15 Reasons to say goodbye - Reason 8: Race for Justice

     When last we left our intrepid adventurers, Professor Rudolph Rander and Grad Student Melissa Majors were in the midst of fleeing from the scene of a crime. The crime in question being the accidental murder of Melissa's friend and fellow Grad Student, Jacob Erskine. (The fact that Jacob had been, mere moments before, determined to kill them both at the behest of a shadowy group whose intentions and motives mirrored their origins, that is to say....unknown, failed to register in their minds as legitimate justification for self-preservation.)
     In their rush to escape, they stumbled across the aftermath of Miles Chamberlain's encounter with a mysterious homeless man, and the contents of his flask. Forty feet of broken asphalt, buildings, and people lay strewn across their escape route. The blame for this distraction falling both literally and figuratively at Miles' feet.
     Now, the trio flee together across the empty highways, headed west.





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"Tell me again Miles, from the beginning, what happened?" Rander's hand gripped the wheel tightly, the tension in his arms mirroring that felt in his heart.

"Aw c'mon man...we've been over this like, a million times..." Miles sunk down in the backseat of Rander's SUV, arms flailing over his head in frustration. "I was out with some friends and got really hammered....woke up face down in the alley, not my finest moment, obviously. Anyway, the bum offers me a sip from his flask and I figured a little hair-o-the dog might be just what I needed." Sitting up in the seat, a frown passes over the young man's face, shadowing his normally sunny features. "That's when everything went weird."

"Yes, that's what you said earlier, but what else can you tell me about the liquid? What did it taste like? What was it? Did the man say anything else to you? Any detail, no matter how seemingly trivial could prove to  be vitally important." Rander studied the sullen and crestfallen young man sitting behind him. His health had improved dramatically once they'd managed to get him away from the city. He was young, and resilient, and would no doubt come to grips with the events of the past few days soon enough. Still, something about him nagged at the back of the professor's brain. Some detail was calling his attention, yet he couldn't understand what that detail might be.

"He just offered me a drink. Said it was good.....then he just laughed." Miles' eyes squeezed shut in an effort to recall the events of the past few days. "He said it was special...that it woke me up."

"Woke you up?" The two men's eyes met in the rearview mirror. The professor was convinced that there was a hidden level of meaning to the old man's words, a hidden weight.

"Yeah....woke me up. Why?" Miles leaned forward between the front seats, glancing from Rander to Melissa, and back again.

"Well, it's just an interesting word choice for a homeless man, carrying a flask of magic juice which granted you super powers and resulted in thousands of dollars in property damage. It just seems a little bit too coincidental, or did that thought never occur to you?" Rander winced as he watched the impact his words had on the young man. He hadn't asked for any of this.

Miles slumped sullenly back into his seat, gazing out at the barren landscape speeding past the car window.

"Miles, the professor didn't mean to shout." Melissa shot a pointed glance at Rander. " He's just an asshole and doesn't always remember that people have feelings."

"Melissa is, unfortunately correct. I've been a little out of sorts lately, due to something I've just discovered. No matter how coincidental it may seem, I can't help but think you're somehow connected to all of this, and that we were meant to find you. As a man of science, I hope you understand how painful it is for me to admit that."

"Yeah, Doc. I get it." Turning his dark eyes towards the front seat, Miles lightly punched Rander in the shoulder. "Just don't forget what happened the last time I lost control of my emotions. Don't push me."

"Good point. Why don't we take a break. We could all use a quick stretch of the legs." Pulling off the road onto the dusty shoulder, Rander killed the engine and all three stepped out into the early afternoon sun.

As Rander and Melissa both arched their backs and flexed stiff muscles, Miles studied the heat ripples that shimmered over the long ribbon of blacktop snaking through the desert in an unbroken line in both directions.  Before his eyes, the shimmering air slowed and stopped, forming a static distortion hanging motionless in his field of view. Turning slowly to regard his companions, Miles saw that they too were affected in a similar fashion. No movement of any kind was visible. Not a breath of air, nor a trickle of sweat betrayed the slightest hint of motion. Reminding himself to retain control, he took a tentative step forward. The concentration it took to keep from sprinting across the desert was monumental. Reaching out a trembling hand, Miles took gentle hold of Rander's shoulder, and willed him to move. Like a rubber band, time snapped back into place, and Miles was left standing face to face with the professor, holding his shoulder.

"It happened again didn't it?" Excitement and curiosity settled firmly in place in the professors features.

"Yeah."

"Do you have any idea what triggered it?"

"Nope, we just got out and it happened."

"Stop talking. Listen. Remember every detail. You stepped out of the car. How did you feel? What did you see? Any detail could give us a clue, tell me exactly what you saw."

"I stepped out, saw the heat haze stop waving."

"There....stop right there. Were you staring at it, studying it?" The excitement in the professor's tone was noticeable as he strode quickly forward, he himself staring into the distance as though willing the process to happen for him.

"Well, yeah. I guess, but what..."

"Reaction time, of course." Turning in place, Rander walked back towards the car. "Just like a race car driver's reflexes are heightened during a race, allowing them to make the quick decisions necessary to win the race, when you concentrate on something moving through space, you can physically will it to remain stationary in both space and time. The simplicity of it is brilliant. Instead of speeding your own reactions up, you slow down everything else around you."

Melissa moved towards the manic former educator, trying to calm his frazzled nerves. "Professor, why don't you sit down. You need to rest. I'll drive for a while."

"Yes, you're right....but don't you see what this means? It's clearly connected. It's too coincidental to not be part of the design....for whatever reason, we are following part of a design, a program, and he's the key." The professor's finger jutted out towards Miles' chest.

"Who, me?"

"Yes, Miles. You." Regaining his feet in time with his composure, Rander moved to stand near the youth. "Concentrate on something in the distance. Anything you see that's moving, and when you're ready, move towards it....carefulllllllyyyyyy."

The professor's last word stretched out into a low humming tone, as Miles' eyes settled on a small furry creature several hundred yards off the road. Gingerly placing one foot in front of the other, he moved across the dusty plain, gaining speed as he became more comfortable, swiftly closing the distance to what he soon discovered was a rabbit.

He bent low and touched the side of the animal's face. This was not the wisest decision he could have made at this point, as the accumulated momentum hadn't had time to dissipate, and his touch triggered the renewal of time's passage, sending the rabbit (or at least the upper two-thirds of it) into a low arcing orbit that terminated on the other side of a distant plateau. This would all be pointed out in mind-numbing detail, numerous times to Miles' distinct displeasure later, once he recounted the events to the professor.

For now, the young man fell to his knees in horror at what he had just done, and began to weep, blissfully unaware of what lay behind him. For between his position and the road behind, stretched  a heat scorched path of solid glass beginning at the feet of his two astonished comrades.

15 Reasons to say goodbye - Reason 9: The restoration of my homes

"2,000 years?" I slump against the wall behind me. The shock of my father's words slamming against my brain like thunder. "How is that possible? I remember..."

"The full memory of your time in the simulation will return gradually. It's a lot to assimilate....even for a young god-ling like yourself." My father reaches out a steadying hand, placing it upon my shoulder. His wise grey eyes bore into mine. "Do you have any idea why his men would have forcibly removed you from the program? We've been trying to do the same thing for some time, albeit using less brutal means."

"No, Father, I remain ignorant of their exact motives. Under interrogation, they repeatedly questioned my mission parameters. Clearly they believe I possess some worthwhile intelligence, particularly if they were foolish enough to break into the Celestial City of the Godworlds in an attempt to retrieve it."

"Yes, that little incursion will require further investigation to be sure. For now, you should retire to your quarters and get some rest. Further investigation can wait for the moment.”

With these final words, more of a pronouncement than a request, my Father and mother turned and left me alone in the featureless hall. With my memories swiftly returning, I found my way to my quarters and luxuriated in the first proper cleaning I’d had in two relative millennia, then promptly fell asleep.

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In dreams, I see the world I left behind. I see my wife stirring to wakefulness. I watch as a voyeur, a disembodied spirit, as she searches the house with increasing desperation. Finding my cellphone, wallet and other personal effects left behind, she panics….calling the police.

Tears come unbidden as a lifetime of memories, an eye blink of my existence, flood to the fore. The realization that after two millennia spent among these lower beings….these facsimiles, I had completely assimilated, become one of them, and I was happy for it. 

How had these seemingly insignificant beings achieved so much with their limited potential? How was such a feat possible? 

Even in sleep, the superior mental faculties inherent in my lineage process data at a frightening speed, allowing me the freedom to examine the problem of the lower beings gaining sentience even as I watched events unfold in the other realm. 

A police car pulls into the drive way, and time in my mind’s eye expands and slows. The policemen exiting the vehicle are….wrong, somehow. Static flickers over their generic forms, revealing the true monstrous visage concealed beneath their disguises.

Created to act as simulacra, caretakers of the realm to which the majority of my race had retreated to await the return of the shapers in relative peace, the beings “native” to the lower realms were never intended o gain any form of independence or free will. The fact that at some point they clearly had, and indeed had even begun worshipping members of my race proved that much as the shapers of our own higher reality created us, we had in turn created life anew, and must now act as shepherds for our erstwhile flock.

The hulking, misshapen form of the Orpheus-men strode relentlessly forward towards my former residence. My unsuspecting wife would soon be within their clutches.

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My feet hit the floor before I even recognize the fact that I am once more awake. Covered in a sheen of sweat, heart beating a staccato rhythm within my breast, I burst from my room with the fury of a hurricane, and race for the simulation control room. 

As I enter the dark confines of the control room, my eyes peer into the immense darkened chamber from which I was so recently unceremoniously removed. Row upon row of beings lay upon gleaming metal tables, bodies wrapped in sense-gel blankets to monitor vital functions, as wires and control arms interface and stimulate different areas of the being’s nervous systems.

Espying one such table vacant nearby, I rush to wire myself in. attaching the probes while programming my destination. Slight design modifications made on the fly allow me to enter the simulation with my awareness intact, and fully loaded for combat with higher level beings.

Moments before my insertion is complete, and yet far to late to make a difference, my Father enters the room, his eyes find mine, and my world once more spins out of control.

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Awareness returns in a rush. I am outside my home, a smoking crater surrounds me, evidence of the speed of my return and the damage possible when a higher level being possessed of the full measure of his power walks the lower realms.

Screams echo from within the confines of the house.

A snarl of rage, and the crackle hiss of lightning tinge the air with the scent of ozone. My steps set the ground alight as I take the steps two at a time up onto the porch of my home. I reach out with the merest fraction of my will, bending and cracking the heavy oaken door before me, finally rending it from its frame, a shower of splintered hardwood exploding across the interior of the home. The screams stop as one of two demons masquerading as lawmen walks out of my kitchen. 

“What…”

I end his sentence with a thought, my imagination burning a hole through his frontal lobe, spilling gore and burning brain matter onto the floor. His screams are horrible for the split second that they rend the air. It makes me happy. 

I float over the tile floor, inching my way towards the kitchen, hate and rage fueled energy leaking from my form in great burning tendrils. 

My form alight, I burn through the portal before me, and my eyes give vent to the rage in my heart when I see the form of the bastard standing over the unmoving form of my wife.

I stretch out my arm, and lay a single burning finger across his brow. I feel the skin crackle and burn as it blackens beneath my touch. His scream reaches my ears a moment before his hands reach my throat. Like a wounded beast, he is too far gone to notice the crispy digits peeling back from his wrists as my energy eats away at every shred of vitality possessed within his form. I slow the mad rush of energy, wanting to savor my vengeance. Allowing him time to comprehend his fate.

Too late do I realize my mistake as he releases his disguise and resumes his true form. The renewed power in this form is enough to allow him to strike me, and he wastes no time in doing so. I fly across the room, a burning, snarling engine of destruction to anything in my path. 

“Arrogant whelp. Do you truly believe yours is the only power in this world. Orpheus’ reach far exceeds your grasp.”

With a bound, the bastard leaps through the roof of my home and takes to the air, fleeing my wrath. A whimper forestalls any pursuit, as I realize Karen, my human wife still lives. 

I am now confronted with a far more daunting task than saving these people I have come to love, explaining the truth to my wife.

15 Reasons to say goodbye - Reason 10: Roulette Wheel of Fortune

"The 'brethren hunt'?" The gentleman sharing my cabin on the train looked somewhat taken aback by my tale. "Is that a thing? It sounds like a thing. Like you're some kind a ancient god or sumthin."

"Point one; I am certainly not a god. Point two; yes, I suppose it is a 'thing', in that it's the sole purpose of the brethren to weed out the weak among our line, leaving the strongest in control of the considerable influence and wealth inherent in the position. Point three; your grammar is atrocious." Folding my arms across my chest, I cast a wary eye back towards my companion. "So tell me your tale, since you find mine so incredulous."

"Ok fine, asshole. There I was, walking out a tha Tropicana, when a slot machine says to me....."

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"Hey, buddy, where you goin?"

Naturally, dis seemed a bit odd, and maybe a little disconcertin', since, ya know, slot machines ain't supposed to talk and whatnot. So's I turns to da machine and I says...

"What? "

Now dis may have earned me a few weird looks from the guys playing the machines nearby, but that didn't stop me from walkin' up and gettin' a betta look at what was goin' on.

"I asked where you was headed? I'm about to hit. Figgered I could do you a solid and let you know."

I turned and looked at the faces starin' at me, and reached for the lever. 

"OK. You got me. I don't know who you are or what the gag is, but I'll bite."

I pull the lever and I'm instantly blinded and deafened by the machine's jackpot hullabaloo. The same people that was starin' at me earlier was slappin' me on the back, congratulatin' me on my good fortune.

But I wadn’t hearin’ it. Only voice I could really hear was da machine itself.

"Yeah....not bad buddy. Now how's about you do me a favor and put me outta my misery."

"Misery? You're a slot machine. What misery?" I whispered my question as I scooped up my buckets o’ ducats.

"You kidding? You think this is a good life?" The machine looked at me...like really looked at me, and I could tell it wadn't kiddin'. I backed away, more than a little freaked out by what was happenin'.

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By da way, since we skipped out on da introductions, I'm Manny Dietrich. Nice to meet yous. I been a gambler and a low-life hustler since I was a kid. Like most poor kids growing up in and around a shit-hole like Atlantic City, life on the shady side of the street came easy to me. Lot easier than sittin' in some classroom waistin' time better spent earnin' enough money to eat. But I digress....back to my story.

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I cashed out and stumbled inta th’ night and yelled fer a cab. Wuz fifteen minutes into th’ ride before I realized I was making small talk with the Ford Taurus, and not the taxi driver hisself. 

Back home, and I couldn't get a bit o’ rest. All my appliances and gizmos were suddenly chatty as hell. Imagine experiencin’ the birth, life, and death of lightbulbs. It was constant torture. I had to get out of there as quickly as possible. So a week or so after it started, I went downtown, bought the tickets I needed, and decided to head for the one place dis newfound creepy-ass talent could do me some real good, Las Vegas.

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"And so, here I am, on dis train wit you."

The nerd I'm sitting with in da club car looks at me like I got twelve heads, I can tell he don't believe me.

“What about the slot machine? An itinerant illiterate degenerate you may be, however you don’t seem one to welsh on a debt.”

“Nah, before I skipped town, I made sure to pay one last visit. Accidentally-like spilled my drink into th’ damn thing’s coin slot.

‘Thanks, buddy’ was the last words it ever said.”

"If all you've said is true, are any of the surrounding electrical accoutrements currently communicating with you?" 

Arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to one side, the big nerd was laughin' at me.

"Yeah, matter o' fact they are. Anythin’ with current's been chattin' my ear off ever since I got this stupid power. Most of it’s nonsense...but sometimes....it can be real useful." I'd been ignoring it up 'til now, but the train itself had been screamin' at me for ten minutes, beggin’ for me to help her. It's the first time one o' these things had really seemed scared of somethin'.

I could feel my face whiten as I turned my head to one side, listenin' to what she was tellin' me. "Says she needs help....somethin's wrong....bad wrong."

"Dear boy, what seems to be the problem?" The big guy leaned forward in his seat, actual concern on his big nerd face.

"It's the train. Says somebody's tryin' to derail 'er."

Tha's when the bomb went off.

The train screamed once, then nothin’, life snuffed out like a candle. I flew out of my seat and landed against the big guy. Once the car stopped tumblin’ end over end, I realized somehow, we was still breathin'.

"They've found me." The nerd picks me up and sets me down gentle as a baby. "Are you ok, young man?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. Who's found you?" I rub the back o' my head and stand on shaky legs. Lookin’ around through the dissipatin' smoke. The screams of lost cellphones cryin' out for their owners drownin' out the cries of the humans injured in the crash.

"Brother 7."

"Yeah, what about ‘im? You think he's the one what did this?" I look into his face, and the guy is just gone, lost in some memory I'm glad I ain't privy to.

"Not him....her." He raised his hand, pointin' over my shoulder. I turn to see what he's lookin' at, and sure enough, some dame's walkin’ through the chaos and dead bodies, pretty as you please, like she owns the joint.

"What about her? I thought you said the big, bad ‘Brother 7’ was responsible."

I turn to watch her as she struts her stuff through the wreck. Built like a brick shit-house, she was the kind o' chick big muscle-headed douchbags creamed their pants over, at least six-feet tall and probably two-ten of pure muscle. The skirt gets in real close, and for a second, I think she's gonna kiss the nerd, or hug him or somethin'. Then, outta nowhere she hauls off and knocks the shit outta the guy with an uppercut old Ali'd be jealous of on his best day. Fella goes flying through the air and lands face-first in a heap o' twisted metal.

Turnin' towards me, I felt shivers runnin' down my spine as her cold-ass eyes look right inta my soul. Ignorin’ me, like I'm less than nothin', she keeps walking towards Brother 8.

"Manny, may I introduce you to my sister, Brother 7." The Amazon-lady picks Brother 8 up like he wuz a rag doll, and tosses him back inta the air. He hits hard and slides the last couple a feet towards me.

I kneel down and help him up. "Hey, uh, dude, I don't know if you noticed or not....but your brother's a chick." 

With a look most people save for dealin' with the severely mentally handicapped, he turns his head and says, "You don't say.”

15 Reasons to say goodbye - Reason 11: What's in the Flask?

"This," thought Miles, "sucks!"

The fact that Miles was laying face-down in a pool of (hopefully) his vomit, lent some credence to this observation. He couldn't quite remember how he had ended up in this state, but that was nothing new.

"Uhm, you want a drink?" said a disembodied voice somewhere to his left. It said this through what Miles could only assume was some sort of high powered sound amplification device, wired directly into his brain. That is to say...

"Ouch!" replied Miles....though in point of fact it came out more like..."outhpit...gurgle..." Despite the voice's use of sounds of mass destruction, he decided to slowly amble out of his own filth, and see just how likely he was to want a drink.

Lifting his body on shaky arms, watching the former contents of his stomach dripping back down onto the pavement beneath him, Miles thought a drink....might be quite a nice idea indeed. Turning towards what was obviously a giant suffering with Tourette, he discovered a rather small man, disheveled in appearance, with a beard full of stringy white whiskers. A grubby paw was outstretched, contained within, a flask, contents unknown.

The man repeated his earlier inquiry. "Want a drink?" His hand lifted the flask inquiringly, shaking it to make the mystery liquid within slosh too and fro....much like the inside of Miles' brain at the moment. "S'good, I promise," added the old man, swiftly followed by an unnerving giggle.

Verticality somewhat setting his mind aright, Miles wiped his sullied face with the back of his hand, and took the flask from the old mans hand. Tipping back his head, he emptied the contents into his mouth, only missing a single drop which splashed into the vomit soaked lawn beneath him.

"Tastes funny, old man. What the hell was that?" inquired Miles, turning towards the old man. An eerie grin was frozen on the geezer's timeworn and quite motionless face. "I asked you what was in the flask, buddy," again, no response. The man was as still as a photograph. Not even the hint of a breeze to disturb the scraggly beard beneath his face.

Anger elbowed Nausea in the face then, winning the war for Miles' emotions, as he reached out a shaky appendage to grab the old man's withered shoulder.

"Yo, Gramps!" intoned Miles. His hand settling firmly on the bony joint, and Miles felt a ripple of electric heat sizzle through his skin. He could see it in the air, as though he had just dropped a stone into a large vertical pond.

Warmth and vitality returned to the wizened old tramp. And though it seemed impossible, the geezer's grin seemed to grow even wider, encompassing nearly the whole lower third of his frankly repulsive visage.

"Ah...something special, that. Woke you right up, didn't it?" the fossil enquired.

Miles was too stunned to speak. He simply stared in horror at the silent world surrounding him. All sound, stopped. No movement to be seen. He was, in point of fact, utterly and completely frozen in a moment of time. Trapped between the ticks of a second, with only the nonsensical ramblings of a madman to comfort him. He turned and ran, the cackling of the old man chasing his every footfall.

Past men and women frozen midstride, he ran. Down alleys cluttered with its immobile indigent occupants, he ran.

Then, he tripped.

Rolling across the rough concrete, skidding into the feet of pedestrians and finally rebounding off the hood of a particularly weather-beaten, 1987 Plymouth Horizon, the second ugliest thing he'd had the displeasure of seeing that morning.

"This," thought Miles, "sucks!"

This also happened to be the moment he noticed that the sound had been turned back on. As it happens, this wasn't a particularly pleasant experience. He could hear screams, and he was pretty sure he heard sirens in there somewhere too. Miles was also fairly certain that if he'd only just open his eyes, he would find that in addition to the sound, life, motion and all that entailed had also been set back on course. 

Rolling the dice, he opened his eyes.

A forty foot wide trench was gouged into the concrete where he had just been. Broken bodies and damaged cars lay strewn about. Men and women caught in his path screamed in horror at the sight of their ravaged flesh. 

Miles vomited again. This was not his finest hour, to be certain.

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Professor Rudolph Rander, with Grad Student Melissa Majors in tow, sped through the early-morning traffic, in an effort to escape both the civilian authorities and whatever unknown force was threatening their lives.

"Professor, where are we going? We just killed a man." Melissa sat with her head cradled in her hands, quiet sobs occasionally escaping.

"Melissa, Jacob tried to kill both of us. Before that, before you arrived, he alluded to being part of a program. That means there are more of them out there....more people trying to kill us." Rander paused as he steered wildly around a corner, narrowly avoiding the car in front of him. "Getting ourselves arrested would only make their job easier. We need to get away if..."

"Professor, stop."

"Melissa...." Rander began.

"No, Professor....Stop the car. Now!" Melissa screamed and threw one arm in front of her face.

Turning his eyes back towards the road ahead, Rander slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt, mere feet away from the edge of a giant chasm torn through the asphalt. Sirens and screams signaled the extent of the disaster ahead.

"What...?" Rander turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. Taking tentative steps forward, he nearly tripped over the body of a young man. Kneeling down, Rander pulled the boy into a sitting position.

"Young man, what happened, can you tell me what caused this?"

"I...th' drink. What was in it?" the boy's head fell forward. A trickle of radiant silver fluid dripped from the corner of his mouth. Rander's eyes widened when he saw it.

"Unconscious." Turning towards Melissa, who had come to his side, he continued, "Help me get him into the car. Escape plan or not, this boy needs help. He's not going to get it here."