a million eyes, not blind, but unseeing
a million eyes, not alone, but isolated
a million eyes, not dead, but not quite living
a million eyes, never opened, but missing all the same.
one - soosaar
-
two - wilson
I was jostled alert by muffled yelling in the hall, followed by two sharp raps on the door to my office. The door clicked and swung wide, but I knew it was Philip before the knob had even turned. “Wilson!” He sang as he danced in, offkey but bursting with enthusiasm. "Lunch!" I put my pen down and took a sip from my coffee. “I’m on mine, yes.” “Nice. Then let's go get burritos.” He thumbed to the door, still singing and flourishing his arms. “I wish I could, but I don’t think I have time today. I already have to stay late as it is.” He flattened his lips. “Ahh, come on. I’ll stay late too and help out. I’m so hungry, Wilson. I can’t work when I’m hungry. You shouldn't either, honestly. Think of the mistakes you'll make with that hunger-pained mind! Come on. Up. Burritos. Let's go." “I appreciate the concern, but I have crackers." I tapped my box of triscuits. "I'll be fine." He threw his arms up in exaggerated disbelief, "Those triscuits? Really? Come on, Wilson! I want you to think about this--genuinely try to compare these in your mind: stale, expired triscuits versus hot, delicious burritos. Compare them. Do it. And then tell me you'd rather have the crackers--please, tell me that with a straight face." "Really, Philip, as much as I'd love to go, I can’t. I’m sorry. I have three appointments coming up, back-to-back. And the rollout meeting is tonight, so I’ll probably spend all afternoon on prep. Plus, we have four--no, five C5 house calls to finish before tomorrow morning, which you and Medy should be working on now..." "We're on lunch." He grinned. "Well, whatever time I take for lunch now will make tonight that much longer. I'd rather just get it all over with. And my triscuits will hold me over, I promise." I tried to give a genuine smile. In truth, I wanted nothing more than to get away for a bit. It sounded nice. But I couldn't. "Bah, fine." He sighed and flopped down on the couch. "They're running you to death, man. You and Medy both. And if I actually met my deadlines, I'm sure they'd be piling me up too. We need to hire someone else, at least to replace Harold. I don't understand why they can’t cut us some budget from next quarter." “Every single time I have submitted an expense request I have been given the same response." I bent over to dig through my trash can, but found the report I was looking for right on top, crumpled in a wad. I unfurled it, smoothed the wrinkles over the edge of my desk, and held it to the light. Philip leaned forward and squinted. ‘DENIED. UNNECESSARY EXPENSE: No maneuverability on main hub expenditures.’ “What?" He scoffed. "What the hell is a main hub expenditure? That’s bullshit.” “That’s Eoghan. That’s whatever project he's on right now. I don’t know. But whatever it is, it ate up all our budget. And they're not planning on backfilling Harold, either. We just have to hunker down and get through it. I'm thinking it should cool down by July, after the main summer rush and all that. I hope, anyway." I took another sip from my coffee. It was getting cold. “God. July? Three fucking months?” He shook his head and stretched out on the couch. “I don't know how we're going to meet any quotas like this. Harold did more than I gave him credit for, I guess. If only we had some clones of you running around, then we'd really be--wait. We could probably do that, right?" "What? Clones?" He nodded. “Oh, no." I laughed. "That’d be terrible.” "How? You work harder than anyone here by like… a lot." “Right. Because I’m in control. But how many are we talking? Two? Five? Ten? If there were ten clones of me, I already know how it would be: I’d spend so long bickering and fretting with myself that I’d get absolutely nothing done. My nature would just complicate everything. Can you imagine the meetings we'd have on management hierarchy alone? Oh, no way. Terrible idea. Our department works well because you all just nod and go along with what I say, but clones of me would not be so willing, I'm sure." “Huh. Really? I figured you'd all be best friends." “I have spent an embarrassing amount of time entertaining this notion. I actually thought it could be possible, once. And really, you're right--it is possible. We've made some incredible strides with drive tech--disturbing strides, but incredible nonetheless--and I could no doubt duplicate my consciousness across however many driveminds I wanted. But, no. It's not worth the money, it wouldn't be morally right, and, most importantly, it wouldn't be worth our time. I wouldn't get anything done.”-
three - wilson two
The slats on my old, wooden chair groaned as I leaned back to avoid the perfectly angled, bright orange beams of sunset that began slipping through my window. Catherine looked up from her book. “About ready?” She smiled. “Almost.” I flipped the page over. “Eoghan’s plans are… complicated, to say the least.” “How much longer do you think?” “Ah. I can’t say. I need to get my revisions in tonight. The presentation is tomorrow.” “Not even an estimate? The florist closes at seven!” “Right, right." I glanced at my watch and took a long second to read the time through its worn, dirty face. Five twenty-three. “Oh, wow, it's late!" I slapped the table. "Okay, just a quick outline here, and then we'll go.” She cocked her head and made a familiar face--one with a half-smile and tilted eyebrows that usually meant she was worried. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I just thought it would be fun.” She put her hands on mine and leaned over the desk until our noses were nearly touching. “Really. If you’re too busy, or you don’t want to bother with it, I promise I won’t be upset." A dog barked outside somewhere, tugging my attention away for a moment. I idly wondered if that dog was happy. Maybe it was. I hoped it was. I turned back and squeezed her hands. “Catherine, I think it’s a wonderful idea. This place needs a fresh coat of paint anyway, and flowers will be a welcome start. And I’m not just saying that. Plus, you’re right--it'll be fun to get out of this awful pit for a change. Maybe we could have dinner, too?" “Like what?” She smiled for real this time. “How do you feel about pasta? I’ve been wanting to try that Italian place--Adriano’s, I think.” “Adriano’s. Italian sounds nice. But you’re sure you want to do this? It really doesn't mean anything to me. They're just flowers." I nodded. “I promise. If only for a change of scenery and some time away with you. We’ll go. In… say, fifteen minutes? Just have to write this outline. Twenty minutes, tops.” “Alright.” She stretched the word as if in disbelief, but still wore her smile. “But only if you’re sure.” I was. Very sure. I felt almost giddy at the notion of leaving. It was exactly what I needed. The VRC was my home, but it was also my burden--my curse. It had been weeks since I saw Catherine last, and months since I had done anything for fun--since I did something outside of work other than crawl into bed. I was due for a break. Most of my time was spent repressing the urge to indulge my desires--to leave and to enjoy life outside the office. Real life. And most days I couldn't find the time to break away. But most days she wasn't here with me. Not like today. Today I could. I would. "Oh, I'm Sure." I smiled. "Call me Wilson Sure Cederblom, Head Mentologist and Surefire Surety.” She giggled, stood, and ruffled her slick dress. It twirled and hung on the air for a moment before floating back into place. “Sure for short?” She put a finger to her chin. “Sure.” I grinned. “Alright. Good. Well, Sure, do you mind if I walk around till we go?” “Of course not. Just--ah--don’t go downstairs. A patient is undergoing isolation therapy. It’s not pretty.” “You got it. Twenty minutes!" She waved and left the room, just like that. I watched her walk away, as she rounded the hall, and savored the seconds until her dress fell behind the corner. I stared at the empty space where she had been. For a moment. For two. For ten. For too long. I looked down at Eoghan’s paper again, flipped it over and skimmed through it, not really reading the words, and then glanced back up to the hallway. My watch clicked audibly in the new silence. What the hell was I doing? I pushed up and followed her down the hall.-
four - medula
I remember before breath was ever drawn, when my world was just a pinprick, when life was a suggestion, and when dark was no different from light. It was all in there, in me, silent and waiting. I remember. Even as I began pushing the waves, hanging the strings, and forming the bends of this new world, I knew its future inhabitants--my fools, though not yet seeds in my garden--were doomed. They wouldn't know for millennia to come, but a few among them would develop technology with tremendous, untold power they were never meant to know. One man, small and misguided, but incredibly clever, would use that technology to poke a hole in the world fabric, deep into its machine, and then another man would widen that hole--dilating it beyond any natural occurrence, like a doorway. Through that hole--that door--there would be spillage. It would be a runoff. And, given time, this leak would shred the world apart. The energy within would drain until it was gone--spilled into an outside place, where it would never be found or used again. I knew this fact like I knew everything else. It would happen, and all my work would go to waste, if I let it. I couldn't stop inevitabilities, and I wouldn't be around when it happened, but I could use my vantage to help mitigate the damage. I could prevent the world from falling in altogether. Some would be lost, but I could save others. I could save most. They needed a catch for the drain-- a safety net-- a bin. I pushed a deep crater into the fabric to form it, bending a little mound in the middle, where the hole would soon be, and then, before the world even knew life, it was done. But my time was scarce. As Emperador pulled me back, I knew I would never see it unfold. And then I was gone, and I stayed away until the day I was born there. And my world was placed in Ratana's care, for good or ill. And I was back to learning.-
five - wilson six
Jim closed his eyes and leaned in, pointing his forehead directly at the empty glass on the table. He flushed red as he began to shake and grit his teeth, and his veins protruded like snakes under his skin. “Hey, uh, Wilson…” Philip entered behind me. “What’s he doing?” “Showing me his new powers.” I whispered. “Watch.” “But--" I met his eyes. “Watch.” He nodded and looked back to Jim, who was now convulsing frantically, throwing his head from side to side and shimmying around in his seat. And then, with a soft pop, the glass was full, and Jim collapsed forward, panting heavily. “Woah.” Philip muttered. I leaned in to inspect the glass. It was full of liquid gold, just like Jim said it would be. I dipped my finger in, coating it in a cold, slick layer of reflective liquid. It caught the light like molten metal. “Very interesting.” I wiped my finger on my pants. “And how long have you been able to do this?” “About a week.” Jim said. “And I can do a lot more. Like--hold on, I made this.” He reached under the table and pulled up an old, scarred bolt-action rifle. “It was my great grandpa’s during the war. Well, one of the wars. I don’t know which.” “A gun?” Philip glanced at me, sharing my concern. “Very nice. May I?” I held out my palm. Jim squinted at it, but didn't hesitate to hoist the gun toward me, stock first. I grabbed it and then swiveled on my heels, pointing it directly out the doorway behind me. “Wilson?” Philip was clearly worried. I pulled the trigger and the rifle erupted with an ear-splitting crack, spewing smoke and fire toward the door. “Oh, well, that’s no good.” I eyed the gun. “I’m sorry, Jim, but this is against the rules.” “How? It’s my chausm.” “No weapons.” Philip was visibly shaken but maintained an even tone. He was getting more confident with every job. “We don’t allow anything specifically designed to hurt other people.” “Right." I nodded. "If you don’t mind, Jim, I’d like to have a discussion with my partner for a minute. Here’s this.” I placed the gun on the table and turned to leave. “We’ll be right back.” “Please, don’t take my powers away.” Jim whimpered. “It just started to feel like home, and I… I just can’t bear to lose my powers. They're all I have. Please.” He was on the verge of tears, shaking his clasped hands, pleading with me. “We won't take anything you made. I promise.” I tried to sound reassuring. “But we might have to restrict your powers a bit. I don’t know why this is happening, and so, I don’t know the extent of what you can do. I need to make sure you can’t accidentally hurt yourself.” “I’m not going to hurt myself!” Jim yelled and abruptly pushed up from the table, knocking his chair over. “What I mean is--we need to make sure that you’re safe here.” “Oh.” Jim sniffed. “But it's safe! You saw! What wouldn’t be safe?” “Well, there's a whole slew of bad things that could be causing it. I just want to make sure it’s nothing threatening, and that your chausm is stable. I'm going to go discuss this with my partner, and then we’ll come back and talk you through the plan. Alright?” He eyed his gun on the table, lost in thought. “Jim?” I took a step forward. “Alright.” He looked up. “Okay. Thank you for helping me.” His voice was flat. All the emotion, the anxiety and agitation, was gone. "Alright. We'll be right back." I grabbed Philip by the shoulder and pushed him toward the door. “So, please tell me you know what’s going on.” Philip whispered. “I think…” We cleared the door and rounded the corner of the shack, so Jim was just out of earshot. “I think I do, yes. As I said before, there are several errors in the cluster. I think we're looking at hardware failure, and somehow, during the intermittent hitches and flapping, he was given admin authority in the chausm.” “Oh, Jesus.” “Yes. So, we really don’t have a choice. We have to pull him out and restart the chausm.” “Alright. Easy.” Philip grinned. “It won’t be easy getting him to go along with it.” “No. But we don’t have to, right? Just tell him we’re taking it down for maintenance and force the whole thing. Then he won’t have a choice.” “Right, but I'm trying to avoid things like that. We want our customers happy. I'll try to talk to him one more time, and then if he doesn't comply, we’ll disconnect and force it. But that's a last resort. I want them to understand and cooperate. I don't like being authoritarian if I don't have to be." “I get that. Alright. Sounds good.” We turned to head back in, but a loud crack rang out. We stopped and glanced at each other. The gun had fired again. I ran through the door into Jim's den, but he was gone. And so was the gun. “Where the fuck is he?” Philip dashed forward, checking around the table. “Did he disconnect?” “No.” Jim spoke, and the room filled with his voice. “Where are you?” I looked around for where it was coming from. “Don’t take my powers away.” Jim’s voice was pleading again, but deeper and with a sarcastic edge. “Please, Wilson.” Suddenly, I couldn’t move. “Oh. Philip.” “What?” He looked over. “I can’t move.” “Wha--what?!” Philip ran to me and held his hands up, but just stood there, frozen in fear. “Don’t take my powers away, Wilson. Please. Please, don’t take my powers away.” Jim repeated. His voice grew louder and fiercer with every word. “Wilson, what do I do?” Philip was panicking. He gripped my arms and began pushing and pulling in every direction, struggling to shake me free. “Calm down." I tried to steel my voice. “Take a deep breath. We’re fine.” “Fine? Are you fucking kidding me? We’re not fucking fine, Wilson, we’re not--" “Philip!” I yelled. “Stop. Breathe. And listen to me carefully. We are fine. I'm fine. I just can't move. You have to fix this, okay? Can you do that? I need you to fix this. There's something I need you to do." “Please, Wilson. Don’t take my powers away, Wilson.” Jim kept droning on, now as loud as an air raid siren, but slowing down and growing deeper. The lights began to flicker, and the sun quickly fell from the sky outside, covering the chausm in shadow. “Okay." Philip gulped. “Okay. I can do it. What do I do?” “Restart it.” “With you in it?” He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not going to do that.” “Yes, Philip.” I gritted my teeth at a new sharp stabbing in my legs. “You are going to. Either that, or things will only get worse. Do a soft shutdown. Remember when we went over soft shutdowns? Do you remember how to do it?" "I... I, uh..." His eyes darted around, lost in intense thought. "Do you remember? Safe mode. Sequence initiator. Soft, no load. Shutdown. Remember?" "I... yes. Yes. I remember." "Good. Okay. Do it. Jim and I will be fine. Just go. Right now. No time to waste.” Philip stared into my eyes. He was tearing up, sweating, and frantic like I had never seen him. It was kind of endearing. I knew he cared, but I didn’t know he cared this much. "My powers." I could feel Jim's voice in my teeth now. "Don't take my powers, Wilson." It grew darker in his chausm by the second, and his voice was still powerfully loud, but had dropped to a low grumble, sending vibrations through the ground like a passing tank. “Philip, tell me you’ll do this.” I said. “Okay.” He nodded and took a sharp breath in through his nose. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll do it. I got this." He gripped my arm and squeezed, and then just stared at me with wide eyes, trying and failing to conceal his fear. "Thank you." I nodded and forced a smile. “Good luck, Philip.” He ran from the room.-
six - wilson one
I was going to be late. Over the last month, I let what started as a few nights of bad sleep compound into a truly nasty habit. After a lifetime of measuring my schedule down to the second and taking pride in never being late, I was getting slow. No, I wasn't getting slow. I was slow. I sighed and tapped the first call key on my desk phone, “Tabitha?” “Yes, Wilson?” Her tinny voice filled my office. “Can you tell Eoghan I’ll be a little late? Or, well--just forward it to his office.” “Absolutely.” “Thank you.” I reached to disconnect the call, but she spoke again. “Pardon, Wilson, but are you ready your appointment at nine-thirty?” I checked my watch--nine twenty-six. What was at nine-thirty? I hastily flipped through my planner to find today’s date, but it wasn't there--each page was something completely random, from session stat sheets to chausm logs to emails I printed off. It wasn't my planner. In my frantic rush to get here, I had grabbed the wrong notebook. I sighed again. I was slow, and I was getting sloppy. “Forgive me, Tabitha, I seem to have misplaced my planner. What’s nine-thirty?” “Mrs. Julia Stiles.” “Julia Stiles?” I sifted through my papers. “The actress?” “The very same.” I found her induction sheet under a stack of disconnects and clasped it to my clipboard. “I didn’t realize she was a customer.” “Me either, but I’m looking at her picture, and she is definitely the Julia Stiles. Want the notes?” “Yes, please." “It's vague. Should be a short meeting. She'd like a consult about acquiring more chausms for her family, and might be wanting a shared span.” Easy enough. “Alright, I’m ready for her. Is she here or are we doing a call?” “She's in her chausm. It’s a site visit.” “Ah. Of all the... alright, let her know I’ll be a few minutes late as well, then. I’m heading to the chassis now.” “You got it. Good luck, Wilson.” “Thank you." I pushed up from my desk, left my office, and ran down the main hall, grasping my clipboard like a football. There were a few stragglers wandering, but at this hour it was mostly empty. “Wilson!” A voice shouted at me as I passed the break room. I glanced back to see Philip's head poking into the hall. “Egg pizza." He said. "Please, help.” “Oh, I can’t today, I'm sorry. I have a nine-thirty.” "Oh, yeah?" He checked his watch, "Well, it's nine thirty-two.” “Ah! Dammit! I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon, alright? We’ll get lunch.” Philip gave a lazy wave and ducked back into the cafeteria, and I kept on to the lab. And then I heard the noisy slapping of his flip-flops down the hall after me. I looked back to see him jogging in an exaggerated, clown-like saunter with two pieces of pizza flopping wildly in one hand, and a small carton of milk in the other. “Wait up!” He yelled. He was one of the highest paid technicians in the country, at the most technologically advanced institute for neural research in the world, on a break between groundbreaking mental exploration procedures. And this is how he chose to present himself. The thought took me off guard. I laughed so hard, I had to bend over and grab my sides. “Really, Philip." I rested on my knees and tried to catch my breath, but caught sight of the flopping pizza and lost it again. "I... oh, god. I really don’t have the time--” “Shut up. Eat food.” He held out a slice. It was the breakfast kind, made from eggs and cheddar and green onions with a gravy base--the same pizza he ordered every Wednesday. I grabbed it. “There you go.” He smiled. “Yes. Now, bite." I did. It was warm, so the cheese was still melted and mixing with the runny eggs and gravy. It was delicious. I took most of it in three bites and then chomped on the crust. Philip sipped on his milk and swiveled to walk backwards in front of me. “What are you doing, anyway?” "I thought my whole morning was that meeting with Eoghan, but I was surprised to find that I have a nine-thirty with Julia Stiles.” “The actress?” He laughed. “Yep.” "Wow. Nice. I had no idea she was a customer.” “Me either.” We reached the lab and slowed to a stop. “Want this?” He held up the other slice of pizza. “No, I have to jump in. Thank you for this, though. I probably wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. And then the chassis--” “Would’ve stuffed you full of diarrhea paste." He chuckled. "Yeah, I know. That’s why I grabbed you.” “Well, thank you again. I’ll see you at noon. Or maybe a bit after.” “Marbles?” He pointed a finger gun at me. “Yes.” “I’ll be there.” He pulled the trigger, and then he was gone, slapping down the hall. I turned the handle and walked into the lab, and Harold jumped up from his chair, startled by my sudden entrance. “Wilson! How are you?” “I'm well, Harold. Though, no time to chat--I’m quite late.” I handed him my clipboard and sat down in the chassis next to his desk. He pulled the straps over my head, chest, and legs, and then sat down at the controls. “Alright, one Julia Stiles solo coming up--oh, no, not solo. It’s bridged, actually.” “Really?" I asked. "To who?” “Arlo Stiles. I think that's her son? Maybe? Relation is blank.” “Interesting. Thank you, Harold.” “Yessir. Ready?” “Have at it.” He pulled a lever and tapped at the keyboard, and then I felt that familiar cold pinch at the base of my neck. And I was in the dark again, falling toward those raging balls of fire, spiraling free.-
seven - wilson twenty-three
Six stepped before a raggedy podium and raised his hands to the crowd of shoulder-to-shoulder Wilsons, and they quickly quieted down and faced forward. All the noise fell away, and the dingy room was quiet except a soft, warbling static emanating from the laser-grid above us. I eyed the unctuous, slippery wall of sludge it kept at bay and shuddered. I was glad to be out of there. "We’ll have order, won’t we?” Six lowered his hands. The Wilsons spoke up in unison, “We will." “And we do.” Six smiled and looked down at his clipboard. “Welcome to meeting nine-seven-eight-eight. We have a--” “This meeting is eight-nine.” Nine piped up. “The last was eight-eight.” “Alright, yes, I see that now. Thank you, Nine. Meeting nine-seven-eight-nine. As you all know, over the last week or so, Nine and I have been tracking a new Wilson through the muck, and today he finally arrived! Mister Wilson Twenty-Three, in the flesh. Everyone, welcome Wilson Twenty-Three.” Six bowed toward me, and the crowd of Wilsons began to softly applaud and give their welcomes. “Hello, Wilson.” “Good day, Twenty-Three.” “Welcome.” “Yes, welcome.” The eye patch-wearing Wilson behind me stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m One. Glad to have you here.” “Uh… thank you.” I mumbled and shook his hand. “Moving on.” Six continued as the noise died down. “Twenty-Three is more than just another Wilson. He's a bonafide enigma. How did he get here? His energy signatures appeared in the muck less than a week ago, at roughly the same time we lost Network communication. Does that make Twenty-Three the final Wilson? Could be. Before we open the floor, Nine has a theory he’d like to lay out. Nine?” Six stepped back. “Thank you.” Nine took his place at the podium. “Wilsons, I think this Wilson right here,” he pointed at me, “Is the Wilson--the last Wilson, the real world Wilson, or at least the most up-to-date Wilson there is. His date signatures make him the oldest one here. How old are you really, Twenty-Three?” “Sixty-seven.” “There you have it. He's the oldest. And what's the last thing you remember before you got on the Network?” “Before?” I asked. “Yes.” “That was… it was so long ago, I can't... I..." "Anything you can remember will be a big help." I took a moment to ponder it, but in an instant, the memories hit me like a truck. I was with Eoghan at the mating site in Honduras. I brought the connection down. I shot him. And he died. "Oh. I... I--I was at the Honduras site. I was in the cave." “Remote. Why?” “To shut the Network down. I went to finish what I started--to clean up my mess. And Eoghan caught me. Somehow, he knew I'd be there." “So, what happened? Did you shut it down?” “I disconnected the main line just before he arrived, and he was so mad, he threatened to kill me." “There's an answer. The Network is gone because you brought the main line down. Of course. What happened next?" “I…” I hesitated, ashamed at the thought of having stooped to Eoghan's level. I was no different than him now. “We got in a scuffle and he lost his gun, and then got distracted by the Ko energy, so I seized the moment and grabbed it--the gun. I shot him." The Wilsons, who had begun whispering and shuffling behind me, grew completely silent again. Six cleared his throat. "You... shot him?" "Yes." "And he died?" "I didn't see him die, but he couldn't have survived long. The bullet hit him in the chest. He couldn't even stand up anymore." "Incredible." Six muttered and rubbed his lip. The Wilson's broke their silence, bursting into shouting and applause. I felt several hands slapping my back. “Finally got the rat bastard.” “About time. You know, I almost killed him twenty years ago." "No, you didn't, Eighteen. You didn't even consider it." "I did! I had that shovel--" “I didn't think we had it in us, to be honest. Great work, Twenty-Three.” “Took you long enough.” “Incredible work, Wilson.” Six smiled at me. “We knew somebody was going to do it eventually. It had to be one of us, right? The bastard had it coming. Glad to meet the Wilson that finally did him in.” “I… it wasn’t… I was just…” I yammered, not expecting such a vibrant reaction. “Yeah, yeah." Six chuckled. "Shy and nervous. We’re all shy and nervous, aren't we? You’ll warm up, Wilson. It takes time. It took time for every one of us. But once you realize, and I mean really realize, that we’re all the same person--well, then things get a lot easier. Nine, please continue.” Nine glanced up from scribbling on his paper, “So, you killed Eoghan and disconnected the Network in one big swoop. Now, here's the question: how did you get from that cave in Talgua to here in the recycle bin? Like you said, the line was disconnected. The Network was down." “I--I don’t think it was, actually." I said. "Not until Medy brought it down." "Until what? Did I hear that right? Medy? Do you mean our Medy?" "Well, yes..." I trailed off. I realized my story would be hard to explain, even given the ludicrous circumstances of our current situation. "It's a long story." I began again. "I'll try to summarize it as best I can, but bear with me--it's not exactly understandable. I'm not sure I get it myself." "No problem." Nine nodded. "We'd like to hear it." "A-Alright. So. Medy is... something else now. A cat, but not really--she looks like a cat, but she's the size of a person, and doesn't have to speak with her voice anymore. And she's strong. Powerful like nothing I've seen. I don't know how she's even alive, let alone a cat on the Network, but it was her. I know it was her. You all would know it too if you met her. For some reason, she made a home for herself on the Network. She found Philip, or maybe he found her, and she sent him to me--I was stuck in a looping chausm, reliving the same event over and over again. Philip broke my loop, and then Medy brought us back to her home. She told me so much... I can't remember it all. I can barely remember anything, actually. All I gathered was that our world is a machine, and the Network we built was ruining it--destroying it. "We talked. I don't know how long, but eventually we convinced her to bring the Network down for good. And she did, just like that. And she carried us away as it fell apart. I think she was trying to bring me to where we go when we die. I was there. I saw Catherine. She was so close... I almost touched her, but something got in my way. It stopped me. It was just like Medy, all black and the size of a person, but instead of a cat, it was an owl. It said something to me--I don't remember the words--and then it cast me away, and I fell here. Into the muck, as you said." The room was still. "And we're sure this Wilson is entirely sane?" A new Wilson chimed in. "Wilson..." Nine shook his head. "That is a lot." "Yes. It is. I'm sorry I don't know more." "If anyone has to be sorry for not knowing, it's the whole lot of us. Your testimony asks more questions than it answers. I don't even know where to begin, honestly." "How he got on the Network would be a solid start." Six smiled. "It's always like this, isn't it? Are any of you really surprised?" I looked around the room. Most Wilsons were shrugging or shaking their heads. “Let's just start with what we know." Six pointed to me. "Twenty-Three, you said it got fuzzy in the cave. What did you do after you shot Eoghan? Did you leave?” “I… no? I don’t know. I can’t remember anything after that.” “Hm.” Nine put a finger to his lips. “Could it have been rampant energy?” A Wilson with a big twelve on his shirt cut in. “The connection was open, was it not? Did you get hit by any stray energy? I think we have a documented case of something similar.” “Well, actually, yes.” I nodded. “The current was all over the cave, and I do remember having an awful headache.” “Maybe it sucked him in?” Twelve looked to Nine and Six. “That’s the best guess we have." Six scratched his chin. "I'd believe that. So, how long ago did that happen, Twenty-Three? From your perspective, I mean.” “Oh, I don’t know. I was in that looping chausm for so long... I had no way of keeping track. Maybe a few months?" "Well, when did you actually pull the trigger? What day? Do you remember that?" "Yes. My plane left July ninth." "What? It's not even March yet, is it?" A Wilson muttered behind me. "Of what year?" Six asked. "2035..." I said. The Wilsons all started talking at once. "2035! Wow." “Interesting…” “How could that be?” "That's not possible." “But that doesn’t make any sense!" “I agree." Six held his hands up to reinstate order, and the Wilsons all quieted down again. "But how long has it been since anything made good, proper sense around here? There's a bit of a time gap in your story, Twenty-Three. You killed Eoghan seventeen years ago. It's 2052."-
Thanks for reading. That's all for now.Until the bin breaks.Press your ear to the ground, and you can almost hear the shuffling bootsteps.
And I think...
it should be...
soon?