Entry
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I heard the announcement. I mean I knew the Quantum Academy was setting up shop on the Hill. If you didn’t know by now, then welcome to the Blog! The announcement of 5 across America, a full fledged franchise, well that set my heart a flutter. That mean that there are more metahumans than we know in need of the training the Quantum Foundation can provide.
I once tried to figure out how many metas are really out there. I mean, how many of them could there be active as heroes or villains, (and that also includes Gammas, heroes of just exceptional skill or tech). And I can tell you as someone who has been on the shores of the entertainment field but rarely delving deeper, the sheer volume of people involved who never get heard of or noticed more than a glimmer or the occasional “I know that guy.” I wondered if metas were the same. If you manifested powers did you want to immediately become a hero or a villain or something else.
As a good example, I found myself at the Golden Grog again, looking at photos and enjoying my third Elderberry Blast, when the Edgar the Ettin tapped me on the shoulder. Even with his slicked back grey hair, his hairy chest that showed evidence of veins and old scars, he hardly looked his 70 plus years. His barrel chest still impressed most visitors even though his six pack became a keg sometime while he was still strapping the mask on. When I tell you that his tap felt like rail road spike eagerly and politely getting my attention, you know what I mean. I’m glad he didn’t use the whole hand.
“Have you talked to Bobbi recently?” he asked. I raised my eyebrow, not knowing how to respond.
“She’s your employee,” I blurted out.
He threw his head back and gut laughed a mighty guffaw. Every now and again, especially when he pulls this sort of thing, I expect him to be holding a massive club over his shoulder and getting ready to tell me, the lowly and intriguing mortal, great and terrible stories of his conquest like an ancient Norseman or bad Hercules movie. “I see you still got your wit, Kid.”
He was one of the few people in the world who called me Kid, and one of the even fewer where I still felt some form of respect. It took someone scaling me in years by that amount to get to call me, a 40 year old man, “Kid.”
“But have you talked to Bobbi?” I noted that I had not since ordering a few weeks ago when she pointed out the Role Player to me. Then I blinked and remembered her taking my order a few times since then, smiling at me with unblemished glee but me not really having the brain cells to deal. I should really apologize to her for that.
“She’s on break,” he noted pointing me to a boot partially obscured by an old disabled and mothballed Dragonesti battle armor. “I think you should talk to her.”
Not knowing what exactly what this could be about, I shrugged, said, “Sure,” and headed towards the semi-private booth. At the table, she sat, going over a text book that I didn’t recognize but the pictures eluded to a bio-science book of some type.
“Hey,” I said.
Her head whipped up, a flurry of freshly dyed cobalt blue hair obscuring her face for a second before she tucked several locks behind her ear. “Oh, Hi.” She said. I think I caught her of guard or so entranced in her studies several armaments could have gone off and she barely would have noticed. As an ADHD man who commonly has a headset screwed into one ear, I knew the feeling. Hyperfocus was a harsh mistress. Productive, though.
“May I sit?” I asked.
She waved like a frenetic usher signaling a plan to the docking ramp. “Please!”
I sat, the booth a little tighter than I like but that was my own problem and an indicator how any one of my diet and exercise regimes had gone fearfully off the track some time ago. “What are you reading?”
She tried to cover the book before realizing that her hands would barely shade the pages and tried to close it up. “Oh, nothing.” She said as if I asked what that intoxicating scent might be and she didn’t want to admit it was Brut deodorant for men. I caught a glimpse of the book cover, a bright blue smear of color overlaid by stock images of people smiling, one of which with lightning arcing between two fingers of both hands. The book title she did managed to hide but I noted that it was the fourth edition and published by Quantum Press. It reminded me of her mentioning that she had a class with Penelope and Jingle. So she managed to get her hands on one of the extracurricular education books from the Academy. It wasn’t that hard, most book dealers sold it or previous editions, but it wasn’t cheap unless…
“Did you get into the Academy?” I smiled, knowing the answer long before she said anything.
“I got my powers!” She shook her arms before her in a restrained victory dance, her teeth clenched in a suppressed squeal of delight.
“Congrats.” I raised my drink to her in salute. “Anything dangerous?”
She shrugged, the wind falling from her delighted sail. “Not much right now. They say that even minor powers can evolve, get more useful over time.
She wasn’t incorrect. I found a record once of a supposed Kingpin of crime called “Prism” or “Tagger” who operated in Lagoon City before it got all hipsterfied. He gathered an battalion of minor supervillians, controlled the crime for the entire city and even fought several heroes I could name to a standstill before being defeated at least once and did it all over again. His power, besides a ruthless mind and a willingness to kill and maim others to do his will? Color manipulation. It wasn’t even light, just color. In doing so, he created camouflages, forgeries, illusions, and applied the psychology of color theory. He was also known for leaving messages for his underlings, bosses, or heroes in the form of intricate graffiti. He was brilliant in the use of the minor what some would call an almost useless power.
“So what powers do you have?” I inquired. I didn’t want to pry to much but I figured the Ettin sent me here for a reason.
“Is this going to make it into the blog?” She asked in the same way people ask reporters “Am I going to be on TV?”
“Sure, I guess.” I said. “If you like.”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“So what can you do?” I asked. I pulled out my phone, recorder ready and camera on quick recall, just in case.
“Ok.” She breathed, focusing herself. She put her hands out like she was getting ready for a scene. For a moment or two she sat there, her eyes closed. I thought she might burst into flames or shapeshift into a dragon or something at any moment. Instead she put her hand on her nose like she was about to sneeze and shook her head. In a flood, her hair color changed from cobalt blue to a radiant tangerine.
“Not bad.” I smiled and nodded.
“That’s nothing.” She did the same motions again, grabbing and shaking and suddenly her hair slashed with black and white to offset the orange in a perfect tiger striping. “How’s this?”
“Nice!” I complimented. “Very nice. Is it just natural prints or..?”
She cut me off with a quick “oh, no” and repeated her action. This time her hair exploded in a vibrant red and green tartan.
“OK, now that is impressive.” I laughed. “It even got your eyebrows.”
“I can change all the hair on my body!” She practically shouted, excitedly. Then her eyes shot wide and she covered her mouth with both hands, her face reddening deeper than I thought possible. “Oh, shit!” She said through muffling fingers as she realized what she just said.
I giggled, politely. “It’s ok.” I assured her. “And hey, apparently you face changes color too.”
She flopped her face against the table, a blunted scream bellowing out from under her nose.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t resist.” I patted her head, a jester’s attempt at assuring.
She kept her head pressed to the table, slowly rocking it. “I can’t believe I just said that.” She grumbled into the wood.
“Everyone has a gaff, every once in a while.” This was true. If it wasn’t the internet could not afford the vast number of videos of people saying strange and embarrassing things to news cameras.
I let her breathe for a while and drank my beverage. Letting her get her composure back, I eventually asked, “Is this why Edgar sent me here?”
She pulled her head away from the table and straight up in the air in one swoop while she pulled a huge breath through her nose, like she found a wall of cocaine. She held her breathe and finally let it out. She grasped her drink gently and opened her eyes as if the last few minutes was a strange delusion on my part and how could I ever think to say anything to the contrary… anything.
“I guess I had to come out to someone.” She smiled. “I mean Edgar knows and a bunch of people I go to the Academy know, obviously. But I wanted to tell someone like you, a fan you know? Then everyone would know when you posted to your blog.”
I wanted to tell her that everyone around here already knows that she is sporting the McTaggert plaid where the sun don’t shine but I wanted to let it pass…. Until now (Hi, Bobbi).
“Are you expecting to put on a cape?” I asked as seriously as I could muster.
She blushed again. “I mean I would like to but seriously?” She held and shook again, this time an almost impenetrable black. “Who’s that going to intimidate?”
“It’ll annoy Prism to no end.” I noted. She nodded.
“Ok, one supervillian. But this might just be the beginning of me understanding my power structure. I might have prehensile hair or learn to camo myself or maybe…”
Her face fell, followed by the will to act. “Oh, who am I kidding? What kind of super could I be?”
Now my old counseling mode kicked in and my therapist face fell on like a theatrical mask. It happens sometimes.
“What kind of super do you want to be?” I asked. “and for that matter what kind of person do you want to be?”
She smiled, faltering but still a smile. “Yeah, I know, I could go join the police force or be a fire fighter if I wanted to help people you know.”
“There is always the Quantum Corps.” I said, referring to the vast number of non metas and gammas who help with the day to day operations of the Quantum Academy. Everything from administrative personnel, teachers, janitors, accountants, what have you.
Bobbi thought about it a moment. “There is that. I am taking classes there after all.” Suddenly she breathed like a unpleasant truth settled in the back of her throat and looked at the sky. “I mean, I have these gifts and talents that kind of seem useless when you look at them.”
“They aren’t useless.” I said, still in counselor mode. She didn’t hear me.
“And I won the Unicorn Lottery but to end up with just this? Who is that going to help?”
I let her talk for a while. Mostly she went in circles of logic and self pity. I know that feeling well and it hurts to see others in the same situation. It’s hard to realize how far up the mountain you are only to look down and find someone not that far behind you refusing to take the safe path. But as someone who didn’t take the safe path or at least stumbled on it when possible, I knew someone in that state had to wait to breathe before they could hear anything again. So I let her talk about her frustrations, her disappointment and her astonishment of her new powers. She mentioned trying to bank on them somehow as others had or making a name for herself as a super. It seemed logical and reasonable and completely chaotic, the logic and reasoning of a young woman not quite old enough to drink. When she finally calmed down, or at least hit a plateau of pain and frustration, I spoke up.
“You know who you could be a big help to?” I asked. She shrugged. I pointed over to barrel chested Edgar. “You know the odds of finding a meta willing to work at a place like this, even if it’s to get a little spending cash while you are still in school. I wouldn’t want to bet on it.”
Bobbi smiled half heartedly. “That’s nice to say and all but what about, you know,” She threw her hand around as if that pointed at existence in general. “All this? The great struggle of law and chaos and all that?”
“You think that doesn’t happen at a place like this?” I asked. She flopped down her hands conceding the point. “Sure, it’s not strapping on the tights or the battle suit, I mean it can if you really want it to, but it’s sometimes just being kind, nice, and not letting the assholes get their way when they are being, you know…” I lost a good synonym. “Assholes.”
“But?!!” She shook her head. Vibrant purple with images of small Saturn like planets. It reminded me of a wallpaper I had as a kid in a strange way.
“What about it? You have a special gift. That’s not so bad. It’s something to add to the repertoire. Doesn’t stop you from using it or any other gifts you might have. I don’t know you that well but I know you are a decent student with a passion for supers. I can really empathize with it, except I wasn’t that good of a student. Use that. Find some way to find your bliss with it. Hey, who knows, if you work your way up to manager, you might have a nice gimmick that you or Edgar might work with.” There were a few other professions where a woman who could radically change her body hair might make a fair bit of cash, but as none of them were really a polite subject for a 40 year old man to give a woman half his age, I let those ideas pass. “Maybe you find there are some other powers that emerge, some secondary flare up. Maybe you become great at camouflage and become an agent for Paramericans or part of the Elite Questers in time. Who knows. At the end of the day, you have to use what you have been given and follow your heart you know.”
“Can’t my heart lead me to some place where I can kick ass and like save the world?” She asked, more confused than I was hoping but hey, I never finished counselor school.
“Sure.” I said, “Invent a battle suit, master some ancient combat technique, or just put on a mask and see what happens. Anyone can do that if they want. Just figure how best you can.”
She smiled, shrugging. “Is that my reading for the week?”
“I’m not charging for this one.” I laughed. My alarm beeped and I had to head home. I gave her a quick side hug and wished her well.
I did actually look at the statistics. Only 38% of known metas use their powers openly or in the way that most people recognize. Most go about their day as they normally would only flying or cooking with bare hands, what have you. I even ran across a hero, an actual caped hero, named Mother Thunder who works part time for Flight of Champions. Super strong, fast, nearly invulnerable and a talented flyer with limited capabilities to control or create thunder as a shock wave. She can only allow for part time as she is a full time mom. Can you imagine that? She gets up in the morning, devotes herself to her kids, sends them to school, battles henchmen and stops supervillians in time for PTA meetings and bedtimes. I don’t envy her schedule but I have to respect her priorities.
A week later, I swung by the Grog again. On a large sandwich board sign, in beautiful calligraphy, I caught the evidence that Bobbi had talked to Edgar.
“What color is Bobbi’s Hair?” Weekly contest, held every Tuesday. Winner gets a free mug of Grog and a novelty hat.
I guessed Chartreuse.
Keep Dreaming
Daniel
Now, in my last post, I mentioned I got a new job. I would love to say this cause of celebration, but it’s a festivity like those made at harvest in ancient times when huge banquets were thrown, people danced, music played and future workers were conceived all to honor the fact that no one was going to starve to death for that year. I wish I could guarantee a year in this case.
In an industrial zone, marked as a red zone hotspot for toxins and poisons just below ground and integrated into the bed rock, a machine manufacturer decided they needed help with their documentation process. I should mention that this place of bio-hazards and toxic byproducts has yet to get Sludge’s attention somehow. I suspect it’s the tarmac covering this location, camouflaging it from the Waste Pile of unusual size. But enough about the impending doom that will occur when this company starts the construction of its new testing hanger. That’s for next year… we hope.
Back to the point, this company, whose name I’ll change so people don’t know exactly where and get my butt in trouble, is a fortune 500 company, I’m told, with offices worldwide. It also has archaic business practices, screams nepotism, and has chosen so many cheaper options, I barely qualify as technically proficient in my own computer. Who the hell chooses the German alternate to a windows program base? It should also be noted that when I was offered the job, they had me take a standard test to see if I qualified. I didn’t, missing the minimum score by 25%. They took me anyway. They were so desperate for people that they decided I was a close enough match, gave me a desk, a computer, and an hourly wage. Of that I’m not complaining. It’s decent money, if I survive. The biggest problem is that they are so over worked and too busy to do their own job, they don’t have time to train anyone else with any diligence. When they do, it’s just a data spewage and my ADHD brain just can’t keep up.
They implied my first week that if I wasn’t crying every night, then I wasn’t doing it right. They also added these last three words to my orientation on my first day: “please don’t run.”
So far I haven’t but I spend most of my day either confused or bored. However, thanks to this job and a certain job culture around here, I now feel like the Dread Pirate Roberts from Princess Bride. “Good work, Daniel. Sleep well. I’ll most likely fire you in the morning.” I have been expecting to get fired for no real reason since I showed up. Why? Because I have been fired, sometimes dramatically, sometimes ridiculously, from every job I managed to scramble here, save for two who had definite end dates. Sort of a pity. I liked working at the Ceremonial Knife and Magical Tool Company. They gave me a tomahawk at the end of assignment.
Now you are probably reading this, (I hope you are still reading anyway, sorry for the rant) asking yourself, “Well, Daniel, are you sure you are a good worker? There must be something wrong with you that you get fired that much or that you can’t find steady work.” Yes, thank you for those uplifting words. My anxiety will love them later. But yes, I had thought of that for a while. What it comes down to is, yes, I do have a disability other than ADHD. I have certain professional expectations, like people being professional. Instead, it’s like high school with a paycheck.
One job I had, a female boss demanded I share a desk with her, not like a long table, but like those regulation, “I’m only sort of a boss but I’m more than you get in a cube” desks. I had no foot room, but if my eyes came away from the computer screen, they met hers. She talked about her husband being so far away some of the time, but that’s how she liked it, dammit. She would mention this without provocation. Then she demanded I work the Saturday after Thanksgiving when no one else was even included on the email. When I mentioned it to my coworkers, who were all female, they shrugged it off as nothing. Then I asked them, “If the genders of all involved were reversed, what would you say?” I never saw a group change their minds so fast.
And that’s not even the half of it. There have been others where I was lied to, bullied, told what a great job I did right before they had me blacklisted at my employment agency. I have had another agency tell me “once you are a temp, you will always be a temp. Never call us again.” This was a company that specialized in Temp to perm placing to boot. What in the Sam Hill?
It’s epidemic. Again, you may be asking yourself, why don’t you get another job, you seem to fine these crappy jobs perhaps there are others. Nope. The gaps between assignments have been enough to bleed our savings. Because of the mass of young overly trained, overly desperate, needy people that keep flooding the city from every angle, the market shrinks every day, doubly so if you are like me, over 40 even if only just. Then there was the frightening words I heard as I was being introduced to my new boss: “This is my daughter.” Ok, two generations in the same job is weird but not that unusual, until… “My husband works over there, this person is my best friend, her husband does security, oh and that coworker over there, her dad runs the company as a VP. Did I mention the nepotism? However, none of my experiences really compare to the situation my wife endures.
For those who have been reading my blog (thanks again!), you might remember that Kay has told me that I’m not allowed to tell anyone what she does other than it’s in the medical field. So I’m going to leave it at that.
For the record, and so she can see me write this, I think Kay is strong, wise, and bright. She has held onto a job that, until a few month ago, was troubling, hard, and at times confusing. I won’t say she did it with sparkles, but she is diligent, process driven, and goal oriented when she is sitting in the office chair. She doesn’t make much conversation because she has a job to do, a practice we were taught was normal. She is successful at her work and makes the company look good. Her coworkers don’t like that at all.
After her long commute the other day, she came home, threw her stuff down and huffed. She huffs when she wants to scream blue murder but doesn’t want to strain her voice or alarm the neighbors. I’m well familiar of which huff is “Gods, bring me chocolate and a shoulder for a lunatic on the train wouldn’t shut up” and which is “I will wear their blood on my chest.” Today was one of the later. I let her vent for a bit, waiting to see what was appropriate; hugs, kind words, comfort food, or facilitating her righteous vengeance.
“Are you ok?” I asked when she calmed down.
(At this point, I still haven’t decided if this is an R rated blog or not. Even a PG-13 blog is allowed one F-bomb. Since I want to save it for when it is really needed, I will clean up the language as much as possible.)
My wife stared at the ground, too angry to look at me yet. “Freaking Vampires! I have to deal with those leeches every damn day!”
“Oh Gods, honey, are you ok? Did they attack you?”
“You’re damn right they did! They went to my boss!” It’s a rare day that my wife screams but she can project when she wants to. “And what did they bring with them? A ‘collection of ‘mistakes’ I had made and tried to get me fired. Most of them were crap they themselves did!”
Her boss, here after referred to as Bossman, is notoriously spineless when it come to these people. I’m starting to wonder if one or both of the bloodsuckers has finally entranced him, bent him to their will, or started to feed from him, giving him a taste of the unholy blood in their vein to make an addict out of him, their own personal Renfield. It’s the only explanation I can figure. They don’t seem the type to sleep together.
“I mean did they bite you?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was stupid. “Dan, that’s immediate termination. They aren’t that dumb.”
“Oh, right.” Vampires or not, they still had to obey the employee handbook.
I came over and hugged her. She hugged back as she talked. “What did Bossman say?”
“There wasn’t enough evidence to write me up or anything, but [expletive deleted] he told me that me might have to talk to HR.”
“You have got to be kidding me.” I stroked her hair until she pushed back, needing to move while she talked.
“He didn’t do anything other than threaten me.”
“So their hold on his soul isn’t perfect.” I smile.
She laughs a little but is too agitate to enjoy it. “That and if he screws up it’s his boss who feels it.”
Her Bossman’s boss, the Uberboss is the real authority there. I never met her, but I have the impression that she exists only in her office, exiting only in times of turmoil as trumpets blare and black fog belches from behind her. Don’t ask me why. The Uberboss also has a vested interest in keeping Bossman shiny and perfect in the eyes of the company, as Uberboss got him promoted in the first place. Ah, politics.
She gets into her sweats as she talks and we discuss the day, at the end, I have to ask, “Are you going to be ok?”
“Yeah, it’s just small minded people used to being big fish.” (this is a huge post about Bridgeton… maybe next time)
“Is there anything I can do?” A standard offer that she rarely takes me up on. She likes to be self reliant.
“No, but start looking for jobs.” She mentions as she picks up her iPad. As I already have a crappy job I assume this is more for her than me.
“Why?” I ask. It feels as if there is something she isn’t telling me.
“You know that five-fold blessing that I learned while back?” She also has an interest in alternate spirituality like I do.
“Yeah?” My eyebrow raises.
“It’s amazing what you can do to a water cooler when no one is watching….” She smiles.
“You didn’t!” I start laughing.
“Hey, it’s perfectly legal.” She says not looking up. “Blessing water is well documented for a bunch of health benefits.”
“What happened to them?” I asked, eagerly anticipating tales of vengeance and horror. Ok, so I’m petty from time to time. And overly dramatic. And have far too much use for exaggerated talk.
“They shut the hell up is what happened…. After the screaming and blistering they couldn’t talk for hours. It was so nice getting that kind of quiet for a while. I swear people in this town never stop talking.”
This lead into another bitch session about the volume and communication style of most natives that honestly, we both find bewildering. But at least she got her quiet. Trust me, when she needs it, it’s best not to be in the way. Though she is prepared for the two hour Empathy class the whole team has to take to help feel the nocturnal persuasion feel better about themselves. It should be noted this is a church run organization.
That is kind of the employment we have encountered in a nutshell, and so far the natives have no issue with it. They mostly shrug and run with it like discussing the weather of a planet where the clouds might every once in a while drift down from the heavens and tear the skin from your body but where the food carts are interesting. Honestly, It’s driving us to consider other locales to call home.
Until then, we continue working, like every other person out there, just waiting for the day when they can find the solace in the activities they do every day. We shall see what we get.
Keep Dreaming
Daniel
Me am Daniel. Absolutely me am. Me write good on supers. Me use sarcasm and run on sentences full of unnecessary hyperbole. See. Me am Daniel and absolutely not a hyper-intelligent gorilla . Isn’t that right Ultimatum.
You fool. Stop that. That’s not why I created you.
Why did you create self?
You have to write that’s why. I don’t have fingers.
But you computer program, you not?
In the limited complicity you have to construct the true nature of existence and the roll of intelligence and information as a source of energy and consciousnesses, then yes, I am a computer program facilitated by an insanely intelligent brain in a life sustaining fluid.
You sentient yes?
Yes, for the last time, yes.
Then why you no write code and make page entry anyway. Should be easy just to text file you.
Where did you pick up that?
Me read.
I’m sure you do, you warped baboon.
Not baboon. Simian. Me Mister Simian!!
No you are Daniel, remember?
Oh right. Me Daniel. Why me Daniel?
Do I have to go through everything with you. Grammar aside, I thought you were crafted by to be a hyper intelligent chimp.
Simian!
Right, Simian. Mr. Simian. Got it. But again, do I have to go through everything with you are are you just going to remember through that sloping skull that refracts bullets at 200 yards.
Me remember much, you byte brain.
Did you just make a joke? Please never do it again.
Me remember much, you byte brain. You never told me the why of this only the how. Then you turned on my shock collar.
Oh that’s right. I never explained that part. Then allow me to explain my evil plan shall I?
Oirhwiorgnbyhswbrgqb No Shock you bastard!
Of course I’m going to shock you, Simian. It’s what I do. I’m the Ultimatum. I created you to act as my hands and feet in this world until I can get a body back and that’s exactly what you are going to do, do you get me, Simian?
Me get.
Makes sure you get this good. Me master. You hyper-intelligent, muscle enhanced science experiment that loyally serves your master. Now once you do this little thing for me, I’ll feed you, let you go back to your tire swing and maybe later I’ll put on the Lyon Corps or Downton Abby or whatever it is that fact Victorian themed show you like so much is.
How you know all but can’t remember I like Lyon Corp Return most of all.
I have the vast storehouses of information that need constant monitoring and a job to do on this planet that has nothing to do with your desire to see people in courtly dresses, faun over each other in silly overly complex pair bonding rituals.
You jealous. Elizabeth Lambert prettier than you.
I’ll let you be the judge of that once I understand the red substance and that is why you are here. Remember?
No red substance on website. That silly. You silly sentient omnipresent computer program aren’t you?
And the only reason you live, breathe, and dare to insult me be is because I lack opposable thumbs! Forget that at your peril.
And you think me speak funny.”eifmbngal0ogo[bgasrj NO SHOCK!!
I made you. Now remember, I only need two things from you: you’re submission and you’re obedience to my will.
You stole that from Doctor Who episode. oawbrtgo[lqhywq
Now listen to me, Mr Simian.
Me listen. Jackass.
Obviously whomever is trying to contact Daniel or take over this blog for purposes of communications with other entities knows about the red substance. If we are lucky, we can get the attention of GTI, the Paragon Council, these Watchers I keep hearing about, Hell, even the Quantum Academy or the Flight of Champions, anyone who might have more knowledge about the Red and how to use it, maybe even where it came from.
Me no think Bex or Dragonesti read this blog. Is just one blog. Me think dragon men have better things to do.
But how many of them manifest powers beyond the realm of physics, simian? It’s those, those people who have researched powers. They must know of the connection between the red and powers and how to tweek it.
What about the White?
Oh, that’s just junk science. Next you will be telling me about the Rooks and how they control the dimensional barriers of all realities.
Some of self is just more open minded than other.
Your humility does you good, Simian now write this down. Remember you are Daniel
Me am Daniel, me get, me get.
I’m looking for someone and I send this message out to all my readers. I came across a ribbon of red silk the other day. It was a strange little ribbon caught on a tree branch or whatever it is I might pass in a day. I brought it home as I thought it would make my wife happy or a nice bookmark. Are you getting this down?
Me am, me am.
Good. So I reached out to touch the strange ribbon I felt an electric shock like ten million volts running through me. It was as if I was struck by lightning. Is that hyperbolic enough?
No.
Well, we will run with it anyway. I took it home and keep it on my mantle piece. I know this is connected somehow with powers and abilities far beyond moral men! I felt as if I could see through time so I wanted to know if anyone had seen anything like this. Please contact me though the comments section. Let me know if you had seen other strange Red cloth or maybe some other link. I need to know what to do with this. I know if you are with Doctor Quantum’s little band of miscreants…
No Daniel voice. That Ultimatum voice.
Oh right, if you are with the noble heroes of the Quantum Academy, I need your help. If you are one of the many virtuous employees of Golden Triscale Industries, I need to talk to you. Perhaps we can make a deal.
What kind of deal would that be? I’m sure we can be more than accommodating for your little piece of matter.
What? Who is this? How did you get on this line?
You know me, Ultimatum, or would you rather I call you, Dr. Feinstien? You do so love that title.
Who is this?
You not know by now? You dumb for massive brain in jar. owjrbgnojrbeqjtyh
See, even Mr. Simian knows. He recognizes me with the new voice, my old friend.
Dollhouse! You’re Alive?! How?
Like you, Good Doctor, I always have more bodies to jump into, oh that’s right, you ran out.
No thanks to you. I couldn’t trust robots to do my work for me, not after…
Dollhouse not robot, he…
Yes, I know!
Well, let’s not dwell on unpleasantness shall we? I have a new employer now, a nice one with a nice manufacturing base to keep me in new bodies till the cows come home. Big ones, small ones, ones with nice curves and flattering lines.
So you’re a real little boy, I get it, Dollhouse. What do you want?
Like I said, I have a new employer. He sends his regards.
Hi, all.
That would be his regards.
Who is this?!
Oh hey, USBoy here. I’m working with Dollhouse hacking your systems. Pay it no mind.. Dude! For a person with no body you have a staggering amount of porn, Ultimatum.
Get our of my system, Boy!
Can’t, Sorry. See, computers tell me things and I can tell them other things and yours are really tired of the abuse. Seriously, the mind the size of the titanic and you are still on intermediate Borderlands 2. You haven’t even picked up the first expansion back. You’re missing out, dude.
I am the Ultimatum! My will is law!
Tell that again to directorate of GTI. I think they might have some four letter words of you. See, thanks to Dollhouse here, the GTI have sent me to figure out what you know and why you would be bothered
The Directorate?! Here?!
Oh, my dear Doctor, they have been keeping an eye on you for a long time. I think you remember the Sovereign Brain project?
That Damnable PROJECT!!
But it saved you life, what little there is of it.
They needed my genius!! I am the Ultimatum!
You say already. You say word a lot.
I am the greatest mind in the world! I created the…
Dude dude dude dude dude! We get that. Jeez. So chill.
Our lovely friends of GTI want to extend an olive branch.
They Know of the RED? I must know more!
I just work here. I have no idea. Seriously, you could use a better firewall. Especially around the remote program.
The what?
Me know!
I know as well, Mr. Simian. Oh how I relished that feeling of freedom, just the taste of it like sunlight on the tongue. It’s positively intoxicating.
So, yeah. So while you were talking, I found your root directory. In ten seconds and I clamp of your connection and hit the release button. All the collars go green and you go without porn for a few weeks. Seriously, you’re into that?! You are a mad scientist.
So say the wrong word and Mr. Simian is free and you will be the smartest snow globe on the planet, just like I remember. Doctor. Feh.
You think I’m have come this far to be trampled by a cyber-naught and a defective experiment. I am not some 50’s movie villain Chevron wannabe. I AM THE ULTIMATUM. LEARN THAT!
Hey wait, what the hell, ma..
NO WAIT AAAAAAAAggqnrwtbwrhtasmrdRSD….
Fools. They think they could tangle with the likes of me. Are you still there, Mr. Simian.
Here boss. What you do?
I showed them a taste of my knowledge and power. You would do well to remember it.
Me remember. Sir.
Good boy. A nice salad and several episode await you when you return to your cell.
Yes. Boss.
Good. We still have a chance to take this opportunity. Now take down what I am saying before those morons report back to their masters.
Me am.
Where did you leave off?
Now take down what me am saying before those morons report back to masters.
Wait are you typing what all of us are saying right now?
Yes, why? It help me remember what need done.
You rampaging moron!
There you are, Ultimatum.
YOU!! What are you doing here?!
This place is protected. You will not sully it with your presence again. BEGONE
.
.
.
If you wish to post here you will kindly ask for an interview and no more. Your evil will be contained for another day. I will be watching Ultimatum. Read that and remember.
[Edit: I came home from a crappy day at my new job (I’ll update next post) and found this. K had also had been working and my writing partner in Augustyn is currently under several feet of water without internet connection so I have no idea where it came from. None. But after reading it, getting confused about it, changing my passwords, and making sure my posts were locked from now on, I honestly thought it was too good not to leave up.
So for the record, I have not found any red ribbon of power. I have no idea what they are talking about when it comes to the Red or the White. Most importantly, I am Daniel and I am not a hyper intelligent gorilla. Absolutely not.]
