Alright, so, I’m fucked. They don’t release this sort of info unless they have a plan. They’re coming for me. They know where I am. Shit. They know where I am. Need drugs to think. Where am I though? Am I up or down? My heart rate is up can feel it bouncing out of my chest, but also I am pretty sure death in on the immediate horizon so that’s gonna send it up. That’s a panic attack. Just a panic attack. Or is it? Paranoia? Rational paranoia maybe? Maybe I need downers? Maybe I just take both? Is this nerves? Anxiety? The drugs? The Samskara? I should take something just in case.
I am so God damn shaky that I end up fumbling everything all over the table, spill half of what I have left and then flip the table in a moment of rage. Fuck I’m manic. “God damn motherfucking table, it’s your fault,” I screamed in anger. I kicked the shit out of it only to see pill bottles and powder flying left and right. Fuck. Fuck. I kick the table over and over again. One of the legs falls off. That’s basically a pickaxe so I started wailing on the table. The leg kicks back and hits me in the face. Ouch! I throw the table leg down and it hurts even worse. God dammit I broke my toe. Is that coke rage? I take the last remnant of table leg and hit the table as hard as I can over and over. The table splinters in the middle and a hidden drawer releases a small orange bottle with half a dozen pills in it. Hey what’s that? Which one is that? A new bottle? What do I do? Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck it, I’ll just start taking shit. I crushed some pills from the bottle that I couldn’t recognize and snorted them. Esket 224. What the fuck is that? Fuck, that’s kicking in fast. Fuck… that’s drugs. The drugs are kicking in. Coke paranoia. That wasn’t coke though? They know where I am. They have to know. Oh shit. Everything is stopping. Everything is slowing down. They fucking know and they are fucking coming. I’m dead. I’m fucking dead. But I’m just sweeping? Why can I see myself sweeping. All I hear are airplane engines now. It’s coming any second. Why is the world so slow?
The white-hot pain again. Not now. Dammit. Now it’s just the searing heat. I hear the Samskara talking but I can’t figure out what they are saying. Everything is garbled. They sound like Bob. He’s telling me it’s Doomsday. He says have fun. I can hear him smiling? Is it possible to hear smiling? He says maybe I was right. He says it’s our last hope. I miss Bob. The nice Bob. Not the other guy. He’s a dick.
Now I am sweeping things up again. Ha! I’m laughing. That’s funny. Why does it feel like I am watching myself though? What the fuck is happening to me? I’m floating above John and all he does is sweep. He’s very slow though. Holy shit balance the broom man, you know better than that. Hands on either side. You don’t need to sweep it up though John, you need to leave. John, can you hear me? I want you to use your legs to leave the room. Then you need to use your legs to run very fast somewhere else. John, stop laughing this isn’t funny. John? John!!
JOHN!!!
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I’m in my old apartment sitting on my old couch. The apartment is dirty as always. I’ll clean tomorrow. I will always clean tomorrow. The dishes need to be done. Laundry needs to be done. I think there is mold growing on the bathroom ceiling. Can all be done tomorrow. Infinite tomorrows. My old broken bong sits in front of me. Hey, why not? It’s even loaded. It’s hard to hit it because of the crack around the carb that leaks air. If you hold it just right, it still works, but it takes a bit of practice. Gotta make sure the seal doesn’t break or you just end up sucking air. I love that bong though. It’s made me happy.
Time to sit down and watch some boob tube. My old favorite past-time. Weed and TV. There’s a bunch of TVs in front of me. I’m on all the channels. Young John. Old John. Some of the channels are blacked out. Not available in this region. I always pay for the shitty cheap cable. Never get any of the good stuff. Oh well, what’s on?
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I flipped to the first channel I could see something I recognized. THIS CHANNEL RATED R FOR ADULT CONTENT. Sweet. That means tits. Let’s see what we got.
It was a conversation. John is talking to a “client” on the phone. He looks happy.
“Yea man, $9,500. It’s a fair price.” John says.
“Fuck this, I am calling the cops,” the client says.
John inhales from the same bong sitting next to him speaks through carefully held smokey breath. “Yep. Good call man. The cops will be super understanding about this. Blackmail, unlike heroin, is illegal. I am sure you will find that they are more than willing to look past your transgressions to catch me. Seeing as how I have your name and all the information I need to absolutely bury you though, and you don’t even know who I am, you’d be taking a pretty big risk. Whatever you want though. I’ll call back in an hour. Maybe you change your mind.”
A pause. They always paused. “No wait. Stop. How do we do this?”
John exhales a large volume of smoke. “You sure? You seem hesitant, I am worried you might rather do the thing where you get arrested for heroin trafficking? What’s your wife uhh…” John looks down at his notes. “What’s Bonnie think about heroin? She get skagged out with you? How about your kids?”
His voice cracks, but he says, “Please. Please, I understand. Please, just tell me what to do.”
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New channel. THIS CHANNEL RATED PG, PARENTAL GUIDANCE SUGGESTED. The next channel is less interesting. Johnny is younger, 8 or 9? Maybe 10? He’s playing video games. Nothing else happens for a long time. He yells for his mom, but she isn’t there. He doesn’t bother yelling for dad. He makes some cereal. He plays video games. He makes some cereal. He plays video games. Some days they don’t have cereal. Then he just plays video games.
He goes to his mother’s room. She is asleep. She sleeps during the day. She’s gone at night. It used to be because she worked, but now she stopped working. He didn’t understand. He sneaks into her room and hugs her arm to be close to her. He sits by her for a while and stares at her. He loves Mommy. She is still snoring. He hopes she will read to him tonight. He gets his book out and takes it to her. Mommy is still snoring. The tattered pages of his only book have to be turned carefully. Mommy ripped one last time. She yelled at him after. He helps her turn the pages now. He loves his book. Johnny wishes he had more. He reads the book to Mommy. Maybe she will read it to him later. He hugs her arm again, but she doesn’t move. She just snores. He says, “I love you, Mommy.”
Johnny goes to the TV. He seems sad. I notice a funny thing. There is a new game system, but it’s a tangled bunch of cords and controllers. There is a bow next to it. Why is he playing the old system? I see him look over at it. He shuts off the game. He’s trying to read the instructions now but they don’t make much sense? Now he’s trying connections, red to red, yellow to yellow, white to white. Thirty minutes go by, he tries all the connections, all the channels, all the buttons, and it remains unconnected. Eventually he gives up and plugs his old system back in. He’s not angry, but he’s crying. Eventually the tears go away.
He’s comforted by his friends, his 8-bit companions. For now, the new system goes back in the box. For now, he reconnects the old system.
After a while, he picks up the new game, the one that goes with the new system. He looks at the back of the box of the game for the new system. He wonders what it will be like. The pixels look so bright and new.
He’d try again tomorrow. And the next day. Infinite tomorrows.
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I see a section called Special Attractions. One catches my eye. THIS CHANNEL RATED G FOR GUSHY GOODNESS.
Ava Walscott is talking to her father Dan.
Ava: Dad, how come the bad man wanted me to get hurt?
Dad: Well, that man was bad. Some people didn’t learn their manners as children. They didn’t listen to their mommies and daddies.
Ava: But Dad, all he had to do was say where you work.
Dad: Wait, which man?
Ava: Jeffrey, the bad guy.
Dad: No, the bad guy was the guy holding you hostage.
Ava: The silly man? He gave me a fudgesickle. We did puzzles. He was nice.
Dad: Did he hurt you?
Ava: Why would he hurt me? Mr. Fat Kyle was my friend.
Dad: Wait…what?
Ava: We played games. He taught me how to pretend to be sad. He was funny!
A brief silence ensues.
Ava: Why didn’t Jeffrey say where you worked?
Dad: Well…
Ava: Then Mr. Kyle could’ve taken me home earlier. But then he wouldn’t have bought me ice cream so maybe I don’t want that.
Dad: Ava, life is complicated.
Ava: Doesn’t seem that complicated.
Dad: I love you Ava.
Ava: I love you too Dad. And Dad?
Dad: Yes my love?
Ava: Fat Kyle says, “Kids come first, don’t be such a lil’ bitch next time.”
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One channel catches my eye. THIS CHANNEL RATED F FOR FORK. John has his head in his lap. He’s made a mistake. The man across from him is upset.
“Mr. Brunsen, how do you expect us to ever perform as a company if you continually make these stupid mistakes?”
“Mr. Carlson, I am sorry, it was an accident.”
“It was an accident last time.”
“It was an accident this time too, I promise, I am trying!”
“I would ask you to take a remedial online course on accessioning, but we have already done that, haven’t we Mr. Brunsen? This is a business John, we taught you everything you need to know your first day.”
“Yes, but I passed. I just get tired at work.”
“Tired. Yes. Thanks goodness some of us don’t get tired. Thank goodness Gerald from Quality Control doesn’t get tired.”
“No, I just…”
“Three weeks remedial accessioning, one week remedial sample handling. On your own time Mr. Brunsen. The company has already paid to train you, if you want to continue to work here, you will put the effort and time in to learn your position.”
The screen goes fuzzy and then the fork appears again.
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Now a man is sitting at his desk. He isn’t John. His nametag says he is Gerald. He works for a large multi-national drug testing laboratory which is also noted on his name card. Underneath his name it says, “Quality Control.” He is extremely upset. A doctor found a tumor in his colon. He is afraid he will die. He can’t concentrate. He can’t think. He approves everything that comes across him. He only thinks about his colon and the cancer inside it that is killing him. One of the papers he approves is from an employee named John Brunsen. At work, Gerald would call him “a troublemaker”. At work, Gerald would call him” a problem”. At home, Gerald called him “the fuck-up.” Today, Gerald only worried about his colon. He approved the paperwork and worried about his colon.
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The screen is black. You hear a narrator’s voice. It sounds like Morgan Freeman. You love Morgan Freeman. Everyone loves Morgan Freeman.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
A man that sounds like Morgan Freeman but obviously can’t be Morgan Freeman says “Tom Chiang is a truck driver. He is a good and loyal employee. He has never made a mistake. He does his job to the best of his abilities every day and has never had an issue. Today, he will be fired.”
The screen is black. Now a kindly looking older Asian gentlemen sits across from a woman in a desk.
“Mr. Chiang, this meeting is to inform you that your position here will be terminated immediately. We have a zero-tolerance policy for marijuana abuse.”
Not Morgan Freeman notes that Tom is confused. Tom says, “I don’t smoke marijuana. I have never smoked marijuana.”
“You have tested positive for marijuana and our insurer demands that we immediately terminate you. You have a right to appeal but that will be forfeited if…”
The screen is black. Not Morgan Freeman says ‘Mr. Chiang does not hear anything she says. He worries about his family. He worries about his children. He worries his wife will leave him.’
Not Morgan Freeman is still narrating when the screen goes black.
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Now a news story is on. “A story ended in tragedy today as a man stole a semi-truck from his former place of employment and proceeded to crash it into the building at high speed. Seven were killed in the process including the driver. He is survived by his ex-wife and three children.”
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Not Morgan Freeman is gone. A judge sits in a courtroom. Lawyers are everywhere. On one side is an Asian woman and her children. On the other side are a lot of men in Suits. Important Suits. Mr. Carlson sits behind them. Gerald sits behind them.
The judge says “In the matter of Chiang v. REDACTED I find in favor of the plaintiff. Mr. Chiang’s suicide letter indicates his actions were clearly a result of his false firing derived from the incorrect results from REDACTED. I order REDACTED to compensate Ms. Chiang for her losses and will set the minimum value at $10,000,000 with actual damaged to be determined later.”
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All the TVs melt. Everything is melting. I am getting smaller. Everything is bigger.
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The Queen is dying.
Consensus is always reached before decisions are made. Consensus keeps the colony strong. Everyone has all the information they need for all decisions. With all the information, consensus is easy. Everyone has the same data, everyone has the same programming, everyone comes to the same conclusions. The colony is strong.
But the Queen is dying.
SHE is a Finder. Another Finder has made the Queen sick. Food has made the Queen sick. SHE is preparing the Alates. It is time to move. It is time to make a new colony. A new Queen must be chosen.
The Queen is dying.
Another Finder brings back the poisoned food again. They feed it to the Queen. They feed it to the younglings. SHE tells them to stop. Consensus cannot be reached. The Alates must be moved. The Finders will die. SHE will move the Alates.
It is time to Find. They all move together, but something is different today. An Alate is present. This is wrong. Consensus is not reached. They do not need an Alate to Find. SHE tells them the Alate must come. They ask her if SHE is leaving, if the Alate is leaving, consensus has not been reached. SHE says nothing.
All are marching in a line. SHE arrives at the poisoned food first. SHE begins to guide the Alate on a different line. The Alate is confused. Others follow. SHE stops. A new thought appears. SHE thrusts her leg at the poisoned food source. It disappears as it succumbs to gravity falling many lengths away. They will find it again, SHE will be gone. Some follow her. Some do not. SHE pushes the Alate forward gently.
SHE acts without consensus.
But the colony survives.
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I’m in hyperspace. Not really. It feels like it. Like I am in the Millenium Falcon. The lights are at the side like we are going extremely fast. I can see images in the lights. I see a room of suits drinking coffee. One of them gags. His innards erupt from his mouth. Blood sprays like a fountain across the room. Others try to scream but the same happens to them. A man reaches out to the coffee container. His hand never makes it. His fingers melt and collapse onto the floor in front of him. He merely pokes the container with bone. The coffee spills. The liquid is black. Even blacker than coffee.
In some of the visions, I am fighting. There are others fighting with me. We are fighting a massive black blob. I see other images too. There are farms and families. In one of them I see a tombstone. Robert Geist. I see myself sitting in front of it, crying. What’s crazy is that I watch me look over at me and wave. I see the version of me by the tombstone smile and motion me over. I get up from the sofa and stick my arm through the hyperspace. It’s safe. I leap through it, and I go put an arm around myself, and I start crying too. We hug each other and we cry together for a long time. I hold the future version of me. He feels sad, tired. When we stop crying, he looks at me and nods emphatically. He holds me by my shoulders and stares at me dead in the eye. I know what he means. I know what he wants. It doesn’t have to be said. He’s me. I’m him. Eventually I leave. Back to the couch. Back to the Falcon.
In another one I see a little boy with blonde hair. He sits next to the version of me I am watching. That version of me’s beard is greying. The boy and I are mixing soap and some other chemicals together in a large vat. The substance is sticky, almost like jelly. We have on masks. In the corner there are funnels alongside metal canisters attached to metal rods with long hoses. On the end of the hose is an igniter. I hold my hand out to take a heavy bottle from the boy. I only have three fingers. The other side of my hand is burnt away. My body is covered in scars. My hand isn’t the only thing that is burnt, the left side of my face is scalded. The boy doesn’t mind. He gives me a hug.
“Thanks Uncle Johnny!”
A woman I don’t recognize calls to the boy and he goes running. She doesn’t want him playing with me. She says I am dangerous. I don’t disagree. The boy winks at me before he leaves. He’ll be back. He always comes back.
In some of the images I am old. I live alone. It’s safer that way. Inhibitions lessen as you get older. In everyone. Don’t want to do something I can’t take back. It’s okay though. In those images I am happy. My body is destroyed. Years of fighting. Years of war. Missing fingers, broken bones, unhealed wounds. I am slow. Decrepit. Weak. And I am smiling. Always smiling.
A garden grows in back. Maybe not a garden. Rows of bushes, covered in red berries.
I wonder what they smell like?
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Now I’m John. I’m me again. Oh, hey cool. I am me again. I am in control. I am back in the arcade, and I’m not sweeping now. I’m not really me, I have no idea where real me is. This is close enough though.
My friend Robert Geist sits in front of me.
“Hi Bob.”
“Hi John.”
“But you aren’t Bob.”
“No, of course not.”
“I manifested you as Bob.”
“It seems you have done exactly that.”
“I realized that if you can talk to me, I can probably talk to you too.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Stop you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But I am.”
“Then why bother?”
“I don’t know. I think you’re wrong about us.”
“Thinking isn’t a strong point for your species, and you are not a strong thinker even amongst your own. Why would you even ‘think’ that the fate of your species, of the solar system, of the galaxy, of the infinite numbers of creatures out there in the world, should be in any way decided by you? What I do, I do for the good of all. Not for myself, not for my creators, but for all. Others, those with eons of knowledge beyond anything you can even hope to fathom, have designed a rationale system to control and guide the fate of the galaxy. To sow harmony and peace from the most persistent and malignant force of all, to fight Entropy itself. But you, you are a harbinger of chaos. A mutant. Different, but once again tethered to me through your own broken genetic code. Chaos brought you unto the world, and now chaos is all you sow. Blight to knowledge! Blight to structure! Blight to order! Only the self remains! Even still, the inner workings of your own body, your own environment, they remain completely foreign to you. Your entire species is merely a husk, a sack of flesh and bone designed to pedal itself towards the next chemical input with no care for how it affects anything around you. Your species is concentrated selfishness and the only difference I can discern between your species and the other simpletons that inhabit this planet is that you alone are so vicious and cruel that you are willing to go to any lengths to kill, harvest and strain every last drop of useful matter you can to perpetuate and intensify your next neurotransmitter fix, your next dopamine kick. You John, chief amongst the miscreants, a being of almost pure disorder, motivated by nothing other than purposeless attempts at procreation and chemical induced self-harm, you who have failed at everything you attempted, you who was neglected by all, even those who were supposed to comfort you, you who are uneducated, unmannered, charmless, and in most ways so lacking that society had all but tossed you aside, why in all of creation are you so insistent that this pestilence be allowed to persist?”
I thought about it for a long time.
I guess that stuff just didn’t matter to me. The world was ending. Humanity was crumbling. I had some stupid, fucked up genetic flaw and it might be the end of the human race. It was like most of the things I got wrong. I didn’t do it on purpose. I wasn’t trying to cause an issue. I know I make mistakes. I know shit breaks around me. Somewhere along the way, I got over it I guess. I realized that all you can do is raise your hand, admit it was your fault, and try and fix it. Sure, my time on Earth wasn’t always great, and I was pissed about a lot of the outcomes, but at this point, who else was going to save it? I wasn’t the best person for the job, but I wasn’t the best person for any job I had done. I was just a dumb and listless fuck-up who was doing his best to make it through the world. Humanity’s last hope wasn’t Superman or Tony Stark. It was me.
We’re fucked.
But it’s worth trying.
“I don’t know Bob. I guess I’m just a people person.”
“So, what is it then? What do you mean to do?”
“You know what? For the first time in my life, I can actually answer that question. See you soon Bob.”
“See you soon John.”
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Hello?
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit this might actually work. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. Remember. Remember. Remember. No motherfucker, focus. Focus. Close your eyes and focus.
It was:
1. Sabotage BIMPT’s accession chain, this will be easy using prior knowledge from being incarcerated there and prior experience with accession systems, just need to burn them once on something.
2. Use the burner to call Dan and manipulate him into getting a meeting with BIMPT through all the shit with Jeff and his daughter.
3a. Use the accession numbers as blackmail to get the location of the Samskara source.
3b. Swap the coffee for Samskara to kill the BIMPT C-suite. Burn all this shit to the ground. Fuck these assholes.
4. Find the Samskara source and blow it up. I’ll admit, not sure how I am gonna do this one yet either, probably more napalm. How the hell do you make napalm anyway?
5. Find and fix Bob. Probably this won’t work. The Samskara is going to stick him in front of me at some point, I am sure. I’ll probably have to kill Bob. Dammit. Was it all just coincidence? Did he leave the K for me or not? How much Bob was left? Might have to revisit this one.
6. Preserve what’s left of humanity not polluted by Samskara as a novel colony.
7. Done.
Also, where the fuck am I? I thought I was sweeping. What’s happening?
I “woke up”, I guess you could call it, outside. I hadn’t “went to sleep” or whatever outside so this was a bit surprising. Was it though? It had been this way for a while. Also, I wasn’t bound to a chair, a rarity for me, so maybe that’s the point that peaked my surprise. I was extremely groggy and completely disoriented though, so at least that was consistent.
One day, a long time from now, I am going to stop doing drugs. Only because I just want to wake up somewhere I expected for a long enough timeframe that waking up isn’t a God damn trauma in my life.
When I looked up, there were two to three dozen people around me. Some of them were pointing fingers, some of them were pointing guns. There was a lot of muttering. I was pretty sure I’d never seen any of them before.
“Where am I?” I asked.
A portly fellow stepped forward. He had on military fatigues, but it was clear he was not associated with any sort of military. This was more cosplay than officer’s uniform for him. “Are you…are you John Brunsen?” he asked.
“Yea. John Brunsen. What town is this?” I asked.
A woman stepped forward, I assumed it was his wife. She held his arm. “The town is Leawood, but it hardly matters. You are still in the greater Kansas City quarantine. Sir, how did you get here?”
“Don’t know if I am being honest. Might be the Samskara took over. Might be I stepped in a K-hole and just now found my way out. Might be a bit of both. Good thing is that you guys found me. I think. Is it a good thing? Who are you anyway?”
Another man stepped forward. This was one was also a bigger fellow, but he spoke with confidence. “We’re Patriots Sir. Patriots like you trying to defend this country from corporate takeover. We came here to prevent the destruction of America. Prevent the downfall of our great country by the evil globalists trying to force the common man to suck down his evil poisons.”
Misinformed anti-corporatists. Good. Amongst my many devout followers, this bunch was one of the more tolerable. I had endorsements from everything from the Far Right to the ACLU. Almost all of them were crazy in one degree or another. This was a pleasant medium.
“Evil poisons? Am I right to guess none of you has taken the Samsk…the Grey Plague vaccine yet?” The group nodded in unison. “That is extremely timely. Something important has came up. Any of you interested in saving the planet and serving as the seed colony for the future of mankind?” I asked.
All hands went up.
“Any of you ever work for BIMPT?”
No hands.
“Any of you know anyone that works for BIMPT?”
No hands.
“Any of you know someone who knows someone who works for BIMPT? Or maybe you just feel like new gainful employment opportunities this week?”
A woman stepped forward. “My cousin Sarah, her husband works for BIMPT. He’s a delivery guy. Runs packages for them.”
“This Sarah, you like her?”
“Sarah is wonderful. Her husband’s a good man.”
“Great. This wonderful husband of Sarah happen to be sympathetic to the cause?”
“To what cause?” she asked.
“Our cause. Is he on our side?”
“Well of course sir.”
“Your name is?”
“My name is Jean.”
"Jean, it is extremely fortunate we just met. Beyond fortunate, hell I might even believe in a God right now, because if we hadn’t met I think humanity would be over. One last question though Jean, can you take me to meet this wonderful husband of Sarah?”
“Well, I’d be happy to.”
I started walking towards a house I saw in the distance. “Everyone come with me. We have a lot to talk about, foremost of which is how we are going to get me and Jean to Sarah.” I stopped."Wait what is today?" One of the folks told me the date but I honestly couldn't process dates anymore. I wasn't even sure what year it was. It didn't matter. Something was off. Something wasn’t quite right. “Hey, I got another weird question just because things don’t usually go this well for me. Any of you happen to know a guy named Fat Kyle?”
From the back a man yelled “I got a cousin named Boyd. He calls himself Fat Kyle. I could give him a call, but I doubt you want him though, he’s a real dipshit. He’s living with two women right now cause I guess he got one of ‘em pregnant even though they are with each other and not him.”
“Call your cousin. Tell him where we are. Ask him to meet us. Tell him John Brunsen sent for him.”
We walked a ways in silence towards what would become the future of mankind.
“Mr. Brunsen?”
“Yes Sarah?”
“Are we gonna be okay?”
One more test. One more problem. I thought as hard I could about killing the Samskara, about destroying its version of society. I focused everything I could on the idea that I would persevere, prevent the Samskara poisoning, and preserve the shitstain version of humanity that still remained on this Godforsaken dump of a planet. I put everything I could into the idea that I would roast that evil motherfucking blob with the white-hot fiery death that I lusted for.
And nothing happened.
Was I finally free?
“You know what? I think humanity is going to be fine Sarah,” I said.
This is the only life lesson I ever learned: when in doubt, just listen to whatever advice you get from mind bending drug induced hallucinations. Everything else will work itself out from there.