This story started with a dream I had of being approached to be a writer at a colony. Since then that dream has been an ongoing half awake story writing in my head. My dear friend Kitt Aretae mentioned they had an idea for a story or world and it dovetailed nicely with my dreams.

So away we go. 

You want to know how I got here? The basics are actually pretty simple. A long time ago I hopped a flight and took a ride in a van. We both know that’s not what you want to truly know. What you want to know is how I came here. Transformed, given the leadership of a clan. That’s going to take a lot longer to tell. 

So please dear child, grab your elder a bottle from the rack, which one doesn’t matter. I’m sure we’ll sample quite a few if you’re willing to let a relic of the past entertain you. 

Like a lot of good stories it begins in a bar. 

It was an evening like any other. I’d finished my day job at my place of employment. And with some free time in the evening I figured I would indulge my love of writing. And like anyone of a number of people I find it easier to write in bars. 

So with a glass of beer, a smaller glass of whiskey and a cigar burning merrily away I was happily creating a world in the dark void that is my mind. I think it had something to do with giant robots fighting dinosaurs. 

I was happily lost in my little world when I looked up to take a quick drink and saw HER. 

I capitalize that for a reason. The bar I was in was in an area of town that had been gaining traction as a nightlife center. So the place was often full of attractive men and women of all social stripes, and in a crowd full of hipsters, goths, neo hippies, freaks, and assorted weirdos SHE stood out. 

Dressed stylishly but in a manner that seemed to reflect a bit of herself. Where others would have their clothes in black or blue hers were green and crimson. A sort of power suit outfit with a hat that matched the ensemble. Tight enough to show off her form but not so much as to be garish and obvious. It felt like her clothes were meant to draw the eye and see whose eyes were discerning. 

I certainly appreciated the view, but looking her over with her long dark hair, bright green eyes and sharp features that looked like they belonged on a magazine dedicated to fashion I knew I wasn’t so much not in her league but in a wholly different world then the one she lived in. 

Why yes, that is giving away the lead a little thanks for pointing that out. So I got back to my writing with a smile on my face, beauty being a thing that always makes my day better. 

So I was shocked when a few minutes later she took a seat at my table. Pushing a glass of whiskey to me. So I slid off the headphones I had on and tried to collect my thoughts. 

“I spoke to the bartender, he said this is your preferred whiskey.” She said, her voice sounded like a song, a light lilt of an indeterminate accent. “I’m Madeline, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

She offered her hand and I took it. I was still wondering why this woman was talking to me, but a few moments of her time seemed like a good way to recharge my mental batteries. “A pleasure to meet you Madeline, not to be rude but what can I do for you?”

I took the glass she had brought and took a sip. “I have to admit I didn’t expect to meet someone who would be writing in a crowded bar on a Friday night. Especially one I’ve been looking to meet.” 

“We all have our habits, and writing here and a few other places helps me to feel focused. And what do you mean looking to meet me?” I asked 

She laughed gently. “I am part of a group that has an interest in writers and artists.” She reached into her bag and pulled out an Ipad. I’ve seen and read some of your work.” She pulled up a series of images I had shot over the years as a photographer and videographer. I had to admit she pulled a few from outside of my standard portfolio shots. 

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I was intrigued and a little worried when she showed me the selections she had pulled from my bibliography. Yes, the novels I had released publicly. To some minor acclaim and poor sales. But she also had selections of stories I had written under pseudonyms for a chuckle and posted in odd places. Whoever she was, this woman had done her research. 

“And what interest do you have?” I asked. Feeling a little shaken. 

“Employment, or maybe patronage might be the better word.” She replied. “We’re looking for talents that haven’t broken into the mainstream, yet.” 

“Okay, and what do you do with or for those talents.?”

“A valid question. We have an artists colony. A place where you can work and live undisturbed free to follow your passions as you see fit.” 

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. It all felt a bit familiar to offers I had been made in the past. “And how much does living in this colony cost?” I asked. All too often deals like this were scams or borderline cults. 

She laughed again. “Actually it doesn’t cost you a dime, instead we pay you for your work and time.” 

Again I had a sinking feeling. “And you keep and retain the rights to my work? No thanks, I've seen this one before.” 

She chuckled. “It’s a shame that the vultures of this world have tried to do you dirty. Allow me to show you how serious we are, and make you an offer.” She reached into her jacket and pulled out an envelope. She pushed it across the table. 

Opening it I saw  what looked like a debit card. And a small sheet of paper with a pin number on it. Under that was a small slip of paper. It read “Gate 2 Eppley airfield. 10 am.”

“When you leave here, find an ATM and try the card. If you find it satisfactory, meet me at the gate tomorrow morning and I’ll show you our little village.” She smiled prettily and got up. “I hope to see you, I think you might make an excellent addition.” 

With that she took her leave. I also have to admit my eyes lingered as she walked away, as fetching as her outfit was, it looked even better on her as she walked away. 

As you would expect my attempts to write after that were feeble. So with a sigh I slammed my laptop shut, gathered my stuff, hit the restroom, and walked to my car. Taking a few moments to stop and do checks in the windows of shops to see if I was being followed. No faces made repeat appearances as I made my way down the street. 

After setting my stuff in the trunk I drove off. Then drove to the other side of town. When I was there I found an old bodega that was open at that hour and had an atm in back. I slipped the envelope out of my pocket. 

I put the card into the machine and punched in the PIN number. And got the usual menu one would expect. 

So for chuckles I decided to check the balance 

And was suddenly grateful I had taken a moment to use the restroom at the bar before leaving. The balance was $100,000. 

“Nothing lost for trying.” I hit withdrawal and took the maximum amount the machine would give me. $500. The bills flew out and I pocketed them. 

Okay I might have repeated the process a few times on the way home. Hell if this was some elaborate scam now would be a good time to make some money on the deal.

Walking through the door of my apartment I knew I had a decision to make. It was still relatively early in the evening, by my standards. 

Alone and only the sound of David Bowie playing on my computer to accompany me I gave it some thought. 

Years ago I had fallen into some very weird times, by accepting an offer that sounded too good to be true. Some of it had been amazing, some of it had been dangerous and a lot of it had been both. 

And that was 30 years ago. 

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the money I had drawn using the card. Man it sure seemed like they might be serious. 

So this was a big chance and most likely a massive risk. 

On the other hand I was on my way to the other end of life. Past fifty and feeling pretty lucky to be well and gainfully employed. I could sit here and live this life, till I took my last breath in relative comfort. 

Or I could take a risk. And?

I didn’t know, and that was the best and worst part. 

A while back I had been walking down the street and had been approached by an old crust punk dude. “Hey man can you give me a few bucks, it’s friday night and I wanna get drunk and maybe die like a rockstar.”

He got every dime of the money I had in my pocket. I have a love of people who go all in on what they're doing. And it had been far too long since I did that. 

“Fuck it, if theyre scamming me I can always turn the experience into stories.” I thought and grabbed two days of clothes and packed them into a small bag along with meds,  My computer and my Ipad. 

Then set my clock for 8 am

It might be my last chance at a real adventure. Might as well dive in.