Written by James Wylder, Illustrated by Annie Zhu Note: The audio version of this chapter is slightly delayed. Apologies. -Jim This chapter is also available as an audio podcast from the Southgate Media Group. http://www.southgatemediagroup.com/10000dawnspodcast You can also subscribe to the podcast version on iTunes and your RSS feed easily from libsyn: http://10thousanddawns.libsyn.com/ Chapter 8: Feline InhibitionsIts Undoubtable, I love my Cat
Topic: What is Most Important to You? (Be Creative!) Graelie Scythes Mrs. Andropov's Class Language Arts Age 9 Grade: A- Teacher's note: Graelie, please stay on topic. While I understand your therapist is encouraging you to be more expressive of your feelings, next time try not to go off on so many tangents. “The only escape from the miseries of life are music and cats.” -Albert Schweitzer No one wanted me to have a cat, not my mother, or my father. But after the incident, my therapist made them. Indubitably, this was not the finest of circumstances for me to receive a cat, but nevertheless, I received one. His name is Mr. Sprinkles, which was also not what anyone wanted me to name him. My mother said I should name him after someone heroic and respectable, like Vladimir Putin, or Ayn Rand, or Josef Stalin. My father stayed silent on the matter. But I did not budge. I wanted my cat to be my cat. I love my cat. He is very fuzzy, and purrs when he sits on my lap. His jaws have been tempered by evolution to make him a natural predator, and his teeth are like needles. His claws have a natural retraction function, so they become nearly invisible beneath his fur. His body structure enables him to control his weight when falling to allow minimal damage to his structure when falling. He likes to listen to Mozart with me! He likes to eat fish! He is a carnivore, and has long whiskers. He is my best friend and I love him very much. Some people say that cats are only looking out for themselves, and this makes them unkind. This is a lie, and lying is bad, unless you are lying to someone for their own good. Like if they are going to put their hand on a hot stove and you said, “don't put your hand on that stove!” and they said, “No that stove is not hot I do not believe you, uninformed child,” and so you said, “That stove is very dirty I cooked raw meat on it and used it as a cutting board and if you put your hand on it you will catch an easily preventable illness.” so they would stop, that would be okay. But lying about cats not being nice is bad. Cats look after themselves, which is a kindness. If more people would look after themselves, the world would be a better place after all. Mother always says that I can't count on anyone except myself, and if I leech off other people and don't do what I'm supposed to, I will be not only a burden on society, but be betraying my own potential. I do not want to betray my own potential, and I am scared of that. I am very scared I will amount to nothing. I am already nine years old and I have not made any significant scientific breakthroughs. I can already tell I am a failure. Mr. Sprinkles does not care that I am not living up to my potential however. He always comes and rubs on my leg when I get home from school. I have started wearing more skirts so I can feel his fur on my calves for just this reason. He is the only person who doesn't judge me. I love my cat. * * * * * Graelyn waited for the elevator to finish rising, and stepped into a dark hallway. The light flickered for a second, and then failed. “I'm sorry Director Scythes, we appear-pear-pear to b-b-be having technical difficulties.” “Its alright.” Graelyn said, and pulled out her small tablet computer from her pocket. The screen was still repairing itself, but it seemed to be working enough to use as a flashlight. She shone it around, and took in the luxurious hall. The carpet was so thick and lush you could fall asleep on it, the walls had gold leaf in the artworks, and the lights were all dead. As she waved the light around, she saw a hand raise in front of a set of eyes in the shadows. She took a step back. “Director Scythes?” A trembling voice asked. “Who's there?” She someone get up and edge closer to her. It was a girl, about her own age, her hair in neat cornrows, her dark skin still wet under the eyes from crying. She was wearing fairly similar business clothes to Graelyn, except she had a better eye for style and could manage heels better. “I'm, uh, the new intern. I've been with you since last tuesday, Director.” The girl stopped, she looked scared. “What's wrong?” Graelyn looked behind her, as though a swarm of revolutionaries was creeping up. “Nothing miss. I just, uh, you look so much younger.” “Long story.” Graelyn fudged, “How long have you been waiting here?” “Since the bombs started falling.” Graelyn nodded, she wasn't sure what that meant, but she knew it had to have been a long time. “You don't have to stay here you know, you can leave.” The intern shook her head. “I don't know where to go, Director. They've been executing collaborators.” That was certainly true. “Come with me then.” The intern nodded, “I'm just going into my room.” This lie was strange to keep up, playing a boss of someone who was in reality her peer. She found being in charge like desert, however. “If its all the same to you Director, could I wait out here?” Graelyn raised an eyebrow, but she didn't really care. “Alright, wait out here then. I'll be back out in a bit.” Graelyn turned, trying to pretend she was a figure in authority and not an intern herself. Walking along the wall she counted room numbers till she found the one she was looking for: 41-17: Director Graelyn Scythes. Her hair bristled. She could feel an electric rush move through her. Her hand reached towards the panel on the door, and quivered in the air in front of it. When she moved it just another centimeter, the door would unlock, and she would be inside her own room, but a totally different her. Older. Accomplished... Dead. She shivered. She was excited, she was terrified. She pressed her palm down on the pad, and the door made a clicking noise. She pressed, and it pushed open into an equally dark apartment. Holding the tablet` out in front of her, she examined the inside: there was quite a lot of scientific equipment she could already tell, not to mention a very nice sound system. The floor was alternately lush and highly practical, with half the room looking like a lab, and the other half like a living room. It looked like there might be some sort of divider on the floor that could rise out of it. Then she heard it. It wasn't a loud noise, in fact it was quite soft, but it was all she needed to hear. Like it was muffled through a pillow, she heard a meow. Graelyn barreled in that direction, tripping over something square in the shadows and wincing, but not stopping. She opened another door to a room filled with all sorts of cat toys and structures: things to climb on and sit in. There was an empty food bowl next to an equally empty water bowl, and a litter box that looked like it was automated. The cat meowed. She ran over to the cage, and fiddled clumsily for the door latch. There, through the aperture, was a different cat. It was white with black splotches. “Of course its not my cat.” She thought, “Wherever I am, that woman in the car said I looked twenty years younger. A guess, but a good time frame. Its unlikely my cat could have survived that long.” The cat moved towards her hand, and began to rub against it. Instinctively, Graelyn began to scratch it behind the ear, and the cat closed its eyes in pleasure. “You poor thing, left alone here. I bet you're hungry.” She picked up the cat, and cradled it against her breast. A little warm bundle, shifting and nuzzling. Graelyn foraged around awkwardly for the catfood, not wanting to set the cat down, but also needing to hold the light to actually see things, which left her having to set the tablet down and pick up over and over to reach for things. Finally she found the catfood, opened the meal, and squeezed it into a bowl. She pulled another dish from the cupboard, and filled it with water. Setting the cat down, she watched it begin to eat, its jaw moving in a perfect rhythm, its neck muscles working to move the food back. She smiled, and reached for its collar, feeling for a tag, which she found. Holding the light to it, she squinted, “Captain Fudgesickle.” Good name, she thought admiringly of herself. She ran her hand along his back. No, this wasn't her cat, but this cat had no one here. A Graelyn had picked him out, had raised him, and that Graelyn was gone. He wasn't Mister Sprinkles, but Captain Fudgesickle was still in need of a home. She would take care of him. The good Captain began to drink some water, and Graelyn continued examining the room. There was a workbench where this Graelyn had been working on some sort of robotic limb... Then she noticed it. There was someone else in the room. Sitting there the whole time, silently. She dropped the tablet, and heard the screen crack again. “Hello.” She said as calmly as she could. “I'm Graelyn, who are you?” Silence. “Why are you here?” Silence. She took a step towards him. It was a man, but she could tell he was... Modified. His skin bore numerous scars from surgeries, and she could see lines under his skin that were the trademarks of biomodifications. He looked at her, and remained silent. “Can you talk?” He shook his head no. “But you can do yes or no?” He nodded. She nodded back. “Well then, are you going to kill me?” He shook his head. “Do you want to?” He nodded. She leaned in closer: there had to be an incredible amount of biomods in this man. The only person she could think of with more was Arch, and he was a pretty ludicrous exception. “Did... Did I do this to you?” He nodded. “Did you volunteer?” He shook his head. “Where did I?” He pointed to a wall, “Show me.” He rose, and walked over to the wall, somehow doing so in a way that was both stilted and fluid. Like a clockwork ballerina. He pressed a button on the wall, and it slid open to reveal a room that was still completely lit. The whole thing was utterly white. An operating table sat in the center of it, and a large tray of surgical instruments sat on a tray next to it. Graelyn looked back at him. “Me? I did this to you? I did this to you.” Her eyes grew wide. She looked back at him. She could feel her body trembling, like there was an earthquake in her heart. He squinted at her, and looked puzzled. “I'm not her. I'm not... It wasn't me. I couldn't do...” She covered her face with her hands, and after a moment peaked out from between her fingers. She looked at the table. She could see herself there, slicing him open, crossing that line she'd felt in the ocean she hadn't wanted to believe she could leap. “Could I?” As she stared at the operating table, the silence was deafened as three calibrated charges went off on the apartment door, and a crack team of Revolutionary commandos entered into the apartment, their guns trained on every living target. “Hello Graelyn” A red haired woman said. “You're under arrest.”
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Written by James Wylder, Illustrated by Annie Zhu This chapter is also available as an audio podcast from the Southgate Media Group. http://www.southgatemediagroup.com/10000dawnspodcast You can also subscribe to the podcast version on iTunes and your RSS feed easily from libsyn: http://10thousanddawns.libsyn.com/ Chapter 7: Viva La ImpactHe tumbled through the air, again. He'd lost count of exactly how many times that had happened today. He'd been lucky to, the rocket hadn't detonated when it hit him for some reason, just kept pushing, and his processors worked faster than his brain in order to let go of the projectile before it detonated of its own accord. He watched the explosion above him as he fell, and even though he was really lucky to have not been killed by the high yield military technology, heard a little voice in the back of his head saying, “well, you survived the missile only to crack like an egg on the ground, so lucky is relative.” He sighed behind the mask, and spread himself out. His body actually could easily take this hit if he took the right precautions. He was made to take hits. He needed to time this perfects though. His internal sensors told him he'd hit terminal velocity, which wasn't good, but it did set clear perimeters for his landing. He neared the ground, a nice big area of tiled concrete, and just before he would hit, activated the weapons in his hands and feet. He pushed the energy out full force, draining the energy cells, and ruining the concrete he was over, which pushed him up enough that he went two feet up in the air, and then dropped back down with a loud 'clunk'. A few feet wasn't so bad.
Standing back up, brushing concrete dust off of himself, he examined his surroundings to see a small group of the fighters in rag tag uniforms with their jaws open, or eyes wide, or both, who appeared to be tying up a smaller group of uniformed soldiers who were equally shocked, their hands on their heads. “Uh, don't mind me.” Arch said inadequately, “I'm uh, just passing through.” He gave them a thumbs up, and tried to casually walk away. “Wait. Um, don't move?” One of the rag tag group said, raising a gun. Arch sighed, again. “Can we not do this please?” “Whose side are you on?” The man yelled back at him. His face was covered in a thin layer of grime from battle, his stubble sticking out from it. “No one's side. I'm really not interested in this fight.” Arch took a few steps away from the group. He just couldn't catch a break. “You're either on the side of the Revolution, or the side of the oppressors, there is no inbetween in a warzone.” “I mean, traditionally don't medical staff—never mind forget it. Look, I don't know what you're standing for. I don't know what your revolution is, I just need to find my friend.” The man did something to the gun, Arch honestly wasn't sure if he was cocking it or taking a safety of, it didn't look like either, but it got the man's point across. “Who's your friend.” “No one you know.” “Civilians have been evacuated from the area.” “Have they? Great. Well she's a curious girl and you know what they say about curiosity.” “It killed the cat.” “It did? Okay, actually I didn't know they said that about curiosity, consider me educated. My point here is—” The man's walkie-talkie buzzed. He answered it. “Really?” He said into it. Then, “Right.” He raised his gun again. “Sir, you're under arrest for interfering in the execution of known criminals. Your safety is guaranteed if you co-operate.” Arch weighed his options: he could definitely take all of these troops. His internal processors had already mapped out how his body would move, how he could disarm each of them in turn. It had laid out different movement plots for killing, disarming, or capturing. But he also knew this was a group who knew his location, and who had vertical take off and landing craft (a vtol for short). In close enough proximity they only hadn't shot him again because of his proximity to their own troops. He needed to make sure Graelyn was okay, but there was more than one way to secure her safely. “Okay, fine, I surrender. But I want to talk to your Commanding Officer. I need to make sure my friend is okay.” “Oh don't worry,” the man replied, “she wants to talk to you to.” Alice MacLeod stepped off the vtol, and handed off the rocket launcher to Xhang the special weapons expert, who was waiting for her to get off the thing. “The rocket's are defective, they probably sabotaged the software remotely since they couldn't get them out of our hands.” Xhang nodded, he looked exhausted, so Alice put a firm hand on his shoulder. “You're doing good work here Xhang, we wouldn't have been able to use any of these if it weren't for you. He smiled a bit, and she kept moving. She had a war to win still. Chantelle approached her from the door to the base, and began talking to her as soon as she was within clear listening distance. “Progress taking the city has been swift ma'am, word that most of the board of Directors are dead caused half their remaining forces to lay down arms all over the world. Unfortunately the other half are pretty entrenched.” Alice wiped her brow with her sleeve as she walked and nodded. “Half if better than I was expecting to be honest. That's great news.” Chantelle nodded, and then ran down some other information that wasn't much of a surprise. Long story short-- they were winning but taking out the fortified enemy positions was going to be tough, especially if she wanted to avoid civilian casualties. She wanted more than anything to avoid civilian casualties. “There is one more thing ma'am,” “Please, just Alice.” “Yes ma'am. The man you shot with the rocket survived the fall.” Alice stopped walking, and turned to fully face Chantelle. “Excuse me? Did you just say he survived a fall out of the upper levels of a skyscraper?” “I'm saying he fell, hit the ground, and then surrendered to some of our soldiers while trying to make some lame jokes. I said you'd want to talk to him.” “Lame is an ablest slur Chantelle. Please don't use it.” “Yes ma'am.” “And call me Alice, please.” “I'll try to remember, Alice.” Archimedes hadn't actually ever been in a jail cell before. The guards weren't quite sure what to make of him. They'd taken his coat, and tried to disarm him, but finding nothing of value in the coat and no way to access his internal systems gave up and gave him back the coat. He found the experience somewhat comforting, actually. Archimedes had grown up in enclosed spaces on the space station Ahnerabe, his room had been smaller than this cell. Everything on Earth had seemed to large when he got there—skyscrapers were towering over him filled with spacious apartments the tenants thought were tiny. There was no roof outdoors, and the sky seemed to go on forever into a heinous blue. He felt overwhelmed sometimes walking around out there, but he had acclimated enough to get through it. No one could see his face anyways. No one could tell when he was uncomfortable, and that was the way he liked it. Sitting there, cramped, he could finally exhale, and if he shut off his visual receptors off, it was nearly home. Nearly. A knock shattered the illusion. “Hey, you've got a visitor.” An invisible voice said through the door. “Let them in.” He responded calmly. “She wants to meet you in a more comfortable location.” Arch looked around the cell, and turned off his microphone as he sighed, before turning it back on. “Well, lead me there then.” They didn't cuff Arch as they walked him down the hall, which showed either kindness or a basic knowledge of his mechabiology, and that he was clearly there because he chose to be. A glimmer of reason gave Arch a nudge of hope. Alice MacLeod had a warm cup of tea, and an expansive view of the jailyard. Alice had been to jail many times, for protesting, for stealing food for her family. She had never been to prison though, and she'd always been in and out of the doors fairly quickly. Bailed out by her dad, or mom, or Jack, or any number of family friends. Standing here on the other side of the wall felt wrong. We've won, she thought. We're the ones running prisons now. Good gods, if we get this wrong we could end up just as bad as the people we overthrew. She sipped her tea with a little less certainty until a knock came at the door. The woman who stepped in wasn't Chantelle, it was a different woman in revolutionary fatigues, one she didn't recognize. “I'm sorry, I was expecting someone else.” She said with as much certainty as she could. “Sorry ma'am.” “Alice.” “Right, well, I asked to bring the prisoner up to you so I could give you the report myself. I'm Maria, I'm from the Central and South American branch.” “Oh, well you've come a long way.” She nodded briefly. “I came to let you know we've brought Director Manuel Salazar here for trial.” Alice lowered her tea and raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me, for trial? Cells were given explicit instruction to execute the Centro Systems Board of Directors upon capture. This is a revolution, not a parking dispute.” “With all do respect, Alice, you don't understand the situation on the continent. Executing Manuel without a trial would have totally destroyed the faith we've managed to instil in our followers there.” Songbird stared back at Maria, her brow furrowed, and then loosened. “Of course. We're far away from there, keeping the revolution together and preventing a civil war is of the utmost importance right now. I hope you also understand the necessity of executing the Centro Directors.” “...The necessity you feel is apparent to us, yes. On that front, you'll be pleased. There are only two survivors.” “Who is the second?” “Ariadne Moore has fled off world, we're not entirely sure, but it looks like she'd made arrangements with a criminal collective on the rim to hole her up.” Alice nodded, it was unfortunate, but not unexpected. Getting all but two of them was, to be fair to herself, more than any one on the World Revolutionary Council had estimated they could realistically catch. Manuel Salazar would be dead soon anyways, his trial would be a magnificent work of theatre, they just had to make sure their theatrics paid off. “Thank you for the report, Maria.” Alice said, putting on a politic smile. “You're welcome. I'm sure people back home will be impressed I met the famous Songbird of Liberation.” She gave a dismissive gesture. “I didn't chose that name, it sounds too grandiose anyways.” Maria nodded, “Anyways, I have a prisoner you wanted to talk to.” Arch had been waiting outside the door patiently with his guards, and had taken to amusing them by showing off different patterns on his carapace, taking off his coat so he could show off as much of it as possible. “Do a lava flow!” a stubbly man said. He complied, and the group of soldiers erupted into shouts of jubilation. “That's amazing man!” A woman said, “Er, you are a man right.” Arch shrugged. “I am most of the time. Not all, but whatever. Not sure there is a word for that.” “Like, Genderfluid?” “Sure. Maybe.” “Waterfall!” Another voice yelled, and Arch laid the pattern over himself, his whole body projecting the image of a rolling waterfall over it. The group erupted again, as the door opened back up. “What exactly is going on here?” The group froze, and fell quickly into line. Arch threw his coat on, and found a hat being shoved on his head as he did so, “Thanks for the show, bro.” The stubbly man said as he did so. “Nothing ma'am.” The woman who'd asked for his gender said. Maria screwed her lips up, and inspected the group. “Alright, prisoner, go on in. Songbird awaits.” Alice tapped the console that was supposed to select music for the suite. The machine was supposed to take voice commands, but was rejecting every one that she tried to tell it. She guessed the thing was only supposed to accept certain people's voices, and after a bit of cussing, she'd found the touch screen she was looking for. She quickly input the correct data, and then stared, unsure of what to put on at first. After some thought, she chose a classical playlist a CEO had uploaded to the system. The sound of strings filled the room, and she rose to her full height just in time for the door to open and the strange metal man from earlier to enter in. “Ah, welcome. Please make yourself comfortable.” The man sat down on a large cushy sofa, and she wondered how exactly he wasn't breaking the thing. “My name is Alice MacLeod, I'm sure by now you've heard of me.” “Not really, I mean, I did a few seconds ago. And you shot me with a rocket. But other than that, no.” He paused, and without a hint of sarcasm asked, “Do people normally shoot strangers with rockets here?” “No.” Alice said. She wasn't sure what else to say, “Who might you be?” “Archimedes Artemis Von Ahnerabe.” He stood up, and made a sweeping bow, including pulling his cap off in a broad sweep before replacing it, “Well, what do you want to know about me? I'm afraid I'm still trying to get myself placed here. He seemed to focus on the music. Even with no facial expressions, she seemed to sense he recognized it. “I have a lot of questions. For one you seem awful cavalier about getting shot at with a rocket.” “It wasn't that bad. I'll gladly answer all of them, though I also have a request.” She pushed her lips out a little. “Sure. Lets start with that.” “I have a friend, a 17 year old girl. I need to make sure she is okay.” “Seventeen years old you say?” Songbird brought up a hologram with a snap of Graelyn running into the room people were getting executed in. Arch had been a half second behind her, and there he was in 3D as well, with Songbird standing there in front of them with a shocked expression. He felt a touch of luck that the hologram was shown after the other person who looked like Graelyn had already disappeared. He didn't want to see the execution again. “See, I think she might get confused for someone else.” “Bring up Graelyn Scythes.” The machine refused to follow her command, and Songbird cursed again before squatting down next to a screen and putting in a command manually. A picture of an older Graelyn came up. She was standing next to a bunch of people in lab coats Arch didn't recognize, clearly positioned as their superior. “This woman you mean?” “See this is kind of what I was worried about.” “Then explain it to me. What is Graelyn Scythes, who I personally executed, doing alive and seventeen years old guarded by a cyborg built by Nojpeten Inc. over twenty years ago, according to your tag.” He tilted his head to the side like a bird. “I wasn't built by Nojpeten Inc.? I was built on Ahnerabe station.” “I've never heard of that.” “Its beside the point I-” The music began to loop, playing the same song again. Songbird looked at the computer like she was going to kick it. “I know this song.” Arch said, “Graelyn played it for me. Mozart's 5th Symphony. I thought I'd recognized it.” “Its beautiful.” Alice said, “Though I'm surprised I've never heard it before.” “I was to.” They sat there, letting the music seep into the room. First it hit their ear drums, because that's where music always looks for first, but then it went into the windows and the birds outside became notes on the staff. It sank into the couch that shouldn't have supported Arch, and it became its strength. “Hold in there,” whispered the bass. The violins flooded the air-ducts, and the flutes made their way in between the folds of the carpet. The room took on the aire of the Symphony, and it became hard to disconnect the two from each other. “This is Graelyn's song then? You're friend's hidden melody?” “I suppose it’s something inside her, yes. Something she can't express but Mozart wrote down as a bunch of notes before any of us were born. Something lucky like that.” Songbird shook her head, and took a seat in a practical faux leather chair. “I'm afraid it’s anything but lucky. You have confirmed your friend is Graelyn Scythes. You have confirmed that this is her favorite song, which I knew already I'm afraid. She paid the Moscow Philharmonic to play it four years ago. And yet, you want me to think your friend is not someone I'm looking for, when I am indeed looking for Graelyn Scythes. Indeed, I thought I'd killed her.” Arch was silent. His face was silent. His body language was absent entirely, and might have been playing hookey. Arch spoke his next words surely. Carefully. Like a cat walking out a skyscraper window. “What if I told you that she was not Graelyn Scythes, but was Graelyn Scythes. That here, where you are, she is not, but she is somewhere else.” “Explain.” She said curtly. “Do you know about the other world's theory?” “That outside our own universe there are other ones, where every other possible existence is happening. Somewhere I lost the Revolution. Somewhere I went to prison. Somewhere humans have discovered aliens by now, or can't creal.” “Wait what, sorry, I know I'm the one who is supposed to be trying to explain stuff right now, but what the heck is creal?” Songbird shifted in her seat. “Uh, you know, crealing? You know...?” She threw her hand out in front of her like she was trying to explain her hands. “Do you have a dictionary or something?” She dismissed that. “How can you not know what crealing is? Haven't you ever done it?” “I've never heard of it before.” “It’s...” She took a moment, “It’s like, when you're going to do something and you want to do it really well, so you push a part of yourself really hard, and then you're focused on it. Your ability to do that one thing grows, and you're better at that one thing for a short time. You know, Creeling.” “So it’s like a biomodification?” Alice looked indignant and shocked. “What? No of course not, every human has had it for as long as humans have been humans. Dolphins have it to, for what it matters. You have it. Graelyn has it.” “Is this like, a recent discovery?” “No! Every human ever has had it. You're messing with me.” She looked angry. “Stop playing with me. I am not here to play games with every little counter-revolutionary who wants have their fun before they meet their end.” Her eyes bore into him. The music changed movements with perfect timing. “Okay well, uh. I'm not playing with you. I'm from another universe. Another reality. Graelyn was part of some experiment to cut a hole into another reality, and it worked. In fact it sort of worked too well, because we're here and we don't have a way back.” “A project to cut through realities? I've never heard of that.” “Well, maybe it didn't work here. Graelyn was working for some guy named John Aril--” Alice looked interested, or puzzled, “Graelyn never worked for Aril. She worked for Manuel Salazar.” Arch pointed, and made a sort-of-snappy sound as he did so. “Ah! See, alternate reality. So she isn't the Graelyn you're looking for, she's a different Graelyn, and you shouldn't kill her, because she is innocent in all this, and so am I.” He tried to make a gesture to show he was done with his speech, and it came out looking like he was going “ta-da!”. “I find this difficult to believe to say the least.” “Why don't you... Crealg about it?” “Creal. And... That isn't how it works.” “See, I have no idea how it does.” “Let me explain something to you, Archimedes. I've been the leader of this revolution since the government jailed my father for treason.” “Is he okay?” “Yes, he was freed last year in the siege of-- I'm getting off track. I've seen Centro Systems do anything within their power to maintain their control over this world. They've killed their own people, they've shot us with drones, they've burned down towns. I would put absolutely nothing past them. The technology to make a person look infinitely younger has existed for a long time now, as has the technology to make clone replicants of a person at any age. Of course, such things are very expensive. But which is easier for me to believe: that your friend is really Graelyn Scythes, and a replicant of her was killed? Or that this version of her is from another dimension? I find it more likely to be the former. Its also possible that your version of Graelyn is a replicant that broke loose and just thinks she is Graelyn Scythes, but we'll be able to tell that when we take her into custody.” Arch leaned in, “So... You're taking her into custody? Not killing on sight?” “You haven't convinced me of your story. But I'm not in the business of killing innocent people. That's what this Revolution was founded to stop. If your friend is really innocent, she will be fine. She'll get a fair trial just like anyone else. “A trial?” Arch rose. “How else do you decide who is innocent and guilty? Do you really think the rest of the World Revolutionary Council would be willing to accept my word she was innocent even if I did believe you? As it is, you're not wanted for any crimes, and while you did attempt to aid an enemy of the state, I don't think you're a danger. After all,” She said standing up, “You helping us is probably the bet way to ensure her guaranteed safety. Because we know where she is.” She walked out the door. Arch watched the door shut. On the back of the door was a poster, bold red with a black outline of Songbird's face. The word's “Follow Her Song.” Were written beneath the image. The still face of Songbird stared back at him. He supposed he didn't have a choice. The music looped again. He stood there silently. The music looped again. He supposed he didn't have a choice. How will Arch's team up with Songbird work out for him? How is Graelyn doing anyways? Why is everyone so mad? Where is the cat!?!? Find out next week, on 10,000 Dawns! Written by James Wylder, Illustrated by Annie Zhu This chapter is also available as an audio podcast from the Southgate Media Group. http://www.southgatemediagroup.com/10000dawnspodcast You can also subscribe to the podcast version on iTunes and your RSS feed easily from libsyn: http://10thousanddawns.libsyn.com/ Chapter 6: Coffee CatKaitlin looked into the darkness of the cage, the all consuming shadow seemed at war with her eyes. “Okay, really no one has changed the bulb in there? It went out at 3 O'clock.”
“Sorry.” Jeff mumbled, rubbing his eyes, “Not exactly my best day ever.” She rolled her eyes at him, useless as ever. “Fine. Whatever.” She'd have to do this herself, again. She went over to the supply maker, and tapped on the screen till the option for the type of bulb in the animal cages came up. Selecting it, the machine went to work printing the light bulb for her, and it popped out onto her waiting palm from the fabricator. It took seconds, the damn thing was horrificly slow. Kaitlin went to the cage, and opened it up, reaching into the ceiling of it, and unplugging the dead bulb before replacing it with the new one. It lit up to reveal a bland looking cat that blinked its eyes as though it had just been awoken from a pleasant nap. “Poor thing, you've been in the dark because Jeff was a big lazy meany.” “Hey!” Jeff yelled from across the room. She reached in and scratched the cat's ear, it closed its eyes and made a soft rumbling purr as she continued. “What's your name pretty cat?” She lifted its tag up to reveal the answer, “Mr. Sprinkles. That's quite the name.” The cat had no discernible reaction to her running dialogue. “I wonder who left you here huh? You're such a pretty cat.” No reaction. “Hopefully someone comes in and adopts you soon. Poor thing. Being alone is the worst thing in the universe.” Graelyn heard herself yell. Maybe there was a word in there, like “No!”, but it could have just been a yell. She couldn't remember regardless. Her eyes were fixed on the point where she had dropped off the side of the building. The rope hung there, swinging gently back and forth like a cradle. The woman with the red hair turned towards her, her eyes open wide, “What on Midgard?” Graelyn took a few steps backwards instinctively. “You're dead.” The woman said to Graelyn, as a very pure statement of fact. Graelyn turned and ran. She realized she'd passed Arch, and that he was now following behind her. “We need to get out of this building.” Arch said. Graelyn nodded, she found she couldn't speak, so she just pointed downwards. “No chance. They probably have this place locked down.” They hit a corner, and rounded it into another room filled with glass where two women with rifles were playing a boardgame. Through the window, another skyscraper could clearly be seen. The sound of footsteps behind them was deafening. “Don't argue. Get on my back.” Arch ordered, and Graelyn complied, as he squatted down, wrapping her arms around his head and her legs around his torso. She was too shocked to really protest regardless, but his plan made sense, sort of. Then again, she felt panic run through her. He was actually going to do this. This was crazy! Then the bullets started. The glass in front of them took several hits, as did a potted plant, and Graelyn heard one ping off of Arch's calf. Then Arch began to move. It was like he'd been unleashed, his legs pumping like pistons, his feet charging forward. The two women began to reach for their rifles. Arch shot forward like a bullet, tearing up the carpet with his charge towards the window-- and smashed through it. Graelyn tucked her head down to avoid the glass, and saw the city underneath her, Arch's feet hanging beneath her like she was looking down into the water from a boat. The buildings and people went by in an instant, and she felt them falling in an arc. She braced herself, and felt the impact hard. They smashed through the next pane of glass, and Arch tumbled onto the floor, Graelyn losing her grip and tumbling off onto the lush carpet. Her heart was pounding like a hammer. She knew the adrenaline was staving off the feeling, but as she held her hands up above her face she could see they were littered with shards of glass. “Graelyn? Graelyn you need to get up!” She felt large metalish hands pulling her into a sitting position, and she realized she didn't have her glasses as he was very blurry. “I don't know what's going on but we have to keep mov-” Arch was cut off by a streak of fire and smoke that caught him in the torso, and pushed him back from Graelyn, out another window, and into the air. The streak then exploded, and she realized it had to be a rocket. Graelyn couldn't make noises, her voice was lost somewhere inside her and it wouldn't come out. She scampered up, and turned around to see the blurry shape of a vertical take off craft, a woman with red hair lowering the barrel of a rocket launcher. Graelyn bolted, her instinct to escape kicking in stronger than she'd ever felt in her life. Was Arch dead? She had no idea. He'd survived the depths of the ocean, maybe he could survive a rocket launcher? She didn't know. She didn't even know where she was going, as her feet took her down an empty hallway to the emergency stairwell where she barreled down it, slamming into the metal railings and probably pushing bits of glass further into her body. Where was the damn cat? What was going on? Was she going to die? She tried to push all these thoughts out of her head, but she couldn't. She just kept running, her lungs were burning at this point, her legs felt like they were going to collapse, but she kept descending the stairwell, floor after floor, till she saw a nondescript door by the wall and shoved it open into an alley filled with trash. She kept running, out the alley, into a street where she could see some Centro company soldiers were exchanging bullets and plasma bolts with some of the Revolutionaries. She ran the opposite way. Okay, so she knew this was a full scale revolution then. She wasn't sure how long she could keep going before she collapsed, she was probably losing a lot of blood wasn't she? That couldn't be good. At that moment, she couldn't go any further. Her legs gave out, and she fell onto the pavement. This time, she got up quickly, but she didn't keep running, her head was woozy. She saw a black car coming through the fray, dodging a flaming barrel and clipping a running soldier from one side or the other. “Hey, Graelyn.” She turned to the voice. She saw the fuzzy shape of a gray hoodie with something yellow on the crest of the hood, shorts... She'd seen that shape before. “Come with me. I can get you out of here.” The shape held out a hand. The car pulled up to the other side of her, and a window rolled down. “Get in. Honestly, darling, you should have flagged me down.” It was a woman's voice, and Graelyn found the candor of her somehow reassuring. She acted on impulse, and ran into the open car door. The car door closed, and the gray hoodied figure lowered its hand. “Well, you are a mess. And great deal younger than I expected. Been getting gene therapy Graelyn?” Graelyn squinted at the shape. It looked like she had big alien bug eyes. “Who are you?” The woman make a slurpy sound, and Graelyn realized she had a gigantic iced coffee. “Ah. Alexis, please fabricate a new pair of glasses for our dear Miss Scythes.” “Of course, Mistress!” A voice said through a speaker, and there was a short buzzing sound, followed by Graelyn feeling a hand place an object in her own palm. She slid the glasses on- they were a perfect prescription. Her injuries were pretty bad, and she was getting blood all over the leather seats. “Alexis, send back the medical kit as well. And make a note to have the car sent to the detailer's if it’s not obliterated in the revolution.” A box shot out of a hole in the wall, and the woman in front of her, who looked like a thin magazine model wearing big shades and a fashionable dress handed Graelyn the box, which she opened to find packets of blue gel. Graelyn picked it up, and looked back at the woman puzzled. “Do you not recognize them?” the woman asked. “I've never seen one before in my life.” The woman looked either confused or disappointed, it was hard to tell. “Just put some of the gel on your injuries. Actually, a lot of it, I'll be realistic.” Graelyn ripped open the packet and began doing that. She felt a tingling on the back of her hands as she applied it, and the glass shards seemed to start dissolving! She stared down in awe. “That's incredible! Are those nanobots?” “Yes, that's right. I'm surprised you don't recognize them.” “Are they common here?” “No dear, you invented them. They cost a fortune.” Graelyn looked down at her hands, which were being stitched up before her eyes. “You'll still need some new blood, but you'll be alright.” The car did a swift turn around a corner, and there was the sound of an explosion outside the window. “Mistress Moore, I'm going to be taking the 54th Street route. It looks like there is a fight down 52nd.” “Of course, Alexis. Use your best judgment.” She sipped more of the coffee, and dug into a bag for a biscotti, which she delicately dipped into her coffee after lifting the lid. “So, the billion credit question is: who exactly are you? Because Graelyn Scythes would never not take credit for that nano-cream. In fact, I daresay her pride is one of her most insufferable aspects.” “My pride is not insufferable!” “My point, precisely.” She smirked smugly at Graelyn, who grumpily pursed her lips as the woman took another bite of her biscotti, seeming to mull something over with every chew. A bomb went off in the distance. “Now, Graelyn has never made a clone of herself. Personally, I believe a properly modified clone is an indispensable asset for women of our caliber. But she never had one made — it’s not in her nature. Yet here you are. Which means I need an explanation.” Graelyn looked out the tinted window. There were a group of fighters behind some rubble shooting at what must have been some sort of tank, before the car zoomed out of view of it all again. “I am Graelyn Scythes. I'm just not in the right place.” She rubbed her temple, “You may find this hard to believe, but I'm from another reality. One where John Aril invented a way to cut into other dimensions.” “No, that makes sense. I'm familiar with the science behind it. I actually put some money into that endeavor, but it never panned out. Besides, Graelyn has never been good enough an actress to pull off the confused and disheveled… thing,” she gave a waggle of her hand in Graelyn’s general direction. “You’re doing, and there’s no one else with the skill or motive to impersonate her so convincingly and come up with such a story. Biscotti?” “Uh, sure.” Graelyn said, and found one of the cookies in her hand, and a small bottle of iced tea rising out of her arm rest. “You said...” Graelyn began, her brain felt like it was sloshing back and forth in her skull and she couldn't seem to find the words in there for a moment, “you said a modified clone?” “It’s a fairly basic principle, you can't have someone just as clever as you mucking about instead of taking your orders. So you pay handsome women and men in designer lab coats to make them more docile. Of course, that golden age is over as far as this planet goes.” The woman tipped her sunglasses down, peering out the window and heaving a sigh before returning to her coffee, which Graelyn noticed was silently stirring itself. “I'm afraid I'm done with Earth. It was getting a bit stale anyway, really not my style. Too stuffy, too many ideologues. Is there a revolution where you come from?” Graelyn couldn't help but think she was taking everything way too well, especially as an aircraft careened into a building in the distance, the explosion left a blinding flash in its wake. This woman didn't even flinch. “How are you so... Reserved?” Graelyn said after the jolt from the plane crash had worked through her system. The woman gave a curt bark of a laugh. “Darling, empires rise and fall, but the truly exceptional keep going. I've had a way off of this planet for years, and I already have some say in the working of the Revolution. Money works wonders, even with Communists as it turns out, so I'll still be able to keep track of things and minimize my asset loss. But as I asked: revolution. Your world. A thing?” “No, not seriously. There are some scattered groups but they're not organized enough to really achieve much.” The woman on the train who'd asked her to join that revolutionary group came back to her, and she could almost feel an alternate life where she'd said yes in her fingertips. She shook her hand as if that could make her forget the sensation. “I'm still surprised you believe me, that I'm from another reality.” “This isn't my first rodeo. Not that I enjoy rodeos, mind you. I always thought Aril might be able to achieve his dream. If there is a reality where everything is possible, then he must have done it somewhere. Just a pity you showed up in this place at such a barbaric time. Speaking of which, there must be another version of you around here somewhere.” Graelyn turned her face away from the woman, “Yes. They executed her.” “Pity. A waste of a good brain. Even if her hubris did border on the intolerable. Ah well, c’est la vie. I'm nearing my stop. You can come with me, or I can let you off somewhere else.” Graelyn turned back to her. “Where are you going?” “To the rim. I own a moon there. A fairly nice one, as it were. You're welcome to join me.” Graelyn felt a flood of feelings: going with this woman, this 'Mistress Moore' would probably be the safest route possible for her. She'd certainly not be on the hit list of a revolution. But two other thoughts left her unable to take the offer up. She didn't know if Arch was alive or dead, and if he was alive, even charred and barely living, she had gotten him into this and needed to get him out of it. Second off, if the version of Aril in this reality hadn't developed the technology to make portals... It could be because Graelyn hadn't interned with him. It was a somewhat narcissistic thought certainly, but she wasn't above thinking it. If that were the case, this Graelyn might still have her cat. Maybe the cat was dead though? It was apparently sometime in the future from her own time, the dead Graelyn had been much older than her. But the two chances were things she could not let go of-- those possibilities took over any certainty of safety, and she shook her head. “No, I'm afraid I can't. I have responsibilities here.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “So soon after you pop into a new reality? You are quick for commitment. Ah well, your loss. Shall I let you off at your apartment? If I know the you from this reality, and I do, there’s bound to be something useful in there. Or at the very least something interesting.” “That sounds acceptable.” The car pulled to a stop. “I knew it would. It’s been real, alternate reality teenage Graelyn. Mind the bombs.” As if on cue, the car door popped open, and promptly slammed behind her as she stepped into the sunlight. As she stared up at the building the car’s window rolled down, and the woman lowered her sunglasses to look at Graylen in the eyes. She hadn't gotten a good look at them before, but they looked off somehow to her, as if eyes here were different somehow. She felt interrogated. “And Graelyn?” “Yes?” “Do take a biscotti for the road.” The woman extended a biscotti to Graelyn with a perfectly manicured hand. She took a hold if it as if she as being handed a baton, and in an instant there was only one hand on the biscotti. The woman raised her sunglasses and the window slid slut. With a screech of rubber the car sped off at top speed, only getting faster, till it made a wide turn into another avenue. The wind kicked at her hair, and Graelyn realized that she was totally alone on the street. Her legs felt a lot more stable, after that blue goo, and she didn't have any trouble walking up to the building, where she put her John Arilhand up to the scanner on the door, and waited for the door to greet her with its pleasant, “Good afternoon, Director Scythes, can I do anything to make your return home more pleasant?” “Yes.” She replied curtly, “I can't remember my room number, could you remind me?” “Of course!” it replied. Graelyn smiled, and stepped through into another life. But what happened to Arch? Is he okay? Who is that red haired woman? Find out next time on 10,000 Dawns! Written by James Wylder, Illustrated by Annie Zhu This chapter is also available as an audio podcast from the Southgate Media Group. http://www.southgatemediagroup.com/10000dawnspodcast You can also subscribe to the podcast version on iTunes and your RSS feed easily from libsyn: http://10thousanddawns.libsyn.com/ Chapter 5: AlternitiesThey spun through nothing. Graelyn felt her eyes take in light and things that weren't light. Her ears rang, and sang, and she heard colors and saw scents. Her dreams seemed to replace her blood, and her vomit was flower petals. The floor vanished and reappeared, and for a moment her feet were on a plane of endless glass with fine sand under it with a single moon in the sky. A man at a desk looked up at her from writing, and set his pen down.
She was then falling, clutching Arch's arm tightly as they dropped through airs filled with birds the size of jetliners with a hundred eyes. And then she dropped again, but this time onto metal. It took her a second to move, to think, to do anything. Eventually, she heard the sound of her own breathing, that calm and saccharine in and out of air, calm trustworthy air. She looked down to see her glasses a blurry shape on a steel floor that seemed to be fading in and out between being red or silvery gray. She tried to pick them up, but ended up collapsing. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and grabbed her glasses, placing them back on her face. The floor was changing color because there was a flashing light. That should have been obvious, but clearly she wasn't entirely cognizant at the moment. Her hands were rough, like shed been rubbing them on sandpaper, and her knees were a bit bloody to. Looking to her right, she saw a railing, and pushed herself up on it. Her legs could hold her up, though they were a bit shaky. Where was Mr. Sprinkles? Was he okay? She tried to shove the cat out of her head, but somehow she couldn't. The distance she was from the cat felt tangible, like she had touched it when she went through the portal. That was silly though, she was clearly not doing well, and there were more important things going on than her cat like... Wait-- where was Arch!?! She looked around, and spotted him a bit further down the corridor she was in (ah, okay, a corridor) trying to pull himself out of a dent in the wall he'd made. As she creeped towards him, he succeeded. “Hey.” She said, raspingly. “You don't look so hot.” “Worry about me later. We're lucky we can breathe. We could have come out anywhere.” That she was in an alternate dimension was not as exciting as she'd hoped. She could be anywhere, the people here could be nothing like those she knew, or not even people all together. That she was breathing and the corridor was built with handrails seemed to be a good sign though. Still, she was in another reality. The thought was awe inspiring, and she only wished she was more capable of enjoying it. “Any idea where we are?” Graelyn shook her head, and kept walking down the corridor, till she reached a sign that she stared at for quite a bit of time. “All Anubis Corp. Employees must make sure they are wearing proper protective gear before entering this area.” Graelyn staggered forward a bit more, and saw there was a door next to it. She really was struggling. “Anubis Corp. Its possible this means we're... In... Sorry I need to catch my breath... A universe where John Aril also exists and is also doing things like he was in our reality. At least probably.” Arch reached out, and supported her. “You got through all that pretty well it looks like.” “I'm pretty durable.” “Built Ford Tough.” “What?” “Forget it.” The hallway didn't seem to seem to lead anywhere they could get through, locked and sealed doors, so they returned to the door with the sign telling them they needed protective gear. “Want me to go first?” Arch asked as Graelyn stood wobbly in front of it. “Utterly.” She pressed the button by the door, and a hand print scan appeared. Throwing caution to the wind, she placed her hand on it. The scanner took longer than those things normally did, but finally responded in a cheerful voice: “Welcome Director Scythes!” “Director?!?” “You must be a big shot in this reality.” “We must have arrived in the future of it. No way I'd be a Director at 17.” She neglected to mention that being a director wasn't a surprise at all, just that the technology also could make portals through time. She hadn't anticipated it being able to do that, which meant that she had a lot of recalculating to do. The door slid open. Graelyn and Arch saw a vast platform, stretching out into a beautiful view of the stars. Corpses littered the platform, strange corpses, some human, some... Decidedly not. There was a glowing light at the platform's end, and it seemed to be spiraling out of control. It reminded Graelyn of the light from the portal. Standing not very far in front of them was an older man, not elderly, but his hair had lost his color. Vapor trailed up from his eCig. “...Mr. Aril?” The man turned, and looked her up and down. “Miss Scythes. You're looking Twenty years younger. I'm impressed.” Graelyn followed the handrails, staggering as the enter structure shook. “Where are we Mr. Aril?” “This is my great creation, a machine that can draw in anything I want from any reality. Unfortunately some people weren't as keen on it as me, and its going to explode. Maybe implode. Honestly it will be educational to find out which.” Arch walked ahead of them both, and looked at one of the corpses. It was a Korean man in a suit with mechanical parts interspersed all over him, his head lilting in Arch's grasp. “So it worked, we latched onto your portal.” Graelyn almost sounded proud. Aril looked at her, and puffed again at his eCig. “Really. I'm impressed. I wasn't expecting any stowaways on my project.” Graelyn smiled, not realizing there was some blood in between her teeth. “Doesn't look like it was an easy journey for you.” “Doesn't look like your facility is going to last the night.” “Its not night, this is a spacestation.” That made sense. “Oh.” “But no, its not. I'll need to be getting off here soon-” He was cut off by a rush of metal that threw him and Graelyn against the walls. The dark Arch ran toward Arch, swords out. The two collided with the sound of a car crash-- swords jabbing and gnashing lightning fast at each other. Graelyn turned to see if Aril was alright, only to see him running far off into the distance. Graelyn got up, and ran toward the fury. She needed to save Arch, not that she really knew anything about him, but he was the only familiar thing here and that meant something. Looking at the corpses, she saw something she'd recognized from research, and picked it up. It was heavy, and she could turn it, but she managed to turn it so she could access the selection screen, and point it in the general direction of the two Arches, tapping on the screen on the dark Arch over and over, who was going in for a blow at Arch's belly. The machine began to whirr, and then activated a powerful electromagnet and gravity distorter. Dark Arch looked at her for a moment, feeling a tugging and then flew back towards the wall smashing through it like a cannonball. Graelyn ran towards Arch, who looked impressed, taking his hand again and pulling him towards the violent blue swirl. The dark Arch began to crawl out of the crumpled hole it was burrowed in. How much damage could he take? She and arch ran. Hard. Behind her, she thought she saw a person in a strange gray sweatshirt, but she had to still be groggy. The dark arch lurched forward. “You can't seriously be thinking we go into another one of these.” “Name another plan.” She tugged, he relented, and the two jumped into the blue swirl. She could see a face as she dived in, a red haired woman. She didn't recognize her at all. This time was worse. Her legs felt like they were being torn apart. Her eyes rolled back so far in her head they ached. Her senses blurred. She felt sick. She landed in a pile of rubble that used to be a wall, looking into a bathroom. She worked herself back to her feet, checking Arch was still beside her (he was). She worked forward again, towards some voices coming from the end of the hallway. Loud clear voices, she recognized one but couldn't quite make it out. Working her way out an open doorway, she greeted the sight of other humans welcomingly for half a second, before the reality of the scene set in. She was high up in a skyscraper, and there were men and women there with guns. They were wearing sort-of-uniforms with matching patches that said “WRC”, like they were some sort of rag tag resistance. The wall in front of her was all glass, and she could see the Skyline clearly. She was fairly certain this was New York City. One of the people with guns was clearly in charge, a red-head with a beautiful round face and sharp chin, her hair short and practical. There were people lined up in front of the glass windows who were not armed. They were wearing suits. Many were sweating. There were nooses around their necks. Her eyes focused in on one in particular. A woman wearing a blue blazer, a blue skirt, a white blouse, and a black tie. Her lapel had a pin on it of a cat. She wore glasses over the small lines on her face, she was probably in her mid thirties. The red-head spoke, and listed off a lot of names, but really Graelyn phased most of them out as she stared at the woman in front of her. “...John Aril, Vivian Marvel, and Graelyn Scythes, you are hereby sentenced to death by the World Revolutionary Council. May the gods have mercy on your souls.” Graelyn rushed forward, towards herself, as the men and women with guns each kicked a member of the lined up people with suits through a glass pane. She met her own gaze for just a moment. She could see her pupil's grow wide. Graelyn watched herself fall out the window, the rope going taut as she disappeared out of view. This bonus episode of 10,000 Dawns is brought to you by a charity marathon. Readers suggested and then voted on ideas for a spinoff Story for 10kd to raise money for Ben, a 10 year old boy in Elgin Illinois who is fighting hard against brain cancer. If you enjoy this story, PLEASE DONATE! http://www.gofundme.com/bensvillage You can now listen to this story as a podcast! http://10thousanddawns.libsyn.com/the-adventures-of-mister-sprinkles-the-cat 10,000 Dawns Bonus: The Adventures of Mister Sprinkles the CatMister Sprinkles, to be absolutely clear, was an ordinary cat. While many people suspected that he was something more than that, he was in fact just that. A gray lump of fur and purrs, or sometimes mews and hisses. But from the moment he sat away from the other cats to look out the window of his enclosure and met the eyes of a young girl named Graelyn scythes, Mister Sprinkles was destined for greater things. She'd picked up his fuzzy body and held him all the way home, in awe of how soft and warm he was. They'd grown up together, and he could rely on her for food and shelter pretty reliably, until the day she disappeared.
It had happened before, getting dropped off at a place that housed other pets, but then it was usually only for a few days. Maybe a week. So at first Mr. Sprinkles just closed his eyes and waited. But those days went by, and Graelyn did not come back. Where had she gone? He paced his enclosure, eying the man outside it, who looked like he was about to fall asleep, which didn't take long, and the man slumped over in his chair, and hit the enclosure release icons for enclosures 23-25. 24 was empty, but Mr. Sprinkles saw a pudgy orange cat shove its door open and drop onto the floor. It gave the impression this wasn't the first time this had happened. Mr. Sprinkles pushed at his own door, and suddenly he was free! He literally leaped at the opportunity, and landed gracefully on the ground, strolling off through the rest of the building till he reached the automatic doors, that politely made way for him. Mr. Sprinkles was out on the town. Jenna looked horrified at what Carl had built. “That could kill people Carl.” “That's the point Jenna.” “Innocent people.” “How else are we supposed to wake them up?” Carl threw his arms out wide, like this was the most obvious point imaginable. Jenna crossed hers. “We wake them up to the evils of Earth's regime by showing them a better way, not obliterating them. Really, why do you think blowing people up would change their minds for the better Carl? Give me one good reason.” He leaned in, his face getting redder, “They need something drastic, something terrifying that disrupts their everyday routine to-- why is there a cat in here?” Mister Sprinkles had started his stroll through the city doing the normal things: looking at birds and halfheartedly trying to catch them, climbing things he shouldn't, and then smelled a delicious fish scent, which appeared to be a sandwich over on the counter, coming from an open window. He'd climbed up, and now the sandwich was within his grasp. “Loud noises!” The man said to Mister Sprinkles, or rather, “Get down from there!” “Meow!” said Mister sprinkles, which loosely translates as “I don't know what you're saying but there's no need to shout.” There were two humans in the room, each of them with distinctive red markings on their jackets, and a glowing hologram on the table between them. Mr. Sprinkles stopped to watch the pretty image. The man got up and darted towards him, so Mister Sprinkles bolted past him, and hopped up first onto the man's chair via a box, and then onto the table. “Loud noises!” the man said again. “LOUDER NOISES!” said the woman. “Meow.” Mister Sprinkles replied, confounded. On the table were several pretty glass vials full of fluids. Mister Sprinkles held his paw up at one, and thought about knocking it off the table. That would be fun. “Softer noises...” Said the man. “Softer noises? Soooooofter noises.” He continued. Mr. Sprinkles knocked the vial off the table. “LOUDEST NOISES” Said the man, and grabbed for him. He lept off the table, and landed on an object that then began to move! Scrambling, Mister Sprinkles held on as the object rose to two legs, and made noises at the other humans. He was on this metal thing's head, holding on by only his claws! This was not Carl's day. The vial that had fallen to the floor and shattered was now eating through it, the millions of microscopic robots chewing away at the floor. Eventually, they would eat him and Jenna to, and the dumb cat, as well as all of the other matter in the area, and rearrange it all to spell some Revolutionary message that had seemed a lot more important a few minutes ago then it did now. The cat was on his cleaning droid scrambling to keep ahold of it, and making lots of cat noises. “This is all your fault Carl. We're all going to die because you wanted to try out terrorism.” “I did not want to try out terrorism!” “MROOW!” Said the cat as the cleaning droid tried to pull it off of its head. “See, even the cat agrees.” Jenna scoffed. Mr. Sprinkles was thrown from the Droid's head, and landed on the counter. There sat the precious sandwich, smelling of tuna and preservatives, just the way Mister Sprinkles liked it. The floor by the counter was rapidly disappearing, and he had to run fast to grab the sandwich, which was luckily in some sort of wrapper so the insides didn't fall out. Success! Leaping from the counter, he landed on a shelf, and then leaped to the windowsill, where he carried his sandwich out. The cries of the human's stopped him. Sure, he had a delicious sandwich, made of the finest in scraps of preprocessed meat slathered in sauce to make it palatable, but he was a Cat of principles. Running along the street, Mister Sprinkles hustled in front of a couple. “MROW!” He said, and tried to gesture with his body. “MRROOOW!” He repeated. “What's this cat doing man?” “I dunno bro.” The other replied. The Cat kept taking a few steps and turning to meow at them, and they proceeded to folllow it. Then they heard the cries from inside the building. Immediately the two men went to work, and Phil and Tre'von, if you were wondering, and called emergency services. “You've got to get us out of here!” Jenna yelled to Phil and Tre, and they noticed the cat was tugging on some rope just inside the window sill. “Great!” Tre grabbed the rope, which the held onto for slightly too long, and threw it to Jenna, who began to climb it up, being careful to not touch the eroding building. Phil had run inside to pull the fire alarm, and people were streaming out of it now. “Carl take the rope!” Jenna said as she was pulled up through the windowsill by Tre. She threw it to him, and then he looked out at the people in the building streaming out. There were families, children with their parents, young people just trying to find a place to live. And here he was building weapons in the basement. A little girl clutched her pet goldfish to her chest, hastily scooped out of the aquarium into a drinking glass. Carl let go of the rope and stared into Jenna's eyes. “I'm sorry.” He said. She turned away as the nanites ate him away. In a little over 23 minutes, the entire building had been turned into mush, and then restructured into a quote by Vladimir Lenin in big chunky letters you could read from blocks away. “You cannot make a revolution in white gloves.” -Vladimir Lenin Jenna screwed her face up. “Well, maybe you should at least try.” The news drones had showed up, followed by the reporters. And Tre and Phil found themselves being interviewed. “Yeah this cat stopped us on the street, without it all those people would have died. That cat sure is a hero.” “Where is this cat now?” The reporter asked, hoping to get the chance to put cute cat pictures on her newscast since it would boost the ratings. “He disappeared just as quickly as he came. A really humble cat.” The reporter turned to the hovering camera drone. “We may never know the identity of this cat, but it will long be remembered as a hero in this neighborhood.” Nearby on the ground, the sandwich was gone. Mister Sprinkles made his way back into the animal shelter, and hopped up onto the sleeping man's table, and into his enclosure. He had been carrying the paper wrapped sandwich all this way, and now it was time for his reward. It took some ripping, but he got it free and began to guzzle down the delicious food. Far better than the healthy stuff they served him there, not that he actually knew anything about their nutritional value. Still, he wondered why those people had lived in a house with a collapsing floor, that was funny. And how was his owner doing? He returned to his meal, finishing it before the sleeping man awakened. “Oh crap.” He said, noticing the open cages as he spring awake. “Wow good thing none of you got out!” He lightly laughed to himself, “That could have caused some real problems!” Deep underwater, beneath the Atlantic Ocean, Graelyn Scythes got ready for bed, she put on her PJ's, and slipped into her covers, putting her glasses on her bedside table. “Lights off” she ordered, and they turned off. She sat there in silence, her eyes closed, pretending to sleep, and then pulled out her phone, and pulled up the album of pictures of her old cat. Her heart felt a pang as she remembered giving him up for adoption to get this internship, but she knew she had to. Right? In the pictures she cuddled him lovingly, and he looked slightly annoyed to be held. She smiled. “Oh Mister Sprinkles. I hope you get some fish today. Every good cat deserves some fish.” She scrolled through the pictures again and put her phone away to slip away into dreams, as Mister Sprinkles did up on the surface. She was a Doctor in her dream, stethoscope and all. “I need a nurse to help me with this patient!” She yelled down the hospital hallway. For some reason Mister Sprinkles, in cat size scrubs arrived and talked like he was Zorro. “I have come to assist you Doctor Scythes. I just stopped an act of terrorism today you kno.” She reached out to the cat, and they joined together to treat her imaginary patient. “Best team in the universe.” She told him. Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe it was something more, but that night in his enclosure, Mister Sprinkles had the same dream. |
James Wylder
Poet, Playwright, Game Designer, Writer, Freelancer for hire. Archives
October 2023
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