Yuri Worlds

[86] Preludes

“You have nothing to worry about, Mister Horner… Or, if you would prefer, Miss Hotner. Travel Anywhere and its associated interest-controlling parents encourage diversity and respect the ownership rights of independent creatives. I’m just taking this out to do some tests first. It’s related to your trip.”

Misaki’s position inside the weird tube blocked her from seeing the unknown man speaking to her best friend. She wanted to scream to Guy that she was here, in what had to be the past.

How had she gotten here? There was just a sharp sound, and then suddenly it was like she had dropped through an adjacent tube and been severed from Yuka. Looking above her was just as difficult as trying to get more of a panorama of the space she had been roughly plopped down on.

Guy spoke again, leaning forward on a creaky, simple wooden chair. “What is it?”

It’s me! it’s me! Misaki wanted to shout to the heavens. If this was time travel somehow, then it was a crucial opportunity. If she could warn her friend about the road ahead… The details of a dozen different time travel works drifted through her thoughts.

What about temporal continuity? Assuming she found a way to get a message to Guy that might be comprehended, what could any of them really do? If Guy declined to take the trip or anything went differently so that they never traveled, they never met Yuka, and so many precious, beautiful things never happen. And Maharu probably still dies because of Yasha.

So, she had to change things but still keep them on a certain path. Ask more probing questions about Yasha, guide the young girl towards maintaining her suspicions of the blond foreigner, and be her bodyguard the night of the festival. She hoped with all her heart that Maharu’s fate wasn’t destined. She would fight it with everything she had.

Of course, that assumed she was capable of doing anything and wasn’t just painfully confined to this rigid space to watch events cycle through the same way as before. Pressing against the interior tube felt as glossy and impossible to grip as the lab space they’d just been funneled away from.

Giving up on pressing, Misaki changed tactics to find any sense of motion she could wield against her prison. She channeled a steady repetition of even the faintest twitch and tremble, thinking of old videos about resonance. Bit by bit, more and more. Before long, she was sure the vessel had an actual wobble. It wasn’t much, but it was a sign of possibility.

The man, whom she still couldn’t see, crushed all those hopes by draping something heavy across the tube.

“It’s just a test. Nothing to worry about. Matters of travel between universes involve a lot of complicated factors. At Travel Anywhere, we are dedicated to using all technology available to ensure our guests are securely protected against all negative factors.”

Guy grumbled softly to himself but responded, "Why does it look like black mold and a lot of it? Do I need to wear a mask? I have one that’s a couple years old from... you know… But I don’t know if I brought it with me today."

Those words stabbed ephemerally deep into Misaki. On the one hand, she knew this wasn’t her body. She couldn’t see her hands, arms, or anything else, and the sense of being a disembodied head slanted sideways was more like a residual image of what she should’ve known. In truth, she knew she was a tangled patch of blackness, like the stuff contained inside her. But denial was hard to break.

How? How had she come to the state that she was the puffball monster who nibbled on legs? Fortunately, a rational explanation popped into her head. These beings, these black masses, were aware. They had thoughts and personalities. Likely, they also had memories. Clearly, the symbiosis going on allowed her to tap into the recollections of the one within her. She must’ve been rendered unconscious by either the G forces or the distorted blood flow of their fall. She desperately hoped that Yuka hadn’t sustained any injuries.

But that settled it. No time travel. Just the recollection of her passenger. This was knowledge that perhaps could be of critical importance. She shrugged off as much of her panic as she could, restrained her urgency to fight and control the scene, and diligently listened and focused on every detail she could absorb through the distorted lens of this memory.

“That’s not necessary. None of these contents can be aspirated normally. Have you given any thought to a travel form yet? I personally think that it’s the most interesting aspect of this technology, the ability to become someone else, like a more romantic era from an old book.“

Misaki could see Guy’s grimace as he uncomfortably fidgeted in the small chair and brushed his luscious brown hair back over his ears, as though the faint skin irritation Yuka felt from her locks had been wirelessly transmitted to him. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing that at this time. It’s rather personal. The destination offers some captivating possibilities, but that’s all I’d like to say right now. Can you please remove that thing from the table? Do whatever testing you think needs to be done away from me.”

The figure shifted the container and rocked Misaki‘s world in the process. She wished she could complain. Stretching to perceive as much of the mystery man as possible, she noticed that his closest arm had a white strap, and, though it was too dark to fully glimpse the other one, she had a strong suspicion it had a black wrist strap.

Travel Anywhere workers wore them in their universe? Was there the same effect of perception filtering? She guessed that the little fuzzball that infected her and was showing these memories had to be at least partially immune to that effect if it had no trouble seeing them.

The worker cleared his throat and responded, “No can do, as it’s going inside of you.” Misaki then saw his arm rotate the white wristband as Guy started to look upset and indignant. That emotion soon froze to a blank stare as Guy just stared forward.

The worker then spoke to her best friend in a sharp monotone, saying, "You won’t remember this or anything I’m saying. You do remember having an encouraging and equitable time at this office. You drank a peach iced tea. Even though it was generic, you enjoyed it. All you remember is your neck feeling itchy afterward, every so often. Every time you feel that sensation, you find yourself relaxing and not bothering to think about what occurred in this room. Do you understand?"

Guy breathed lightly. A strange discomfort glossed his features, but a little shaking of his head soon cleared it as he obediently agreed.

The worker unscrewed the top of the vessel containing the puffball. Misaki envisioned lashing out against the worker, ravaging him, altering the timeline, ripping the band from this bastard‘s wrist, and freeing her friend. But all that intention had to be locked away inside.

Her strange body was as docile as a sleepy cat. Innately, it seemed to know there was a power in the worker’s hands full of wretched burning and agony beyond comprehension. Memories that weren’t her own screamed through her consciousness at even the faintest thought of lashing out.

Freedom from the vessel didn’t quite allow her to be aware of the figure handling her. They were tall and dressed in a gray that evoked Travel Anywhere, all of which refused to linger long within what she had of her consciousness. More perception blocking, she figured.

Despite whatever resistance she could cook up internally, none of her efforts made it to the surface. Fuzzball seemed thoroughly anesthetized, ready to dribble out of the worker’s hands if he didn’t hold it tight enough.

And the worst part of the whole experience came when he pressed Misaki’s body against Guy’s neck. He was forcing her to invade her best friend. What she felt was worse than nausea and more disconcerting as rough hands squeezed and contorted her, like being angrily massaged by chili peppers. She knew that the feeling and the words couldn’t escape, but some small satisfaction came from blindly screaming obscenities that only she could hear.

Sinking emptiness followed, like being plunged into an ocean bursting with a cacophony she couldn’t understand. Little fragments of Guy Horner whizzed around her head. She saw and felt fearful little Guy, desperately hoping that… her big sister might also be her friend. What?

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

It was strange, so very strange. Like trying to read a hologram while it is vigorously shaken. Guy Horner… Silvia Fowler. Why was that name back? Hadn’t that been a silly little hallucination that Yuka woke her up from? But it was there, if she could just focus. Playing with Silvia… as Carrie. Left turn in the hallway for her big sister Carrie to get to her room. A room that wasn’t even there for Franklin, a room he knew and was expecting, even though it didn’t exist for him.

A tumultuous tidal wave of sick, disturbing feelings rose up inside Misaki, and for once, it felt like she was having the same effect beyond herself, translated into Guy.

Flailing and fighting, Guy rose up from his chair and batted at the worker, throwing him off his feet with startling strength.

“I see them! I see them! They’re everywhere! They’re crawling inside me! GET THEM OUT!!!” Guy spun in place and arched his back against the table, as though trying to swim through it to escape. His tight and squirming actions verged on a seizure. Despite the worker literally looming over them, Misaki still couldn’t get a good impression beyond the starkly contrasted wristbands.

The white one practically came down on Guy’s throat with a strangling, choking force. An indecipherable amount of time later, Misaki realized that the black mass that represented her was no longer a part of Guy; it had trickled out like a strange sweat to be reconstituted on his nape. The worker man looked frustrated and angry; Misaki hoped that was a positive sign for them. She listened diligently as the anonymous man spoke under his breath through his wrist.

"The sample didn’t take with the primary candidate. Yes, I did everything exactly as it was supposed to be done. I don’t think the company would approve drastic measures at this point in time. Obtaining this sample was a lot of work—yes, and hallucinations of the invasive body. I know hallucinations are indicated and can occur for days afterward until integration. We have alternatives. I’ll take care of it.… Do I have approval?…"

The blank man gained a hint of a smile, even though Misaki couldn’t resolve his face. She could feel him pressing on her with his eyes. The man gave a soft chuckle and announced with satisfaction, “Looks like you’re going for a ride.”

Soon, they slipped a hoodie over Misaki. It was unpleasant, especially when Guy leaned back against anything, but she didn’t feel suffocated. She could only hear as Guy was led out of what seemed to be some building. They called him a car, and a rough memory traced its way through Misaki‘s thoughts. She and Dwight had been home when Guy returned.

He didn’t need a lift from wherever he had been and was cagey about the whole matter. In retrospect, it made sense that he was trying to keep the trip a secret. But that hoodie. It had been a strikingly warm early spring day, and it never quite made sense to Franklin that Guy would be wearing that, especially indoors where it was surprisingly comfortable.

Her memory of that day wasn’t especially vivid. It was just a random one, and the events with Guy were the only ones to stand out. But she absolutely didn’t remember the man with the white and black wristbands arriving at their front door. Not a Jehovah’s Witness, despite his formal clothes. He didn’t even have a free religious newspaper to give them.

He talked to Dwight first, and it looked like Dwight had all the awareness leave his body. He was staring out, past the front door, past their guest. Working quickly, he peeled Misaki off of Guy and placed him on Dwight’s neck. She didn’t get that deep inside before the reaction was chaotic and loud. Half the neighborhood could’ve heard Dwight screaming. Before her friend started clawing at his eyes, she was extracted again, with barely a hint of Dwight drifting through her tangled consciousness.

"This better fucking work." The anonymous worker grumbled with sharp annoyance as he turned his attention towards Franklin’s bedroom office. All that remained in Franklin‘s original memories was a strange creak of the roof that suddenly caught him on edge and a sensation like he’d seen something or someone standing in his hallway. But there was no one there; he was absolutely sure of that. Ultimately, he dismissed it as a micro-nap nightmare of confused feelings before returning to work.

What Misaki saw was her own body brought to a point of blank passivity, staring without seeing and complacently offering up his neck for a furry tube sock to dive in. This journey felt disconcertingly gross and bizarre. Human. She was human on all sides. But wasn’t she Franklin? Or was she this fragment, this sample of consciousness?

There was more. In the past, herself, her truth, and her point of origin. But the details receded, as though blasted by the light of waking up.

Misaki found herself on the floor, in a blank space, warm but washed out, as in a snowstorm. Things were a little blurry; her eyes were still trying to untangle how to see. Or trying to remember. Someone was sprawled out beside her. Haruka? Her big sister? No… Yuka. Of course, Yuka. Haruka had been… She had been there before. No, that wasn’t her memory.

A lab, being restrained, and escaping through a space she didn’t understand. She had to fight back. People got hurt. Run run run, she had to run. Around the rounded hallway. No one no one around… No one but her sister, on the ground. Haruka. Was she hurt? She was breathing.

Then they swarmed. They caught her. They cut her. Her leg. Somehow, they cut clean through it, but there wasn’t blood and viscera, just a mass of gray fuzz tangled and fighting to survive. And she was separated. She was drifting away, held, captured, and trapped. In a box with no edges to grab and no way to escape. She was a leg; she was Yuka’s leg. Oh, Goddess…

Misaki was blasted in the face by the realization of where her strange little dream actually took place when Haruka put her to bed with a warning before she freaked out at Naoko's scientific presence several days ago. It was a place just like this—a lab. That was why Yasha taunted her with "How much of you is you". How much of you is Franklin, and how much of you is the piece of Yuka they put inside of you?

It was difficult for her to breathe, but she had to check on Yuka. All the feelings she had when she got close to her now made sense; it was the urge to return home and be made whole again. And that invited the worst kind of uncertainty—the uncertainty of whether she could trust any feeling within her as truly her own.

Yuka rotated to the left and then to the right with a groan before carefully fluttering her eyes open. "Misaki?" Her voice crackled as though she hadn’t had anything to drink for hours. She roughly coughed, bringing up her hand to block the worst of the spittle. They were back to being human hands. Misaki carefully wrapped her arms around Yuka, feeling that magnetic pull from within. "I’m here."

Her own voice was just as wrecked and raw, with frail energy fighting past her lips. They lifted each other up and carefully started to look around the room. It felt like a pristine, featureless white prison cell, curved and glossy like the interior of a polished marshmallow sealed with a diamond's harsh rigidity.

Before they could say much more or scream at the walls for an explanation, A soft, joyous voice filtered from somewhere beyond and gleefully declared, "Oh, goodie! You’re awake now! I'm so glad to see you two up. I’ll be there in a moment."

Misaki and Yuka braced each other and tried to sit up better. They watched as one of the walls shimmered and contorted in front of them, flowing away in the same fashion as when Mari entered the nursery. But the figure wasn’t Mari. Yuka pressed a hand to her mouth, and her eyes widened deeply. Misaki squeezed her teeth into her cheek hard enough to cut the flesh.

In front of them, having just passed through the wall, stood a radiant teenage girl with long, flowing, light blue hair and a pristine shrine maiden outfit. Bold, white ears like a rabbit’s jutted from the top of her head. Her brilliant brown eyes glinted with exuberant energy.

Maharu rolled up her big sleeves, gave a radiant grin, and declared, “You made it! Congratulations!”