor. I tried to use my nails to pry it out, but it was pointless.

Laura’s words echoed in my mind, tormenting me. I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

I’m… I’m getting well you know…

Stop. Stop. Stop it! I screamed. The voice stopped. Stop it, I said once again. I didn’t want to hear it anymore.

Laura had died six months ago of a drug overdose. A young, innocent, hard-working, straight edged girl, within months, dead of an overdose.

The memory of her lifeless body came back to my mind. Her body was just as calm as always. Not one wasted movement. That was Laura. Her skin smelled like warm, tropical flowers and I used to rub against it and explore it like a thirsty bee. Now she lay shrouded in her usual silence. She looked like she was simply resting in her grave. Her breasts were large and well-shaped in contrast to Amanda’s, and she had a full, motherly body, a little puppy fat, a few imperfections, and no tattoos. I could still recall, with clarity, the taste of her skin.

“Hey girl,” I had said “Wake up.” And she never did. My girl. She was gone.

It felt strange at the time. Like it was a dream. Sometimes I would forget that she was gone in the morning and call her name so she would come back to me in bed and cuddle for a bit. And instead of her warm, soft body, I would feel the intense wave of guilt answer my call.

Everything that happened henceforth, and a lot did happen, is foggy to my memory.

The shadows emerged from the walls, and I was talking to them. I became friends with the spiders, and like in charlotte’s web, I met their tiny, floaty little children. At one point, my mom was there, and we had some sort silly disagreement about a political issue.

A TV reporter in the corner was reading out a weather report, “…very closely right now. A massive earthquake off the west coast triggering a tsunami warning for Hawaii. LXXXX XXXX from our ABC affiliates in Hawaii, reports.”

“…the situation here in Hawaii earlier this evening. The civil defence calling for an evacuation of all low-lying areas because of a tsunami threatening our area, that generated by the 7.7 earthquake in Canada. We are expecting waves of up to, um, three to six to seven feet. Haven’t seen it materialise yet, but we are seeing some of those tsunami waves coming in at a couple of feet or so. Still a fairly serious situation out here with what might happen…”

Frank stopped by, and so did Cody. Rachel called me up on the phone because she couldn’t make it there in time. It seemed like they were all aware of my approaching death, and I was glad to be able to talk to them one last time.

At some point I lay down on the ground out of exhaustion and closed my eyes for the last time. When I opened them again, Laura was lying beside me. Daylight was streaming in. She said nothing. I peered into her deep brown eyes for a long time. I tried to memorise her features. Her long, wavy hair. Her nose. The curl of her lips. Her glowing smile… her smile was glowing. That’s when I realised. I had felt like she was pregnant with my child. I had strongly suspected it. I had seen her manner change in her final days. I wanted to help her out of the pit I had unknowingly led her into, but it was already too late.

I could feel my soul crumble. My insides writhed. My eyes grew hazy with tears. I knew it. I knew it. I just didn’t want to face it, but I had always known it…

And then I died.

*

A long, loud car-horn woke me up. It’s anger very evidently penetrated the air to reach me, after all, it was meant for me. I knew it instantly.

I hadn’t died during the night. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t going to.

When I opened my eyes, it was bright outside. I could not see the sun, but there was plenty of light around me. I used my elbows, with difficulty, to prop myself up. The puddle of stomach sludge was still where I had birthed it during the night. There were no bugs in it, just remnants of gel capsules. Pink gel caps. Benadryl. I could see six. I counted. The rest had probably been absorbed by my body.

My legs felt jittery. I couldn’t move my arms correctly. It felt like the place my arms actually were, and where my body thought they were was different. My arm always either overshot, or undershot.

I heard Sophia yell my name. I felt afraid of her because of how angry she sounded. I was covered in the old, familiar dust. Some distance away lay the hopelessly strewn open water bottle and a black liquid had spilled out. It smelled like rum. I turned around and gathered my things. The condoms. The pills. The torch. From the other bottle I took a sip without considering what may have been inside it because I was so thirsty. Thankfully, it was water. My phone was not around. I probably never had it.

Even though I knew that none of it had taken place, the memories from last night felt one hundred percent real. I had lived through it all. Through the horror or dying painfully because parasitic beetles in my stomach. Through the hallucinations, through the final conversations with all my friends, through the impossible sense of disgust, through the primal fear and the pain… through it all.

I collected the things and stuffed them into a bag. In the corner there as another puddle with the unmistakable yellow colour and the smell of urine. I did not remember pissing in the corner, but thankfully I had the sense to go to the corner to relieve myself rather than pissing my pants.

I cloddishly stood up and turned around as the door opened. Sophia breathed a sigh of relief, and then she yelled at me for a long time. She was scarier to me than my own mother. And my mother is the scariest person I have ever known.

“What the FUCKING FUCK were you two lovebirds thinking?” she yelled, “AMANDA had a FUCKING SEIZURE! A FUCKING SEIZURE BECAUSE OF THIS! I knew you both were acting weird as fuck when I was driving you here. I knew it, but I thought you guys were just high on grass or something. You know, we did that as kids too, and that’s what I thought it was. Then I FUCKING FIND OUT that you both were SHIT HIGH ON KETAMINE, and had taken a ton of BENADRYL after that so you won’t remember that you took it by the time it kicked in.”

Yep, that sounded like us, I thought.

“Then you both had made me drive out all the way here. KETAMINE?! I have never even touched that shit in my life! And Benadryl? I DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! Why would anyone even do this? And look at you! You look fucking dead. You both stepped out of the car, and immediately after that Amanda collapsed and began to have a seizure, and while I was trying to take care of her you had fucking disappeared somewhere. I had to take her to the emergency room. I was so worried. My God. My entire YEAR’S WORTH of SAVINGS, all gone in a single night. Thanks. Glad to have had you visit. Thank fucking god. But I’m not even angry about that. I’m just confused. Who does this? Who?”

Sophia paused to take a breath.

“When she came-to I asked her what the fuck she was thinking, and she said that you both were going to get shit high and delirious here, and then you were gonna fuck each other. I don’t even – UGHHHHH! Like do what you want, fuck all you want to but like what?!”

I could understand her exasperation, so I offered no explanation. There was no valid excuse.

“Is.. is she…” I managed to speak.

She softened. “Yeah, she’s fine. But I was so worried. Oh god.” She massaged her forehead. “This entire night… it has been a nightmare for me.” she said.

I nodded. It had been the same for me. “I’m sorry.” I said.

Sophia just shook her head several times. Apology not accepted. You need to think about what you did first.

We got into the car in silence, and she began to drive.

I buried my head in my hands. My body was tired; my brain exhausted.

“You’ll be fine,” she said and rubbed my shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s get you washed up and we can go see Amanda.”

“Why are you guys like this?” she asked me after a while of silently driving. She was asking me earnestly, without any hint of ridicule or a taunt.

“Well… I.” I began. “Amanda… She keeps me. Everything she does, it kind of keeps me occupied. She protects me from my thoughts. She keeps me distracted. I feel like I have really fallen in love with her now, after spending so much time with her for just the kind of person she is. And I just don’t want to ever be left alone with my thoughts anymore. She gets me, I get her. We both are the same. Before I met her, I had resolved to end my life. And then she made me forget about it.”

Sophia was silent. She asked softly, after some time, “What thoughts?”

“Laura,” I said. “I was always so pushy with her. I was always indulging her. I wanted her to ‘Enjoy Life’, you know, ‘to get a taste of real life’ – even I don’t know what that means – but I would encourage her to get high, and we would get drunk and have fun… she was so innocent. I ruined her. I always felt like there was something inside her. Something that she was hiding from me. She never ever opened up to me, even in our entire time together. She was an enigma. I felt like having some fun would solve her problems. She trusted me, and I was an idiot. It only made things worse for her. She retreated deeper into herself, and before even knew it, the silent, cheerful girl was gone. I loved her, and I had done this to her. And just like that she was gone.” My voice had grown weary. I wiped my silent tears.

Sophia stole a glance at me and looked back at the road, saying nothing.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the pregnancy. I couldn’t think of it myself. I wanted to jump out of the running car and die by getting run over by a truck. I had made my final decision. I unclipped my seat belt.

Sophia saw me do it, but she remained silent. I was toying with my fingers.

She looked at me again. “U’m…” she began. “You know I do interior design, right?”

I nodded. I didn’t know why she was bringing that up.

“And the thing is that most of my clients are middle class people, and they’ve got a very rigid perspective towards spending money – and spending money on appliances in their home is a big no-no. I mean they’re really silly about it. They don’t understand how big a difference is between good and bad appliances. The good ones may not cost much more to build from a manufacturing perspective, but the thing is that these companies will add a premium on top of that and make things all the more expensive – but if you’ve ever seen the stats, the good appliances despite the heavy premiums last a looooot longer. And these people don’t get it, which is why I have to tell them something that’s very important: “think very carefully about the decisions you will make because they will stick to you”

She looked me in the eye.

I looked at her with a sideways glance.

I didn’t reclip my seatbelt on our way back. But I didn’t jump out either.

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