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[Captain's log : Entry seven-one-feelings]
It is important to know the time!
You should always know where your time goes, but, even more importantly, you should care about the time of others.
This morning, out of habit, I peered upon my handy wrist-positioned time-counting device. While my time, as usual, was fine, Snippy's had run out.
I poked at the watch. Snippy's tracking arrow of time-counting pointed towards "Certain Doom."
"Why is it always certain doom?" I asked the watch.
"Probability of subject's destruction is at 99.96%" the watch blinked.
I poked it harder, trying to dislodge the arrow to a more positive state.
"Probability of subject's destruction is at 99.97%" the watch chimed.
"You could be a little more helpful, you know!" I admonished.
"You could always choose a more fortunate subject to monitor," the watch beeped.
"Not an option!" I replied, waving my arm.
"Probability of subject's destruction is at 99.98%"
I expanded the variables table. It listed the following items as leading to certain death from most important to least:
Location Attitude Color
I read the chart from bottom to top, as looking at things upside-down sometimes provides unexpected answers. It seemed a little late to re-color Snippy today as he was much too far from my current position.
I blinked on "Attitude".
Snippy's palette of feelings expanded before my eyes. Frustration was charting very low.
According to my [Precognition] skill, a more frustrated Snippy had a greater probability of survival. An incredibly frustrated Snippy was practically invisible to the system. However, invisibility might not always be a good thing. For example, an invisible Snippy could easily be run over by an ice cream truck, the future events table pointed out.
I looked at the location table.
18,583 cubical meters of Captania were going to lose their horizontal dimension within the next 27.6 minutes due to a space-relocation Error.
"Hmmm... Snippies certainly don't do well in two-dimensional space and that would explain the certain doom issue," I mulled. "Now, who could have caused such a large Space Error in Captania?"
My mind arrived at the answer quickly.
"Eight," I growled.
It had to be her! Who else would use System Errors to try to kill Charles to annoy me?
I needed to change my valued citizen's location as quickly as possible, as the watch was proclaiming relentlessly, lest he become a pancake.
I rolled over on my bed, picked up the phone and dialed the Office of Space Management.
"You've reached the office of G-Directorate Space and Time Management. If you are having a problem with your Space, press one. If you are having a problem with your Time, press zero. For technical support with Space and Time, press..."
"Probability of subject's destruction is at 99.98%!" the watch coughed from under my sleeve.
I hung up. There wasn't enough time to reach a representative by phone.
"The moon landing happened!" I yelled.
"No it didn't," the Door answered, appearing in front of my face.
"One! I beseech you! There's an Error on..."
"No," the Door said, folding away in annoyance.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"Haberdashery! Poppycock!" I swore, slamming my fist into the bed frame.
There was only one option left. I had to call Snippy directly and warn him of his impending doom!
"Operator! Connect me to Charles Snippy!" I barked into the phone I was holding.
"I'm sorry. We are unable to connect to User [Charles Snippy]," the sexy voice of the Phone System operator replied.
"Unacceptable!" I shouted. "I demand you..."
"Dialing Miss Unacceptable," the operator suddenly replied.
My wrist-watch chimed. The probability of certain doom had slid to 99.74%.
I clicked on the probability charts. They had too many numbers in them flapping back and forth.
I blinked on the [Visual representation] icon and watched.
Somewhere in apartment 28140, in a building far away, a phone started to ring.
Charles Snippy stopped walking mid stride.
"Bwah?" he spoke in bewilderment, twirling his head to determine the source of the sound.
"Miss Unacceptable is unable to come to the phone right now," the operator apologized.
"Shhhhh! Keep ringing her! This is working!" I waved at the phone.
Upon looking at the chart's artistic rendering of Snippy's confusion, it was clear that he wasn't moving quickly enough, probably unconvinced by the phone's ringing. I had to act fast.
"Operator!" I shouted into the phone's receiver tube. "Buy all billboard spaces in sector 41-26-02! Place subliminal adverts -
[ The phone must be answered! ]"
I looked back at the charts. The billboards around Snippy activated and whispered my advertisement to him from all directions. He started to move towards the ringing phone with mild determination.
It was insufficient. I hired a Marketing Director app to retouch the billboards' message for greater impact.
The Marketing Director immediately set to work, changing the billboards' tune to such enticing messages as
[ Hope. Love. Happiness. Friendship! Jacuzzi parties with lascivious singles in your area! They await you. All you have to do is pick up that phone! ]
jacuzzx.jpg [https://github.com/alexiussssss/romac/blob/main/jacuzzx.jpg?raw=true]
I felt kind of bad about lying to Snippy using corporate medias and marketing tricks, but then again Charles would appreciate not being called a pancake by Pilot. Plus, having 3 dimensions is always nice.
Snippy was running, but not in the right direction. His doom approached swiftly.
I stared at the map of Captania and plotted a path for Charles to follow.
To survive "The flattening", he had to avoid five hundred potholes, seventy-four hundred System Errors and fifteen hundred and forty two malicious Dead Zone applications along his route.
After a call to seventeen pizza places, twenty four bus stations and six haircut parlors, Snippy's doom-rate had dropped to 79.66%.
Snippy was following the ringing across the city, seeming not to notice the change in tune and location.
The billboards were telling him sweet stories about hot home-made meals, showers, soft beds and curvaceous survivors in his area and how he could have all of them if only he reached the phone.
Charles was running like mad in pursuit of the ringing sensation.
There was hope in his eyes. He was assured that all of his dreams would come true.
The billboards weaved a delicious web of lies. However, the vibrant feelings of hope they incited in Snippy's mind had attracted all nearby malicious apps. They were converging on him like moths drawn to a flame. They all wanted to serve him in their twisted, corrupt, inane ways.
CREEP-VIRUSESX.jpg [https://github.com/alexiussssss/romac/blob/main/CREEP-VIRUSESX.jpg?raw=true]
It was a good thing that Snippy was too enraptured by the vocal summoning of the ringing. Had he turned around and spotted them, perhaps he would be frozen in fright. Many of the apps had rather unusual non-euclidean and multidimensional-fractal geometry and staring at them would surely traumatize his unprepared mind and give him severe indigestion and bad dreams for weeks.
My wrist-watch and I were rooting for his survival with mathematical dings and applause. With a jump, Snippy crossed the perimeter of the destabilized zone. Sixty-seven hundred malicious apps managed to squeeze out of the flatland right behind him, across the barrier between two and three dimensional universes. The rest of the quirky apps became trapped, flattened in two dimensional space, floating aimlessly in it like confused butterflies in a jar.
"Good job!" The watch congratulated me.
"Thank you!" I responded with a relieved exhale.
By giving Charles a false hope to follow I had managed to trap many terrible things in two-dimensional space!
"Perhaps I should do this more often," I pondered.
"He's still doomed, you know," the watch interrupted me, ruining my marvelous train of thought.
I looked at the chart. The apps following Snippy were particularly nasty. I had to crush his hopes. I had to make him invisible to them. Only Snippy's sense of angry frustration could save him now.
Hurriedly, I dialed the nearest phone booth, an antiquated telephone box design perched unwholesomely on top of a mound of skulls. It would have to do!
Snippy clambered over the skulls, tripping and slipping, predatory apps mere seconds from devouring his shoes.
On the visualization chart I saw him reach the top of the pile and open the door to the phone booth.
He was inside now and the apps were swarming the booth, surrounding it and fighting each other for access.
"Hello? Hello?!" Snippy cried into the rusty speaker of the phone's handle.
"So.... What are you wearing?" I answered him in my most manliest of voices, crushing his hopes of warm baths and randy survivors all at once.
"Oh, G-damn it, Captain! Argh! I should have known!" he whined.
Snippy's frustration index was off the charts.
The apps became confused and disorientated. Their prey had disappeared right in front of them. They stood there in dissatisfaction, unable to determine his location, but still wanting to serve him with a deep and burning passion.
On my wrist-watch, the arrow labelled 'Snippy' slid silently from [Certain Doom] to [Subject is Hungry].
"Come home, dear," I consoled him, "Lunch is ready."
After an awkward pause in which I could hear his heavy breathing, he inquired, "What are we having?"
"Pilot cooked us a soup from all of your left socks from last week", I replied.
"You! You took them! I knew it was you! You no-good, sock-stealing jerks!" Snippy raged from the phone-booth.
The charts have shown me that his face turned red under the mask. Color change was a success!
Snippy's anger had activated several fire extinguishers, toilets and water taps in various surrounding locations.
The Dead Zone apps perked up, following the whooshing and flushing noises, leaving the area.
I put the phone down with a twinkle of satisfaction in my spine.
Snippy was left alone, ranting hysterically into the phone, blissfully unaware that he was finally safe from harm.