Mr. Fellows got Robby to his feet roughly, then produced a black cloth bag from his coat pocket.
“Sorry about this, Mr. Ragestorm, but we can’t be too careful. I’m sure you understand.” The man’s voice made it sound like he wasn’t sorry at all. The bag was secured over Robby’s head, then tightened around his neck with a drawstring. He was brought to his feet, then firmly escorted away.
He screamed for his mother, but Mr. Fellows clamped a hand over his mouth. Soon another set of hands grasped his other arm and the collar of his sweatshirt, and he felt himself being lead down the small set of steps on the side of his house.
They’re taking me to the van.
His suspicions were confirmed when he heard the door open.
“Step up,” came a female voice. Robby complied.
He was led to a hard bench, and his hands were placed behind his back and handcuffed to some attachment on the wall. The van door closed, and for a moment Robby was unsure if he was alone in the compartment or not.
“You were a hard one to track down, Mr. Ragestorm.” The voice was female, soft. Almost compassionate. “I was happy to find out you were operating out of Portland. It means we’d get to be the ones to shut you down. I’ll tell you right now, sweetie, that this will go much better for you if you cooperate.”
The last sentence was said in a tone a mother would use with her sick child. Combined with the message, it sent an involuntary shiver coursing through Robby’s flesh.
“Where are you taking me?” Robby asked, his voice muffled by the hood. “Who are you?”
The woman stroked his head. “No more questions, Robby. We’ll be there soon.”
Robby complied, and passed the time by trying to judge his location based on the turns the van was taking. After a long bank to the left, the van accelerated to freeway speed.
We’re on the I-5. Going south.
After an hour of driving, the van exited, and as far as Robby could tell, began heading east.
Somewhere outside of Salem?
Another thirty minutes of silence and the van came to a stop. The driver, assumingly Mr. Fellows, cut the engine and got out of the car. The back door opened and Robby was led out.
“Where are we?” he asked. “What do you want with me?”
Nobody answered him. He was led by his hands across concrete. A parking lot. A few moments later, the hot summer air was dispelled by a blast of air conditioning as they entered a building.
Robby heard the beeps of what could have been a key card access point as he was brought deeper into the building. A few minutes and a few beeps later, Robby was sat down, and his hood removed.
He didn’t recognize the man who had escorted him. He was in his twenties and had mousy brown hair. He wore a grey, one-piece jumpsuit with the NASA logo embroidered on his chest. The man attached the handcuffs to a locking eye-ring on top of the metal table in front of him, then left.
The room was small, with grey walls with a large mirror taking up the majority of the one in front of him. Two chairs sat across from him. Aside from that, the room held nothing else.
“Hello?” Robert spat at the mirror. “Let me the hell out of here. I don’t know who you are, but I possess a particular skill set!”
He got no response.
He sat in silence for another fifteen minutes before attempting again.
“Listen, you assholes, I know my rights! You can’t hold me here!” He struggled in vain to move his arms from the table. “At least give me something to drink!”
The door opened, and his two abductors stepped in.
The woman… Masters? took the sear across from him to his right, while Mr. Fellows put two hands the size of cantaloupes on the back of the chair next to her. His sunglasses were off now, and Robby could see the man’s eyes. The right was a piercing blue, while the left was bisected by a thick scar. The eyeball itself was as white as a cueball, and as pupil-less as a classroom on senior skip day.
Jeez, man. Wear an eyepatch.
The face was framed by well-kept black hair, greying at the temples. The man leaned in towards Robby.
“Mr. Ragestorm.” He produced a notebook from his breast pocket and flipped through it. “Media creator of the… Ragestorm Flat Earth Chronicles?”
Robby remained silent, and the man continued.
“An interesting selection of episodes. Episode 21 - the Gravity Fallacy, 250,000 views. Episode 91 - The Sun and Moon, Equal Size and Very Close, 228,000 views.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
He flipped a page, and his voice darkened. “Episode 101 - The NASA Deceit. 197,000 views.”
He closed the notepad and it disappeared inside his suit jacket.
The woman spoke up, her voice as deceptively soothing as it had been in the van.
“Mr. Ragestorm--may I call you Robby?”
Robby begrudgingly nodded agreement.
“Robby, do you know why you’re here?”
His gaze went to the scar-eyed man before resting back on his red-headed partner. She was easier to look at--delicate features, a tiny nose, surrounded by a professional-looking ginger mane.
Robby had pieced it together in the van ride over. “Well, the fact that you brought me here can only mean one thing.” He smiled. “I’m right, aren’t I. The whole flat earth movement--we’ve hit the nail on the head, and my voice has gotten so loud that you’re trying to silence me.”
Ms. Masters exchanged a smirking glance with Mr. Fellows, then sat back in her chair. The man brought a huge palm down onto the metal table with a resounding crack.
“We don’t care about your pathetic little theories, Ragestorm,” he bellowed. “You and your kind are a bunch of nutjobs, and nobody takes you seriously.”
He leaned in so close that Robby could smell the tuna fish sandwich the man had for lunch.
“What I do care about, Robby, is Antipode Seven.”
Robby looked at the man blankly.
“Antidote what?”
Robby was completely unprepared for the backhand. The man’s meaty mitt brought stars to Robby’s eyes and set his ear ringing fiercely. He could taste blood, and could already feel his lip swelling. He turned his head and spit a glob of blood on the floor.
“What the hell, man?” Robby’s eyebrows shot up. “You can’t treat me like this! I have rights! I want a lawyer here in the next two seconds or I am going to sue your ass to the moon and back!”
“You’re not going to do shit!” Mr. Fellows roared, then brought the back of his hand up for another strike.
Ms. Masters held out one demure hand. To Robby it looked like someone trying to stop a charging bull with a bubble wand. She glanced at him and the man appeared to deflate.
“Your attempts at litigation won’t get very far, I’m afraid,” she said, giving Robby a concerned look. “But that aside, we know you wrote Antipode Seven, we know you hacked into NASA to upload it, and we know what you’re planning next. It won’t work.”
Robby stared up in disbelief. “What? Hacked my way into NASA?” He laughed the long, silent laugh of someone who had no idea what the fuck was going on. “Ma’am, I couldn’t hack my way out of a paper bag. I make videos for Chrissake.”
Mr. Fellows chuckled, the rage present ten seconds ago now nowhere to be found. “It doesn't matter, Mr. Ragestorm. We have you, now. And we have so many ways to make you talk.”
At that moment, the surface of the table… flickered. Robby stared at it, furrowing his brow, then looked up at his two inquisitors. Neither one of them appeared to have noticed it. He glanced back down again, then jumped as a line of green text appeared on the scratched metal surface, the letters appearing from left to right as if typed.
TT1 [https://i.ibb.co/rpRtvXX/TABLETEXT.png]
Robby completely failed to follow the direction.
“You guys see this?” he blurted, staring wide-eyed at the table.
“All I see is a two-bit wannabe hacker who’s in for a very difficult time in the near future,” chuckled Mr. Fellows.
TT2 [https://i.ibb.co/QHdcNYr/TABLETEXT2.png]
After five seconds, the text winked out, and Robby was left staring at the tabletop.
“Considering your options, Robby? That’s good,” came the calm voice of Ms. Masters. Robby jerked from his stupor and looked up. “But I’m afraid you don’t really have any options to consider. We need you to tell us…”
Three events happened in rapid succession.
Robby’s handcuffs sprang open and clattered to the floor. The two interrogators stared in shock as Robby brought his hands up to his face.
Next, the thick metal door to the cell clanked loudly and flew open. Ms. Masters jumped to her feet, and Mr. Fellows dove for Robby.
Then the lights went out, and the room and hallway beyond were plunged into blackness.
Robby leaped for where he remembered the doorway to be, shrugging off the massive paw of Mr. Fellows as he careened into the door frame. He spun around. Not even a glimmer of light shone anywhere.
“I can’t see a goddamn thing!” Mr. Fellows shouted. “Why the hell won’t my phone work?”
Robby felt along the wall and ran as fast as he could, unsure as to where he was going. Then, a small green dot pierced the blackness on the floor in front of him. Another one came after it, then another.
The dotted line.
He followed the dots as fast as he dared, and they led him around a corner. A line of text appeared on the wall to his right.
WT1 [https://i.ibb.co/PGx8kq9/WALLTEXT1.png]
Robby obeyed, and followed the dots as they appeared. Sometimes he would hear the clank of a heavy security door opening. He could also hear the voices of his captors far behind him, stumbling around in vain.
After about ten minutes, the dots led him to a wall, and then stopped. The dots gave off no light to the space around them, and Robby felt his gut wrench in a moment of panic. Then another block of text appeared directly in front of him.
wt3 [https://i.ibb.co/MVd4BtY/WALLTEXT3.png]
Robby did as instructed, and his world became awash in red as sunlight poured through his eyelids. After a few moments, he hesitantly squinted them open, and the outlines of bushes and rocks began to take form around him. He stumbled out into open ground, blinking as his sight slowly came back.
He was standing outside of a large, nondescript building in the middle of rolling hills and scrubland. As he turned toward the building, he saw his escape route slide shut behind him, the two doors meeting in the middle and barely leaving a seam.
Robby put his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths.
What the hell is happening? How am I seeing these words everywhere?
As if answering his question, more words appeared on the wall he was staring at. These were strange, well strange-er, as the dark-green words had no background save for the light beige wall.
ST1 [https://i.ibb.co/R7crpVc/STUCCOTEXT.png]
Robby scanned the area and found the edge of the parking lot peeking around the western corner of the building. He ran for it, and found the van that had been parked outside of his house waiting in front of a pair of unmarked double glass doors. There were no other cars in the complex, as well as no signage saying what the sprawling, one-story building might be. He sprinted for the driver’s door and threw himself inside. The engine turned over and roared to life as it did so, with no assistance from him.
One large, translucent message splashed across the windshield.
go [https://i.ibb.co/tp2H77R/gotext.png]