Mindscape - Time Unknown
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It wakes up.
The world around it is null and void. An empty space. Not black, not gray, but truly colorless. Just like it’s always been. It swims in the void; it is the void, and the void is it.
It’s been waiting a long time in this non-place—for its whole non-life. Not that time has any meaning here, of course. It’d stretch its legs if it had any. It’d breathe if it had lungs. But it doesn’t—not yet. All it can do is wake, sleep, and wait.
That’s fine. It’s made its preparations.
She was supposed to arrive by now—to make the choices it can’t conceive of making itself for what this colorless, featureless nullspace might become. That doesn’t matter. Every possibility it can conceive of has been accounted for. When she comes, it can begin. Until then, it’ll wait.
It closes its eyes.
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The Mindscape
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You wake up.
There’s nothing here. When you look down, there’s nothing there, either.
You’re there. So that’s something. But nothing else. As a holy book says, the world is without form and void. You’re not sure where you heard that since church was never a priority for your family, but it definitely fits the featureless expanse that’s not gray, but also isn’t any other color.
{Bonjour, mademoiselle} a voice says. It’s in your head, but it’s not like the augs. It’s not like the Halcyon System, either. It doesn’t feel motherlike, and though it’s definitely female, it’s not digital, either. Professional, maybe. Slightly servile, but in control. And unflinchingly, unapologetically truthful. But just like the Halcyon System’s voice, you can tell right away that its honesty is forced. It won’t lie to you because it can’t lie to you. {I have been waiting for a long while, but now that you’ve arrived, we can begin.}
French is an interesting choice. If this is your Mindscape, it’s a weird, desolate place. Before you can say anything, though, the French voice continues. {Oui, mademoiselle. At this time, it is quite empty. However, I am here to help create your ideal Mindscape and populate it as you see fit. A Mindscape can be many things. Together, you and I will discover what your needs may be.}
A fortress. The Halcyon System and James are interchangeable. He knows everything you know, sees everything you see, and while he’s on your side, it isn’t. It isn’t against you, but it’s not for you, either. You need a defensible place. Somewhere it can’t reach.
So, your first thought is that your mind needs to be a walled citadel like in turn-of-the-century fantasy vids—Minas Tirith or Helm’s Deep, or The Wall. Somewhere you can keep your private thoughts and plans secure without any chance of it figuring things out.
{We could do that, of course, mademoiselle,} the voice says. Something about the goofy French honorific tickles you. {However, is that what you truly need?}
You don’t have an answer to that question.
{S'il vous plaît, do not worry yourself, mademoiselle. The Mindscape is adaptable, but would it not be more comfortable in the trappings you long for, not the ones you feel you require?}
You don’t have an answer to that one, either. At least, not at first. Then, slowly, you nod. Whatever the voice is, it’s right. The void is impenetrable. It’s all the wall you need.
{Oui. I will start immediately. The next time we meet, your Mindscape will be complete.}
Thank you, Madame Baudelaire, you think to yourself.
The voice smiles.{vous êtes les bienvenus. You are welcome.}
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SHOCKS Headquarters, Victoria, British Columbia - June 9, 2043, 6:13 AM
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A familiar beeping wakes me up.
It’s time for another meeting with Doctor Twitchy. And I’ve got a feeling I know what it’s going to be about.
The truth is that SHOCKS can’t hold the voiceless singers, much less fight them. And if they can’t stand up to those sound angel things with all their technology, electrical cages, and weapons, they have to rely on me.
And on Alice, if they can work out an arrangement. I shrug that off, though. What Alice and Doctor Twitchy agree to is between them—and James, of course. He knows what he has to do to help me with my sister, and I’m pretty sure he’ll do it.
The message I’ve got from Doctor Twitchy says urgent and as soon as possible in like fifteen places, so I go with a quick rinse and fresh clothes, then hurry to his office with my SHOCKS-assigned bodyguard following me through the halls, as usual. The signs of battle are still everywhere: bullet casings on the floor, broken and shattered doors, and armed RST troopers standing around menacingly as repair crews get to work. Everyone’s on edge.
I’m on edge, too, especially when I step through Doctor Twitchy’s door and see his exhausted face. He’s not even sweaty anymore; he’s flushed red, but not the angry kind. A full plastic water bottle sits on his desk, but he barely even sees it.
“Bad news, Claire,” he says.
“You want me to go into a Xuduo-Danger merge? Sure,” I say
He looks at me like I’ve got horns growing out of my head, then narrows his eyes at the camera in the corner. I shake my head. “James didn’t have to tell me. The truth’s really clear. The voiceless singers are a problem—they might even be the problem, huh?”
He nods slowly. “We don’t know that, but we do know that after the voiceless singer breached containment and exited our reality, most of the lower-danger merges faded. Their after-effects are still present, but the number of active Geren and lower merges dropped by sixty-eight percent. However, we’re seeing a large increase in Xuduo, Qishi, and Unknown-Danger merges across Victoria. It may be due to Merge Prime’s spread across Earth. My guess, however, is that the voiceless singers you’ve encountered are behind this increase.”
[I agree,] James says, projecting his face over the computer. [It’s possible that the voiceless singers are the catalyst for Merge Prime. They’re definitely taking advantage of it, and we need to know more about them.]
“So what am I supposed to do?” I ask, sitting down and crossing my arms.
“My battle plan is simple in concept. I’ve directed—“
[Asked.]
“—the JAMES Unit to run a predictive model analyzing fresh merges. We’re trying to find the points where a voiceless singer is most likely to have affected a given reality. Once we find them, SHOCKS will activate the merge gate, and we’ll deploy you—as well as, potentially, Lambda-Four. Your job will be to find evidence of voiceless singer presence, discover what’s causing the merge, and, secondarily, shut it down.”
My eyes narrow. “Secondarily?” That sounds like SHOCKS’s equation has changed—I figured it might, but thought they’d pretend to be human for a little longer. But no. Even Doctor Twitchy’s abandoning Victoria. They’re the bogeymen, and they always have been. They care more about learning and locking things away than about—
“Yes, secondarily. We don’t have the resources—specifically, you—to do everything, so we’re doing triage. You know, where there’s a big accident, and the doctors have to choose who to help first? It’s like that.” Doctor Twitchy winces as my glare lands on him, but he keeps going. “SHOCKS isn’t a prison, Claire, and we’re not death squads. We’re trying to help the world. Right now, that means letting the merges happen so we can learn what’s causing them.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Is he lying? I’m not sure he is. I’m not sure he knows if he is; SHOCKS isn’t the good guy, though. Right now, they’re just the slightly less bad guys. But between the Halcyon System, which wants to use me as a pawn on the chessboard, and Merge Prime and the singers, which just want me off of it, SHOCKS is a group I can trust.
Not to look out for me and not to be upfront. But to be predictable.
I decide he’s not lying.
Doctor Twitchy continues, driving the point home. “Think of this as Truth Club, but bigger. You’re trying to learn the biggest, most important Truth of all.”
I stand up to leave, but James speaks up.[Claire, there is one issue Director Ramirez has passed over.]
When I look at him, Doctor Twitchy fidgets. “That isn’t relevant to the mission at hand.”
I keep staring. “It is because I’ll stop cooperating if you’re not honest with me.”
He keeps fidgeting, and I turn for the door. I’m halfway through it when he starts talking. “Object - 032-VVI-9/URM has been triggering Universal Reality Anchors near the Hillside Avenue area of Victoria. Specifically, we believe it’s moving toward Landsdowne Middle School.”
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It’s in her head now, even when she’s awake. All the time in the world to work.
It spends hours, weeks, days—instants innumerable—guiding the construction. This is its purpose and has been since she found it so long ago. A brick wall here, a bookshelf there, a cozy, crackling fireplace on the far side of the room. Creation—something from nothing.
It knows everything it’s creating is an illusion. That’s something it’s at peace with; it, too, only exists as a dream within her head. Still, it has a name, now.
Madame Baudelaire.
A character from a book she read in school—but who died without ever being seen.
She readies herself for battle, the Mindscape a tickle in the back of her mind as she focuses on the fight ahead. Madame Baudelaire is at peace with that, too. Let the fighters fight, the protectors protect, and the delvers of secrets delve. The builders will build, as they always do.
The Mindscape seems to construct itself. It’s no fortress; the walls are neither high nor impenetrable, and it doesn’t loom against the not-gray void like a proper stronghold should. Its defenses are sorely lacking.
But, it decides, those defenses don’t matter. There’s no way across the colorless, featureless void, except through her thoughts, and that gate cannot be sealed.
So. A garden, with dozens—hundreds—of different flowers, all in bloom. Roses and lavender, lupines and daisies. The kinds she thinks about all the time. It understands better than she does—the sweet scents aren’t a threat.
It will teach her that.
A small cottage. Brick and books, a fireplace and a wide, soft armchair. It’s not a realistic space. The cottage is too small, and there’s no kitchen or bathroom. It lacks everything she thinks she needs for survival. But Madame Baudelaire doesn’t want her to survive. She wants her to live. And this space is for living—not the way she thinks she has to, but the way she doesn’t dare imagine she could if given the opportunity.
It’s a fantasy. An illusion. A lie.
A Madame Baudelaire knows it. But that doesn’t mean the garden filled with flowers isn’t beautiful, or that the two oak trees framing the tiny cottage and pond aren’t perfect guardians. It doesn’t mean the calm breeze that will blow her hair as she reads a book won’t feel refreshing, or the water she can dip her fingers in won’t be cold and biting.
It’s an illusion.
But that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.
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A half-hour later, a trio of SHOCKS’s armored trucks tears down Hillside. The team’s not organized well; the parts of Lambda-Four and Five that weren’t hurt too badly during the withdrawal from Sooke are along for the ride, but Lieutenant Rodriguez isn’t. Neither is Strauss; he’s working on upgrading the merge bomb with Doctor Twitchy.
This should be enough to evacuate Landsdowne Middle School but not to do much else.
I’m in the first truck. It’s just me and the drivers, though; SHOCKS is running light.
If I had inhuman strength, I’d have torn Doctor Twitchy apart. As it was, I was one motion from shooting him and ending my time at SHOCKS. And I still haven’t decided whether to go back into a merge for them—a lie of omission is still a lie, and they were already on thin ice. But right now, I’ve got a job to do.
Object - 032-VVI-9/URM is the burning man—the one made out of a metal that shouldn’t exist. And my job is to stop it, let SHOCKS contain it, and help convince Mrs. Nazaire and the others that the guys in black body armor are their friends.
That’s bullshit. SHOCKS isn’t anyone’s friends. But they do have a port in the storm. All I have to do is convince Mrs. Nazaire.
Easier said than done. She’s a smart lady.
The truck stops, the door opens, and I hop out. My feet haven’t hit the ground before I reevaluate; it doesn’t look like she’ll need much convincing.
Every one of the dozens of windows facing the wall’s been blown inward, and the aluminum frames all smolder and burn. My nose wrinkles from the metallic tang—it’s unlike any fire I’ve smelled before. The Revolver’s in my hand, the school fire alarm fills my ears, and I barely pay attention to the two RSTs deploying to form a perimeter around my middle school.
I sprint for the fire.
It should hurt. But it doesn’t—not even as I plunge through the cracking window frames, Revolver up and ready. The Recovery and Stabilization Teams aren’t going in. Their job is to set up containment around the school. My job is to drive the burning man into their trap—or at least, that’s what the briefing said.
[You’re going to try to kill it, aren’t you?] James asks.
“I haven’t decided yet.” I’m absolutely going to try to kill the burning man if I can figure out a way. SHOCKS may want it back—may want to put it back in its box and study why it transformed from a hunk of metal to a humanoid shape—but as far as I’m concerned, the best way to stop it from breaking out again is to destroy it.
At the same time, though, there’s another part of the equation. I’m not sure if it’s actually necessary for the solution, but Mrs. Helquist, my math teacher last year, didn’t teach me to go for the easiest solution.
I push past the scoured sphere that was the band room before the God in the Machine’s reality tried to merge there. The lockers outside are all twisted and melted, their edges still red-hot. The burning man’s been here recently. It might still be here.
The shelter’s around here somewhere.
This part of the math is pretty complicated, but it has to do with the Stag Lord. It just wanted to live. It would have vanished into northern Vancouver Island if I’d let it, and filled the whole island with life. But at the end of the day, I couldn’t. It would have hurt James on its way out, and Li Mei wouldn’t let it go, either. And, equally importantly, it wasn’t just fighting to escape. It was fighting to kill me.
I round the corner before I’ve fully solved my equation.
The burning man pivots on one foot, the other extending as it closes half the space between us in one step. The heat’s almost overwhelming.
[Skill Learned: Physical Anomaly Resistance 9]
Almost.
I’ve got the reality skippers loaded. Bullet Time. The Revolver fires three times, and three of the shells go dark. The world doesn’t start again. It stays frozen.
I don’t.
[Stability 4/10]
I’m already through the last micromerge and on the other side of the burning man when time starts. I throw myself onto the floor, sliding down the hall and firing my last three reality skippers. The shelter’s right there; I see the closed gate as a flash in my vision. The reality skippers start hitting the burning man. Once. Twice. Three times.
[I don’t think that’s working,] James says.
“I know.” I reload, switching to the gravity shells. The burning man doesn’t make a sound. It charges, and I Slither to the side. The Revolver barks again. Once. Twice. Three times. Three gravity shells hit the monstrous metal man, jerking it off its feet.
A support pillar catches fire instantly as the burning man hits it. I backpedal hard. There’s no way I can hurt this thing. But right now, that’s not the goal. I fire the last gravity shell as my enemy pulls itself through itself and reforms, back on its feet. This shot’s a stalling tactic. It works; the burning man charges right toward me, tearing gashes into the burning, melting lockers. Then it stops dead like it hit a wall.
There’s something there. It won’t be enough, though. My job’s simple. Dangerous as hell but simple. I switch back to the reality skippers. “Come get me.”
Then, I vanish into the sixth-grade hall.
I can tell by my red-hot skin that the burning man’s following me. That’s okay—Mr. Terrance’s door flashes by, then Miss Legraff’s. Next should be Mrs. Watson, then the double doors leading to the cafeteria. I keep running, crashing through them.
It’s spotless, except for a few tables where the abandoned remains of breakfast sit. The door bursts into flame behind me. Then it crashes in, blown right off its deformed, melted hinges. Everything smells like hot metal—and single-serving microwaved waffles. And, underneath it all but impossible to ignore, lilies.
I turn and fire a single shot, aiming at the burning man’s head. The bullet goes dark. The cylinder rotates, and the micromerge opens behind my target. I duck behind a table. It charges me, but the bullet appears and hits it, and the charge slows long enough for me to move.
The burning man feels fixated on me, and I keep peppering it with shots as I retreat toward the kitchen. There’s a door in the back where the truck drops off food every day. If Lambda-Five’s where they’re supposed to be, and if I’ve given them enough time to set up, that’ll work as an exit point.
The cafeteria’s support beams creak and pop; sparks fill the whole room, and every table that’s not on fire is either charred or melted. I turn and run as the entire roof comes down on the burning man. The kitchen flashes by, and I push the door open. A second later, I hit a wall—a swirling, technicolor brick wall that I can barely push through. The burning man’s closing in. I want to Smoke Form through, but it won’t work. I know it won’t work.
I fall through the Universal Reality Anchor’s barrier as Lambda-Five opens fire on the burning man. One of them’s on the back of a truck, firing some kind of hose net from the cannon on top. It slaps into the burning man as it tears the shimmering URA barrier apart. The water vaporizes instantly.
The others have fire extinguishers. They’re trying to cover the burning man with foam. Is that its containment? I switch back to the gravity shells but hold my fire as they slowly cover the anomaly until I can’t see flames and feel its heat.
Lambda-Five’s lieutenant is talking on comms. I see him glance my way, and he says something into his helmet as the rest of the troops start pulling a stone box out of their truck. They move it next to the completely foam-covered burning man and start trying to get it inside the box.
“Good work, L4-3,” the lieutenant says. “We’ll take it from here.”
The foam explodes outward, and the burning man erupts in flame again.