n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 01:57 pm
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Group Therapy

My palms sweat and my thoughts race as I walk down the hall. While I've run numerous groups in my two years working at the Rainey Institute, this one is going to be something else entirely.

They're going to eat me alive, I think. This isn't like running Grief Group or Anger Management. Any group leader can identify with those issues. How am I supposed to find common ground with these patients, though?

I enter the room to find my participants already there, awaiting my arrival. There are eleven of them - ten people and one robot - spread across four rows of mostly-empty seats. Here goes nothing, I think, taking a deep breath.

"Hi, everyone. My name is Sarah and I'll be facilitating this group today. It's my first time leading this particular group, so please bear with me and hopefully we can all learn together."

A dark-haired woman in the back row snorts. "What could I possibly learn from you? You're scared to death right now."

"This group will give you the opportunity to talk with others who have been in the same situation as you." I do my best to appear confident in the face of her scrutiny.

"Somehow, I doubt that." The woman shoots me a haughty glare, crossing her arms.

"Okay, then," I continue. "This is a support group for people suffering from Uncooperative Fictional Character Disorder. As I've never been a fictional character myself, I can't say I identify with what you all go through. But that's why we're here. In this session, you'll have the chance to talk about your feelings with other people who've experienced the same things you have."

Nine pairs of human eyes and one pair of electronic ones stare at me in stony silence. In one corner of the room, a man with shaggy white hair sits on the floor and picks at the torn knee of his jeans.

This is going swimmingly so far, I think.

"Um, let's all introduce ourselves. First names will suffice. Please also tell the group how you're feeling today and a little bit about why you're here."

More blank stares.

"Okay, I'll go first," I say, trying not to sound intimidated. "My name is Sarah and I'm feeling nervous right now. I'm not a fictional character, but we don't have any of those working here at the Rainey Institute. They picked me to run this group because sometimes I'm a writer."

With what I hope is an encouraging nod, I address the petite blonde girl sitting in the front row.

"Hi, my name is Sam?" It sounds like a question rather than a statement. She fidgets in her chair and falls silent. A young man of Asian descent with a long ponytail is seated beside her. He grabs her hand and gives it a supportive squeeze, and she speaks again. "Um, I'm feeling depressed and I'm here because I stared at my best friend's butt during an important plot point."

Sam's friend twitches and almost falls out of his chair.

"You what?"

"It... it was an accident," Sam mumbles. "I didn't know it was you." Her friend looks disappointed.

"Um, I'm Daisuke," Sam's friend jumps in before I can ask any more questions. "Right now, I'm feeling, well... kind of shocked. I'm here because I lived in a fantastical world for a year and a half and refuse to talk to anyone about what happened while I was there."

Sam keeps shooting Daisuke nervous looks when she thinks he isn't looking. Daisuke examines his fingernails.

Thanking him, I glance at the two young men seated in the second row. Both are well-dressed, one young and blonde and the other slightly older with dark hair and glasses. They are engaged in a furious make-out session and oblivious to anyone else in the room. I clear my throat, but they don't appear to notice. I'm about to move on to the next participant when a condescending female voice speaks up from the back of the room.

"The pretty yellow-haired one is Jazz and the perverted one is Savin. They're a couple of idiots." It's the dark-haired woman who called me out at the beginning of the session.

Jerking away from his partner, Jazz looks at the woman with alarm. Savin gives her a cursory glance, then resumes kissing Jazz with impressive fervor. Jazz continues to eye the woman for a moment, then shrugs and returns his attention to Savin.

Sighing, I move on. In the third row of seats, a group of four men in their teens or early twenties sit with a feminine-looking robot. I catch the eye of an olive-skinned boy with shocking blue eyes and blonde hair. He offers me a shy smile.

"I'm Kalen, and I am feeling... overwhelmed? I'm here because I committed an act of terrorism by sneezing, thereby turning what was supposed to be a serious story into a new genre called 'goofy dystopia'." Kalen nudges the robot, who is sitting to his left.

"I'm CallaBot. I have no idea why I'm here. Robots don't need therapy." She glares at me, eyes glowing as if lasers are about to emanate from them. Feeling a trickle of sweat roll down the small of my back, I do my best not to flinch. CallaBot turns to the large muscular young man to her left, who appears to be sleeping, and punches him hard in the arm.

"Wake up, numbnuts!"

"OW!" The brawny young man jerks awake with a shout. "Why'd you do that?"

"It's your turn, Shit-For-Brains." At least the fembot is glaring at him instead of me now.

"Um... hi? I'm Brendan."

"Name. How you're feeling. Why you're here. It's not rocket science, seriously." A young man with Mediterranean features and long dark hair stares at Brendan with a disdainful expression that rivals CallaBot's laser eyes.

"Shut up, Devin!"

"Whatever, you troglodyte."

"What?" Brendan looks puzzled.

"Exactly." Devin smirks.

"Can we get to the point already? This is getting boring." The dark-haired woman in the back row stands up. "I'm Jordine. I do what I want. Period."

Jordine points at Brendan. "This one doesn't follow orders."

Gesturing at Devin, she continues.

"This one cracks jokes at inappropriate times and loses his sense of humor at crucial moments. And the one next to him, Wes, thinks that real life is exactly like an episode of NebulaQuest, a fictional 'neurovision' show." She punctuates the word "neurovision" with sarcastic air quotes.

"How did you know all that? Are you some kind of mind-reader?" Wes is staring at Jordine with rapt adoration.

"Yes." Jordine doesn't even spare Wes a glance. She directs her piercing gaze to the white-haired man in the corner, who is still paying no attention to anyone else in the room.

"And this one." Her words drip with disgust. "I don't even know where to begin. He has a perfectly good proper name, but insists on being called The Straw Man instead, making all references to him awkward and ungainly. When his Author wants to write him, he's nowhere to be found. At times when the Author has a million other projects, he begs to be written, promising to behave, only to run away at inopportune moments. Besides all of that, he has no concept of time and his thought processes look like something Salvador Dali vomited up once."

Jordine glares at the Straw Man, who looks up, startled. He stares at her for a moment, whimpers like a kicked dog, and shrinks away. Sam jumps out of her seat and runs over to comfort him as Daisuke eyes him with open hatred.

"This is ridiculous." Jordine snorts, rising and making for the door. "I'm leaving. Have fun exploring your feeeeeeeeeelings."

Sighing, I look at the clock. Only twenty minutes have passed. What am I supposed to do with the rest of the hour?




Author's Note: Thank you so much to [livejournal.com profile] theun4givables, who allowed me to borrow her characters (Jordine, Jazz and Savin) for this story.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 01:57 pm
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Group Therapy

My palms sweat and my thoughts race as I walk down the hall. While I've run numerous groups in my two years working at the Rainey Institute, this one is going to be something else entirely.

They're going to eat me alive, I think. This isn't like running Grief Group or Anger Management. Any group leader can identify with those issues. How am I supposed to find common ground with these patients, though?

I enter the room to find my participants already there, awaiting my arrival. There are eleven of them - ten people and one robot - spread across four rows of mostly-empty seats. Here goes nothing, I think, taking a deep breath.

"Hi, everyone. My name is Sarah and I'll be facilitating this group today. It's my first time leading this particular group, so please bear with me and hopefully we can all learn together."

A dark-haired woman in the back row snorts. "What could I possibly learn from you? You're scared to death right now."

"This group will give you the opportunity to talk with others who have been in the same situation as you." I do my best to appear confident in the face of her scrutiny.

"Somehow, I doubt that." The woman shoots me a haughty glare, crossing her arms.

"Okay, then," I continue. "This is a support group for people suffering from Uncooperative Fictional Character Disorder. As I've never been a fictional character myself, I can't say I identify with what you all go through. But that's why we're here. In this session, you'll have the chance to talk about your feelings with other people who've experienced the same things you have."

Nine pairs of human eyes and one pair of electronic ones stare at me in stony silence. In one corner of the room, a man with shaggy white hair sits on the floor and picks at the torn knee of his jeans.

This is going swimmingly so far, I think.

"Um, let's all introduce ourselves. First names will suffice. Please also tell the group how you're feeling today and a little bit about why you're here."

More blank stares.

"Okay, I'll go first," I say, trying not to sound intimidated. "My name is Sarah and I'm feeling nervous right now. I'm not a fictional character, but we don't have any of those working here at the Rainey Institute. They picked me to run this group because sometimes I'm a writer."

With what I hope is an encouraging nod, I address the petite blonde girl sitting in the front row.

"Hi, my name is Sam?" It sounds like a question rather than a statement. She fidgets in her chair and falls silent. A young man of Asian descent with a long ponytail is seated beside her. He grabs her hand and gives it a supportive squeeze, and she speaks again. "Um, I'm feeling depressed and I'm here because I stared at my best friend's butt during an important plot point."

Sam's friend twitches and almost falls out of his chair.

"You what?"

"It... it was an accident," Sam mumbles. "I didn't know it was you." Her friend looks disappointed.

"Um, I'm Daisuke," Sam's friend jumps in before I can ask any more questions. "Right now, I'm feeling, well... kind of shocked. I'm here because I lived in a fantastical world for a year and a half and refuse to talk to anyone about what happened while I was there."

Sam keeps shooting Daisuke nervous looks when she thinks he isn't looking. Daisuke examines his fingernails.

Thanking him, I glance at the two young men seated in the second row. Both are well-dressed, one young and blonde and the other slightly older with dark hair and glasses. They are engaged in a furious make-out session and oblivious to anyone else in the room. I clear my throat, but they don't appear to notice. I'm about to move on to the next participant when a condescending female voice speaks up from the back of the room.

"The pretty yellow-haired one is Jazz and the perverted one is Savin. They're a couple of idiots." It's the dark-haired woman who called me out at the beginning of the session.

Jerking away from his partner, Jazz looks at the woman with alarm. Savin gives her a cursory glance, then resumes kissing Jazz with impressive fervor. Jazz continues to eye the woman for a moment, then shrugs and returns his attention to Savin.

Sighing, I move on. In the third row of seats, a group of four men in their teens or early twenties sit with a feminine-looking robot. I catch the eye of an olive-skinned boy with shocking blue eyes and blonde hair. He offers me a shy smile.

"I'm Kalen, and I am feeling... overwhelmed? I'm here because I committed an act of terrorism by sneezing, thereby turning what was supposed to be a serious story into a new genre called 'goofy dystopia'." Kalen nudges the robot, who is sitting to his left.

"I'm CallaBot. I have no idea why I'm here. Robots don't need therapy." She glares at me, eyes glowing as if lasers are about to emanate from them. Feeling a trickle of sweat roll down the small of my back, I do my best not to flinch. CallaBot turns to the large muscular young man to her left, who appears to be sleeping, and punches him hard in the arm.

"Wake up, numbnuts!"

"OW!" The brawny young man jerks awake with a shout. "Why'd you do that?"

"It's your turn, Shit-For-Brains." At least the fembot is glaring at him instead of me now.

"Um... hi? I'm Brendan."

"Name. How you're feeling. Why you're here. It's not rocket science, seriously." A young man with Mediterranean features and long dark hair stares at Brendan with a disdainful expression that rivals CallaBot's laser eyes.

"Shut up, Devin!"

"Whatever, you troglodyte."

"What?" Brendan looks puzzled.

"Exactly." Devin smirks.

"Can we get to the point already? This is getting boring." The dark-haired woman in the back row stands up. "I'm Jordine. I do what I want. Period."

Jordine points at Brendan. "This one doesn't follow orders."

Gesturing at Devin, she continues.

"This one cracks jokes at inappropriate times and loses his sense of humor at crucial moments. And the one next to him, Wes, thinks that real life is exactly like an episode of NebulaQuest, a fictional 'neurovision' show." She punctuates the word "neurovision" with sarcastic air quotes.

"How did you know all that? Are you some kind of mind-reader?" Wes is staring at Jordine with rapt adoration.

"Yes." Jordine doesn't even spare Wes a glance. She directs her piercing gaze to the white-haired man in the corner, who is still paying no attention to anyone else in the room.

"And this one." Her words drip with disgust. "I don't even know where to begin. He has a perfectly good proper name, but insists on being called The Straw Man instead, making all references to him awkward and ungainly. When his Author wants to write him, he's nowhere to be found. At times when the Author has a million other projects, he begs to be written, promising to behave, only to run away at inopportune moments. Besides all of that, he has no concept of time and his thought processes look like something Salvador Dali vomited up once."

Jordine glares at the Straw Man, who looks up, startled. He stares at her for a moment, whimpers like a kicked dog, and shrinks away. Sam jumps out of her seat and runs over to comfort him as Daisuke eyes him with open hatred.

"This is ridiculous." Jordine snorts, rising and making for the door. "I'm leaving. Have fun exploring your feeeeeeeeeelings."

Sighing, I look at the clock. Only twenty minutes have passed. What am I supposed to do with the rest of the hour?




Author's Note: Thank you so much to [livejournal.com profile] theun4givables, who allowed me to borrow her characters (Jordine, Jazz and Savin) for this story.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 12:52 pm
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AMAZEBALLS CLIFFTON CROSSOVER SMUT OMG

[livejournal.com profile] theun4givables wrote like 8k words of amazing smut that has made my entire week.

READ IT YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO BUT ONLY IF BEAUTIFUL MAN SEX DOES NOT OFFEND YOU BUT OMG SO AWESOME <3

*ahem*

Title: Say Please
Rating: NC-17 for graphic consensual m/m sex and mild kink
Pairings: Savin/Devin, implied Wes/Devin and implied Savin/Ravi
Universe: Savin and Ravi are the author's original characters from the Tomorrow Trilogy. Wes and Devin are from my Cliffton universe, although this story is an AU one for them.



Devin scowled, rubbing his temples as he and Wes stepped off of their flight from the colonies to the Capital City. “It’s way too fucking early for this,” he grumbled. Wes laughed at him, striking him on the shoulder.

“Cheer up, will ya? We’re on vacation!” Wes bounded off the ship ahead of him, staring out at the vast skyline of the city. “Have you ever seen shit like this? It’s amazing!”

“Get me some fucking coffee and I might be inclined to agree.” Though Wes’s giant grin, he had to admit, was almost infectious. As he slogged his way through the crowd in order to keep with Wes, he hoped that this would at least be an amusing vacation.

Before he knew it, Wes made his way back to him, coffee in hand. Devin grunted to him as he took it, knowing that Wes knew he meant thank you. Wes wrapped an arm around his shoulders, nearly knocking the coffee out of his hands as he did so. “When we get to the hotel, want to play some SImFighting?” he asked, his mood impervious to Devin’s death glare.

“Only if you want me to kick your ass at it.”

“You’re on!"

fake cut to the rest of this amazingness
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 12:52 pm
  • Add Memory
  • Share This Entry
Entry tags:

AMAZEBALLS CLIFFTON CROSSOVER SMUT OMG

[livejournal.com profile] theun4givables wrote like 8k words of amazing smut that has made my entire week.

READ IT YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO BUT ONLY IF BEAUTIFUL MAN SEX DOES NOT OFFEND YOU BUT OMG SO AWESOME <3

*ahem*

Title: Say Please
Rating: NC-17 for graphic consensual m/m sex and mild kink
Pairings: Savin/Devin, implied Wes/Devin and implied Savin/Ravi
Universe: Savin and Ravi are the author's original characters from the Tomorrow Trilogy. Wes and Devin are from my Cliffton universe, although this story is an AU one for them.



Devin scowled, rubbing his temples as he and Wes stepped off of their flight from the colonies to the Capital City. “It’s way too fucking early for this,” he grumbled. Wes laughed at him, striking him on the shoulder.

“Cheer up, will ya? We’re on vacation!” Wes bounded off the ship ahead of him, staring out at the vast skyline of the city. “Have you ever seen shit like this? It’s amazing!”

“Get me some fucking coffee and I might be inclined to agree.” Though Wes’s giant grin, he had to admit, was almost infectious. As he slogged his way through the crowd in order to keep with Wes, he hoped that this would at least be an amusing vacation.

Before he knew it, Wes made his way back to him, coffee in hand. Devin grunted to him as he took it, knowing that Wes knew he meant thank you. Wes wrapped an arm around his shoulders, nearly knocking the coffee out of his hands as he did so. “When we get to the hotel, want to play some SImFighting?” he asked, his mood impervious to Devin’s death glare.

“Only if you want me to kick your ass at it.”

“You’re on!"

fake cut to the rest of this amazingness
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 12:28 pm
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Writerverse Challenge #03: The Vacuum of Time

"Kalen, it's been 3 weeks." CallaBot's voice is tinged with panic. "You have to come out sometime."

Lying on my bed, I stare at the ceiling and say nothing.

"Come on, Kalen - it's anarchy out here." My wooden door shudders as CallaBot pounds it with her metal fists.

For a moment, I consider giving in to my best friend's request. I'm supposed to be the leader of our little group, after all. How can I be responsible for anyone right now, though? I'm coming apart at the seams. I sigh and wait for her to go away.

"Seriously, Kalen," CallaBot says, "Enough is enough." I hear a low humming sound from outside my bedroom and notice my doorknob glowing bright red.

That can't be good, I think. Then there's a zapping sound, a clatter, and a stream of loud cursing from CallaBot.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Devin?" she shrieks.

Devin speaks in hushed tones; I can't make out his response. Under normal circumstances, he isn't the quietest guy, so I'm guessing he doesn't want me to hear what he's saying. Tiptoeing over to the door, I rest my ear against it.

"If he were going to do it on his own, he would have by now," CallaBot says.

"Whatever," Devin snorts. "It's not like he can stay in there forever."

"Well, he wouldn't be able to, Numbnuts," CallaBot's tone is icy. "If somebody didn't keep leaving meals outside his door."

Devin grunts and says nothing.

Huh. I was wondering who was responsible for that. Three quick knocks, a fork and knife shoved under the door, then nothing. By the time I looked out into the hall, there was never anyone there.

How would he disappear that fast? I think. He must have been using an InvisiSuit.

"Why do you insist on coddling him, anyway?"

"For fuck's sake, Calla... he just lost his brother."

"Since when are you Mr. Sensitive?" CallaBot demands.

"Shut the fuck up, okay?" Devin's voice sounds... odd. "And leave him the fuck alone or I'll deactivate you."

CallaBot must be aware that Devin's threat is an empty one. She could take him down in a matter of seconds. Even armed, I wouldn't give him more than a 5 percent chance of overpowering her. She doesn't call him on it, though - doesn't even bother with one of her signature verbal slapdowns.

I'm still wondering why when I hear the metallic clank of her stomping away down the hall.

* * * * *

"Hey dude, you up for some SimFighting?" Wes calls through my door one evening.

Same old Wes, I think wearily. Pathologically cheerful, just like always.

"You don't even have to come out," Wes says, "We can play from separate rooms."

I sigh and continue my thorough examination of the ceiling.

"Please?" Wes sounds almost desperate. "Devin always kicks my ass and I'm tired of it."

Under different circumstances, I'd smile at that. I don't have the heart to tell him I let him win.

"Dude, you know we're all worried about you, right?"

That gets to me a little. It doesn't matter, though. As bad as I feel about freaking out my friends, I'm just not ready to talk. I don't want to see their pitying looks or hear their sympathetic words. There's no way any of them can understand what I'm going through.

"Well, I guess I'll go now," Wes says softly. "I'll leave your headset out here in case you want it."

I wait until the echo of his footfalls dies away before I crack the door and grab the headset. Though I'm not interested in a SimFighting match with Wes, I am getting pretty tired of lying around and doing nothing.

Who knows? I think. A little simulated killing might take my mind off things for a while.

Putting on my headset, I fire up "Splinternet Battle Mode". Random strangers aren't going to try to get me to open up. The mindless action of the fight is a good distraction. Since I'm damn good at this game, there's the added bonus of feeling like I've accomplished something for the first time in over a month. Before I know it, I've been playing for hours.

Reluctantly, I pull off my headset and collapse into bed. That's when the ugly thoughts come.

You don't deserve to have fun - not with Brendan dead.

Shivering, I pull my blanket up to my chin and try to think about something else.

What kind of monster are you? Taking pleasure in blowing people up after what happened to him?

"It's only a game!" I don't realize I've spoken aloud until the sound of my own voice makes me jump.

Was it a game to Brendan?

I close my eyes and will my brain to shut itself off.

It's your fault he's gone. You were the leader. You let him go in there.

Throwing back the covers, I climb out of bed. It's obvious I won't be sleeping anytime soon - might as well play a little longer. Hell, I've got all the time in the world now. Might as well not stop at all.

* * * * *

My eyes don't seem to be focusing very well anymore. The projected image of my SimFighting match doubles and blurs. I blink, hoping to clear my vision, but it doesn't help much.

"Shit!" I mutter as my SimFighter explodes.

My head feels a little funny. For the first time, it occurs to me to wonder how long I've been playing without a break. I remove my headset and stand up, thinking I'll just go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. A wave of dizziness smacks into me like a fist. Grabbing a chair to steady myself, I wait until it passes.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I wash my face. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror I do a double-take. Not only do I need a shave in a major way, my hair is so greasy it almost looks brown instead of blonde.

Nasty, I think. How long has it been since I bathed?

Shaking my head, I punch the "on" button for my washing station. Jets of water shoot out, heated to my personal specifications. The steaming water sluicing over my body makes me feel a bit better. I stand under it for a long time, feeling some of my tension melt away.

I've just finished showering and wrapped a towel around my waist when I hear three short knocks. My stomach rumbles - who knows when my last meal was? I wait for Devin to leave so I can snatch whatever food he's brought.

Only he doesn't go away. There's more knocking, insistent this time.

"Hey buddy, you okay in there?"

Something in Devin's tone makes me want to respond, but I fight the urge. Stepping out of the bathroom, I notice a small pile of forks and knives scattered in front of the door. It really has been a while since I ate.

"Look, Kalen," Devin says through the door. "I get it if you don't want to talk. Really, I do. And that's cool. There's a lot I don't want to talk about, too. It's just..."

My unintentional fast must be getting to me, because I swear Devin's voice breaks a little.

"CallaBot tried to blast her way into your room and I told her to stop," he says.

Irritation bubbles up inside me. All I want is for Devin to stop talking so I can finally eat.

"So, um," he continues, "Do you think you could just tell me you're still fucking alive in there? Because if you're not, it's my fucking fault and I - "

My hand reaches for the doorknob when Devin trails off, but I pull it back.

"I don't want to be responsible for that too, okay?" he finishes.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've yanked the door open. Devin almost drops the plate of food he's holding. I fumble for words - it's been weeks, maybe months, since I've spoken to another person.

"Up for some SimFighting?" I croak. "Bet I can kick your ass - I've had a lot of practice lately."

It's a really stupid thing to say, but it doesn't matter. In that moment, it's enough.



(using this story to fill the [livejournal.com profile] 500themes prompt "The Vacuum of Time" found here and the "nervous breakdown" square on my [livejournal.com profile] hc_bingo card)
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 12:28 pm
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Writerverse Challenge #03: The Vacuum of Time

"Kalen, it's been 3 weeks." CallaBot's voice is tinged with panic. "You have to come out sometime."

Lying on my bed, I stare at the ceiling and say nothing.

"Come on, Kalen - it's anarchy out here." My wooden door shudders as CallaBot pounds it with her metal fists.

For a moment, I consider giving in to my best friend's request. I'm supposed to be the leader of our little group, after all. How can I be responsible for anyone right now, though? I'm coming apart at the seams. I sigh and wait for her to go away.

"Seriously, Kalen," CallaBot says, "Enough is enough." I hear a low humming sound from outside my bedroom and notice my doorknob glowing bright red.

That can't be good, I think. Then there's a zapping sound, a clatter, and a stream of loud cursing from CallaBot.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Devin?" she shrieks.

Devin speaks in hushed tones; I can't make out his response. Under normal circumstances, he isn't the quietest guy, so I'm guessing he doesn't want me to hear what he's saying. Tiptoeing over to the door, I rest my ear against it.

"If he were going to do it on his own, he would have by now," CallaBot says.

"Whatever," Devin snorts. "It's not like he can stay in there forever."

"Well, he wouldn't be able to, Numbnuts," CallaBot's tone is icy. "If somebody didn't keep leaving meals outside his door."

Devin grunts and says nothing.

Huh. I was wondering who was responsible for that. Three quick knocks, a fork and knife shoved under the door, then nothing. By the time I looked out into the hall, there was never anyone there.

How would he disappear that fast? I think. He must have been using an InvisiSuit.

"Why do you insist on coddling him, anyway?"

"For fuck's sake, Calla... he just lost his brother."

"Since when are you Mr. Sensitive?" CallaBot demands.

"Shut the fuck up, okay?" Devin's voice sounds... odd. "And leave him the fuck alone or I'll deactivate you."

CallaBot must be aware that Devin's threat is an empty one. She could take him down in a matter of seconds. Even armed, I wouldn't give him more than a 5 percent chance of overpowering her. She doesn't call him on it, though - doesn't even bother with one of her signature verbal slapdowns.

I'm still wondering why when I hear the metallic clank of her stomping away down the hall.

* * * * *

"Hey dude, you up for some SimFighting?" Wes calls through my door one evening.

Same old Wes, I think wearily. Pathologically cheerful, just like always.

"You don't even have to come out," Wes says, "We can play from separate rooms."

I sigh and continue my thorough examination of the ceiling.

"Please?" Wes sounds almost desperate. "Devin always kicks my ass and I'm tired of it."

Under different circumstances, I'd smile at that. I don't have the heart to tell him I let him win.

"Dude, you know we're all worried about you, right?"

That gets to me a little. It doesn't matter, though. As bad as I feel about freaking out my friends, I'm just not ready to talk. I don't want to see their pitying looks or hear their sympathetic words. There's no way any of them can understand what I'm going through.

"Well, I guess I'll go now," Wes says softly. "I'll leave your headset out here in case you want it."

I wait until the echo of his footfalls dies away before I crack the door and grab the headset. Though I'm not interested in a SimFighting match with Wes, I am getting pretty tired of lying around and doing nothing.

Who knows? I think. A little simulated killing might take my mind off things for a while.

Putting on my headset, I fire up "Splinternet Battle Mode". Random strangers aren't going to try to get me to open up. The mindless action of the fight is a good distraction. Since I'm damn good at this game, there's the added bonus of feeling like I've accomplished something for the first time in over a month. Before I know it, I've been playing for hours.

Reluctantly, I pull off my headset and collapse into bed. That's when the ugly thoughts come.

You don't deserve to have fun - not with Brendan dead.

Shivering, I pull my blanket up to my chin and try to think about something else.

What kind of monster are you? Taking pleasure in blowing people up after what happened to him?

"It's only a game!" I don't realize I've spoken aloud until the sound of my own voice makes me jump.

Was it a game to Brendan?

I close my eyes and will my brain to shut itself off.

It's your fault he's gone. You were the leader. You let him go in there.

Throwing back the covers, I climb out of bed. It's obvious I won't be sleeping anytime soon - might as well play a little longer. Hell, I've got all the time in the world now. Might as well not stop at all.

* * * * *

My eyes don't seem to be focusing very well anymore. The projected image of my SimFighting match doubles and blurs. I blink, hoping to clear my vision, but it doesn't help much.

"Shit!" I mutter as my SimFighter explodes.

My head feels a little funny. For the first time, it occurs to me to wonder how long I've been playing without a break. I remove my headset and stand up, thinking I'll just go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. A wave of dizziness smacks into me like a fist. Grabbing a chair to steady myself, I wait until it passes.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I wash my face. When I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror I do a double-take. Not only do I need a shave in a major way, my hair is so greasy it almost looks brown instead of blonde.

Nasty, I think. How long has it been since I bathed?

Shaking my head, I punch the "on" button for my washing station. Jets of water shoot out, heated to my personal specifications. The steaming water sluicing over my body makes me feel a bit better. I stand under it for a long time, feeling some of my tension melt away.

I've just finished showering and wrapped a towel around my waist when I hear three short knocks. My stomach rumbles - who knows when my last meal was? I wait for Devin to leave so I can snatch whatever food he's brought.

Only he doesn't go away. There's more knocking, insistent this time.

"Hey buddy, you okay in there?"

Something in Devin's tone makes me want to respond, but I fight the urge. Stepping out of the bathroom, I notice a small pile of forks and knives scattered in front of the door. It really has been a while since I ate.

"Look, Kalen," Devin says through the door. "I get it if you don't want to talk. Really, I do. And that's cool. There's a lot I don't want to talk about, too. It's just..."

My unintentional fast must be getting to me, because I swear Devin's voice breaks a little.

"CallaBot tried to blast her way into your room and I told her to stop," he says.

Irritation bubbles up inside me. All I want is for Devin to stop talking so I can finally eat.

"So, um," he continues, "Do you think you could just tell me you're still fucking alive in there? Because if you're not, it's my fucking fault and I - "

My hand reaches for the doorknob when Devin trails off, but I pull it back.

"I don't want to be responsible for that too, okay?" he finishes.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've yanked the door open. Devin almost drops the plate of food he's holding. I fumble for words - it's been weeks, maybe months, since I've spoken to another person.

"Up for some SimFighting?" I croak. "Bet I can kick your ass - I've had a lot of practice lately."

It's a really stupid thing to say, but it doesn't matter. In that moment, it's enough.



(using this story to fill the [livejournal.com profile] 500themes prompt "The Vacuum of Time" found here and the "nervous breakdown" square on my [livejournal.com profile] hc_bingo card)
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:37 am
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Writerverse Challenge #02: Prompt #1 - Cracks in the Ceiling

I've memorized my bedroom ceiling. There's the grease spot near the center. Wes threw a slice of pizza once. Who knows why, except he's Wes. Near the window is a greenish splotch - a spill in Devin's attic lab. I analyze the shapes of those stains like a child watching clouds.

The burn mark by the door, though - my eyes skate away from it every time.

Brendan lost his temper - fired a nanoblaster. That's my brother, so hotheaded, always ready to sacrifice himself for a cause. And he did.

I don't look over there. Looking makes it true.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:37 am
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Writerverse Challenge #02: Prompt #1 - Cracks in the Ceiling

I've memorized my bedroom ceiling. There's the grease spot near the center. Wes threw a slice of pizza once. Who knows why, except he's Wes. Near the window is a greenish splotch - a spill in Devin's attic lab. I analyze the shapes of those stains like a child watching clouds.

The burn mark by the door, though - my eyes skate away from it every time.

Brendan lost his temper - fired a nanoblaster. That's my brother, so hotheaded, always ready to sacrifice himself for a cause. And he did.

I don't look over there. Looking makes it true.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:34 am
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Explode

Goodbyes have been said, and now it's time for action. As Devin always says, this is gonna be fucking epic.

So far, there's been no trouble. Every door has opened on command, just as Devin promised. CallaBot and I creep through the corridors of the WeaponsDev facility in silence, headed for the building's center. It feels like hours before we finally reach our destination, but patience has never really been my strong suit. Pushing open the door to the men's bathroom, I'm about to enter when I notice CallaBot hanging back.

"You coming?" I ask.

"Well, it's a men's bathroom." Her tone is unusually hesitant.

"Oh, give me a fucking break!" I snicker. "We're about to destroy a major government facility, and that's what you're worried about? Anyway, you're a robot now. According to the law, you're neither male nor female."

"Fine, whatever," she says, and follows me inside.

The door has barely swung shut behind us when there's a humming sound from out in the hall. Cracking the door and peering around the jamb, I see robots approaching. My heart leaps into my throat; there must be at least 20 of them.

"Calla!" I hiss. "SecurityBots, heading right for us!"

"You stay here," CallaBot says. "I'll talk to them and convince them we're no threat."

As she disappears into the hall, I shuck off my InvisiSuit. It's fucking hot in this place, and I breathe a grateful sigh once I'm free of the extra layer of insulation. Just as I'm about to remove my wrinkled explosive suit as well, I hear a commotion outside. I open the door a tiny bit, just in time to hear a sizzling noise and then a loud pop.

"CallaBot, you okay out there?"

No answer.

Stepping out into the hall, I cough as I inhale the acrid odor of fried circuitry. Trying not to breathe too deeply, I survey the scene before me. It's one of utter confusion.

More than half of the security robots are disabled. Most appear to have been beaten or shot down. One or two are standing stock still on the edge of the fracas while another slams itself repeatedly into a wall. The remaining seven SecurityBots encircle Calla, who does nothing to defend herself as they pelt her with metal fists and shoot her with blue lasers. Even with the superior shields Kalen's devised for her, I'm sure she can't withstand much more of this.

"Calla, what the hell?" I shout. "Why the fuck aren't you fighting back?"

Her mechanical eyes, staring straight ahead, don't even meet mine.

"Devin," I say, "There's something wrong with CallaBot! How do I fix her?"

Nothing.

Devin's supposed to be able to hear me over his neurovision implant. Maybe whatever's messed up CallaBot has disrupted our communications as well. I guess it doesn't matter; any way you look at it, I'm on my own.

"Fucking hell!" I yell to no one in particular. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

Shoving my way past the SecurityBots, I grab Calla's arm. Searing pains shoot through my arm, the back of my neck, and my lower spine as the robots turn on me. While the explosive suit provides protection against instant death, it's not enough. There's a smell like barbecue; I'm pretty sure it's my own burning flesh.

"Calla," I say, looking into her blank electronic eyes, "if you can hear me, get the fuck out of here now!"

Though her gaze shows no recognition, she says, "Yes, human," and shoots off down the hall. Focused on me, the SecurityBots don't even bother to follow her. My entire body is in agony as their lasers strike me again and again.

"Devin," I try once more. "Can you hear me? I could really use some help in here."

Still no response.

I may not be a genius like my brother Kalen and his dorky pals, but I can think pretty well on my feet. There's no way for me to fight off all these robots on my own. I'm injured pretty badly and way outnumbered. If I can't reach Devin to help me disable them, I'm never getting out of here alive. There's only one good option - hold them off long enough for CallaBot to escape and then detonate my explosive suit.

Even half-dead, I'm no slouch in the fighting department. I manage to take down two of my metal attackers before the other five close in on me. Praying that Calla's made it out by now, I take a deep breath. This is it.

Today is a good day to die, I think.

Closing my eyes, I use the neural interface for the explosive suit to bring it online. My body tingles all over; the strange sensation almost blocks out the pain. Inside my brain, I hear Devin hollering at me through my neurovision chip. Communications must be up and running again.

"Why'd you do it, buddy?" Devin yells. "I could have helped you take down those SecurityBots!"

"BRENDAN!" Kalen screams in the background.

"It's too late now," Devin's voice is distraught. "There's no way to stop the explosion once the suit's warmed up."

I hear my brother sobbing. There's a whoosh, a rush of heat, an enveloping pain. Then everything goes dark.
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2012-09-10 11:34 am
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Explode

Goodbyes have been said, and now it's time for action. As Devin always says, this is gonna be fucking epic.

So far, there's been no trouble. Every door has opened on command, just as Devin promised. CallaBot and I creep through the corridors of the WeaponsDev facility in silence, headed for the building's center. It feels like hours before we finally reach our destination, but patience has never really been my strong suit. Pushing open the door to the men's bathroom, I'm about to enter when I notice CallaBot hanging back.

"You coming?" I ask.

"Well, it's a men's bathroom." Her tone is unusually hesitant.

"Oh, give me a fucking break!" I snicker. "We're about to destroy a major government facility, and that's what you're worried about? Anyway, you're a robot now. According to the law, you're neither male nor female."

"Fine, whatever," she says, and follows me inside.

The door has barely swung shut behind us when there's a humming sound from out in the hall. Cracking the door and peering around the jamb, I see robots approaching. My heart leaps into my throat; there must be at least 20 of them.

"Calla!" I hiss. "SecurityBots, heading right for us!"

"You stay here," CallaBot says. "I'll talk to them and convince them we're no threat."

As she disappears into the hall, I shuck off my InvisiSuit. It's fucking hot in this place, and I breathe a grateful sigh once I'm free of the extra layer of insulation. Just as I'm about to remove my wrinkled explosive suit as well, I hear a commotion outside. I open the door a tiny bit, just in time to hear a sizzling noise and then a loud pop.

"CallaBot, you okay out there?"

No answer.

Stepping out into the hall, I cough as I inhale the acrid odor of fried circuitry. Trying not to breathe too deeply, I survey the scene before me. It's one of utter confusion.

More than half of the security robots are disabled. Most appear to have been beaten or shot down. One or two are standing stock still on the edge of the fracas while another slams itself repeatedly into a wall. The remaining seven SecurityBots encircle Calla, who does nothing to defend herself as they pelt her with metal fists and shoot her with blue lasers. Even with the superior shields Kalen's devised for her, I'm sure she can't withstand much more of this.

"Calla, what the hell?" I shout. "Why the fuck aren't you fighting back?"

Her mechanical eyes, staring straight ahead, don't even meet mine.

"Devin," I say, "There's something wrong with CallaBot! How do I fix her?"

Nothing.

Devin's supposed to be able to hear me over his neurovision implant. Maybe whatever's messed up CallaBot has disrupted our communications as well. I guess it doesn't matter; any way you look at it, I'm on my own.

"Fucking hell!" I yell to no one in particular. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

Shoving my way past the SecurityBots, I grab Calla's arm. Searing pains shoot through my arm, the back of my neck, and my lower spine as the robots turn on me. While the explosive suit provides protection against instant death, it's not enough. There's a smell like barbecue; I'm pretty sure it's my own burning flesh.

"Calla," I say, looking into her blank electronic eyes, "if you can hear me, get the fuck out of here now!"

Though her gaze shows no recognition, she says, "Yes, human," and shoots off down the hall. Focused on me, the SecurityBots don't even bother to follow her. My entire body is in agony as their lasers strike me again and again.

"Devin," I try once more. "Can you hear me? I could really use some help in here."

Still no response.

I may not be a genius like my brother Kalen and his dorky pals, but I can think pretty well on my feet. There's no way for me to fight off all these robots on my own. I'm injured pretty badly and way outnumbered. If I can't reach Devin to help me disable them, I'm never getting out of here alive. There's only one good option - hold them off long enough for CallaBot to escape and then detonate my explosive suit.

Even half-dead, I'm no slouch in the fighting department. I manage to take down two of my metal attackers before the other five close in on me. Praying that Calla's made it out by now, I take a deep breath. This is it.

Today is a good day to die, I think.

Closing my eyes, I use the neural interface for the explosive suit to bring it online. My body tingles all over; the strange sensation almost blocks out the pain. Inside my brain, I hear Devin hollering at me through my neurovision chip. Communications must be up and running again.

"Why'd you do it, buddy?" Devin yells. "I could have helped you take down those SecurityBots!"

"BRENDAN!" Kalen screams in the background.

"It's too late now," Devin's voice is distraught. "There's no way to stop the explosion once the suit's warmed up."

I hear my brother sobbing. There's a whoosh, a rush of heat, an enveloping pain. Then everything goes dark.
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2012-09-10 11:32 am
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Pain

"Ow!" CallaBot yells. "You're hurting me with that thing! Are you almost done?"

"I warned you it was going to be painful," I tell her, "It's big."

"That's not what Devin's mom told me last night," Wes snickers.

"Yeah, right," Devin mutters, not even looking away from the wall in front of him, where his SimFighting match with Wes is projected. Seconds later, a large explosion appears, engulfing Wes's SimFighter.

"What the hell?" Wes yells. "How did you even do that?"

"The fact that you suck at this game helps a lot." Taking off his SimFighting headset, Devin comes over to watch me work. I make the final adjustments to CallaBot's circuitry and set the laserdrill back in my toolbox.

"That should do it," I tell her. "Your translator nanochip should be up and running now."

"So, how does this thing work?" CallaBot asks.

"Hell if I know," I shrug. "Devin's the one who designed the chip."

"I modified your nanoblaster with a new 'language nanites' setting," Devin says. "When you fire the blaster, it stuns your victim and shoots nanites into his brain. There might be a little sting, but it shouldn't cause any other ill effects. Then the chip Kalen just installed will communicate with the nanites so you can speak and understand the other person's language."

"Well, unless you run into people who speak some sort of really atypical language," Wes cuts in. "You know, like on that one episode of NebulaQuest?"

"My translator nanochip apparently doesn't work for Dweebenese. What the hell are you talking about?" It's amazing how proficient CallaBot has gotten with her death-glares, even with a robotic face.

"Basically," Wes says, "The crew of the Discovery encounters a race that speaks only in metaphors. Their translators don't help much, because the metaphors of that culture mean nothing to them."

"Yeah, except that would never happen in real life," Devin interjects, "because it's fucking stupid."

"Well, if it's so 'fucking stupid', then how come it's consistently named one of the top 10 NebulaQuest episodes of all time?" Wes demands.

"You guys are like an old married couple," I say, shaking my head.

Just then, the door to the basement opens. My older brother Brendan lumbers into the room, dressed in formal attire and looking irritated. His gait is oddly stiff.

"What's going on, bro? You pull a muscle working out?"

Unlike me, Brendan has kept up with his exercise regimen since he moved into Wes and Devin's house. In fact, if anything, he's even bigger and brawnier than before. It's probably because he doesn't have the same interests the rest of us do. Most of the time, he keeps to himself, training for the day he'll get his very own part in the War.

"No, it's this fucking suit," he grumbles. "It's tight as hell. Who'd they design this thing for, a male model?"

"It's a prototype created for marketing purposes," Devin reminds him, "So, probably."

"Couldn't you have had it altered, though?" Brendan demands. "You dorks can stockpile enough weapons to end the world, but you can't find a fucking tailor?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have waited until the last minute to try it on." Devin raises one eyebrow at my brother. "Anyway, if you take it off, I'll run it through the duplicator and modify the specs to generate a larger version."

"Condescending asshole," Brendan mutters under his breath as he strips down to his boxers.

"You might want to stop calling me names, you lunkhead, or I'm going to turn these pants into a tutu."

"You wouldn't," Brendan growls.

"Try me," Devin smirks.

Here we go again, I think, rubbing at my temples. The constant bickering in this house makes my head hurt. If I thought Wes and Devin squabbled a lot, well, that was before Brendan moved in here. Devin and my brother have never gotten along. You'd think they could put that aside for today, since it might be the last time they see each other alive.

You'd think so, but apparently you'd be wrong.

* * * * *

"Okay, Brendan, let's review the plan one more time." My stomach is roiling. I think I'm more nervous than he is.

"We've been over it ten times already. I think I've got it." Brendan says.

"Come on, just one more time, for me?" I'm stalling for time. What if he doesn't make it back?

"Fine, bro, whatever." Brendan's being unusually patient with me. "CallaBot and I will turn on our InvisiSuits and go to the WeaponsDev building."

"You should be able to just walk right in." Devin breaks in. "The security nanochip I've wired to your neurovision interface should command the doors to open. Since the explosive suit technology is so new, the bomb-sniffers shouldn't be able to detect it. If you run into any security robots, CallaBot's universal translator should allow her to communicate with them and convince them you're no threat."

"Then I just head for the center of the building, remove the explosive suit, and run. Right?" Brendan finishes.

"You got it, bro," I tell him.

"Once you're clear of the building, let me know. I'll use the back door I created in the suit's interface to explode it, along with WeaponsDev itself," Devin's eyes are shining with excitement and he seems like himself for the first time in months. "This is gonna be fucking epic!"

I'm glad someone's feeling happy about this. Me, it's all I can do not to vomit on my boots. This is my brother putting his life at risk. If anything happens to him, I'll be in a world of hurt.

"Hey Brendan," I say, clasping him in an awkward man-hug. "I know we don't always see eye to eye, but - " He doesn't let me finish.

"Come on, Kalen. You know I'm no good at this feelings crap. No need for teary goodbyes. I'll be back in an hour, maybe two. Besides, this is what I was born to do." Brendan punches me in the arm so hard I wince.

"Brendan, seriously," Devin says, "If anything goes wrong, run like hell. Don't try to be a hero. Just get out."

"Why, Devin," Brendan simpers in a high-pitched feminine voice, "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't, man. But without you around, there won't be anyone Wes can beat at SimFighting."




Author's Note:
In case you were curious, the comments about NebulaQuest in the opening section were inspired by the "Darmok" episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. If somehow Devin didn't make my thoughts on the episode crystal clear, check out this super-old Green Room Thread, courtesy of the fact that I rarely clean out my comment notifications.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:32 am
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Pain

"Ow!" CallaBot yells. "You're hurting me with that thing! Are you almost done?"

"I warned you it was going to be painful," I tell her, "It's big."

"That's not what Devin's mom told me last night," Wes snickers.

"Yeah, right," Devin mutters, not even looking away from the wall in front of him, where his SimFighting match with Wes is projected. Seconds later, a large explosion appears, engulfing Wes's SimFighter.

"What the hell?" Wes yells. "How did you even do that?"

"The fact that you suck at this game helps a lot." Taking off his SimFighting headset, Devin comes over to watch me work. I make the final adjustments to CallaBot's circuitry and set the laserdrill back in my toolbox.

"That should do it," I tell her. "Your translator nanochip should be up and running now."

"So, how does this thing work?" CallaBot asks.

"Hell if I know," I shrug. "Devin's the one who designed the chip."

"I modified your nanoblaster with a new 'language nanites' setting," Devin says. "When you fire the blaster, it stuns your victim and shoots nanites into his brain. There might be a little sting, but it shouldn't cause any other ill effects. Then the chip Kalen just installed will communicate with the nanites so you can speak and understand the other person's language."

"Well, unless you run into people who speak some sort of really atypical language," Wes cuts in. "You know, like on that one episode of NebulaQuest?"

"My translator nanochip apparently doesn't work for Dweebenese. What the hell are you talking about?" It's amazing how proficient CallaBot has gotten with her death-glares, even with a robotic face.

"Basically," Wes says, "The crew of the Discovery encounters a race that speaks only in metaphors. Their translators don't help much, because the metaphors of that culture mean nothing to them."

"Yeah, except that would never happen in real life," Devin interjects, "because it's fucking stupid."

"Well, if it's so 'fucking stupid', then how come it's consistently named one of the top 10 NebulaQuest episodes of all time?" Wes demands.

"You guys are like an old married couple," I say, shaking my head.

Just then, the door to the basement opens. My older brother Brendan lumbers into the room, dressed in formal attire and looking irritated. His gait is oddly stiff.

"What's going on, bro? You pull a muscle working out?"

Unlike me, Brendan has kept up with his exercise regimen since he moved into Wes and Devin's house. In fact, if anything, he's even bigger and brawnier than before. It's probably because he doesn't have the same interests the rest of us do. Most of the time, he keeps to himself, training for the day he'll get his very own part in the War.

"No, it's this fucking suit," he grumbles. "It's tight as hell. Who'd they design this thing for, a male model?"

"It's a prototype created for marketing purposes," Devin reminds him, "So, probably."

"Couldn't you have had it altered, though?" Brendan demands. "You dorks can stockpile enough weapons to end the world, but you can't find a fucking tailor?"

"Maybe you shouldn't have waited until the last minute to try it on." Devin raises one eyebrow at my brother. "Anyway, if you take it off, I'll run it through the duplicator and modify the specs to generate a larger version."

"Condescending asshole," Brendan mutters under his breath as he strips down to his boxers.

"You might want to stop calling me names, you lunkhead, or I'm going to turn these pants into a tutu."

"You wouldn't," Brendan growls.

"Try me," Devin smirks.

Here we go again, I think, rubbing at my temples. The constant bickering in this house makes my head hurt. If I thought Wes and Devin squabbled a lot, well, that was before Brendan moved in here. Devin and my brother have never gotten along. You'd think they could put that aside for today, since it might be the last time they see each other alive.

You'd think so, but apparently you'd be wrong.

* * * * *

"Okay, Brendan, let's review the plan one more time." My stomach is roiling. I think I'm more nervous than he is.

"We've been over it ten times already. I think I've got it." Brendan says.

"Come on, just one more time, for me?" I'm stalling for time. What if he doesn't make it back?

"Fine, bro, whatever." Brendan's being unusually patient with me. "CallaBot and I will turn on our InvisiSuits and go to the WeaponsDev building."

"You should be able to just walk right in." Devin breaks in. "The security nanochip I've wired to your neurovision interface should command the doors to open. Since the explosive suit technology is so new, the bomb-sniffers shouldn't be able to detect it. If you run into any security robots, CallaBot's universal translator should allow her to communicate with them and convince them you're no threat."

"Then I just head for the center of the building, remove the explosive suit, and run. Right?" Brendan finishes.

"You got it, bro," I tell him.

"Once you're clear of the building, let me know. I'll use the back door I created in the suit's interface to explode it, along with WeaponsDev itself," Devin's eyes are shining with excitement and he seems like himself for the first time in months. "This is gonna be fucking epic!"

I'm glad someone's feeling happy about this. Me, it's all I can do not to vomit on my boots. This is my brother putting his life at risk. If anything happens to him, I'll be in a world of hurt.

"Hey Brendan," I say, clasping him in an awkward man-hug. "I know we don't always see eye to eye, but - " He doesn't let me finish.

"Come on, Kalen. You know I'm no good at this feelings crap. No need for teary goodbyes. I'll be back in an hour, maybe two. Besides, this is what I was born to do." Brendan punches me in the arm so hard I wince.

"Brendan, seriously," Devin says, "If anything goes wrong, run like hell. Don't try to be a hero. Just get out."

"Why, Devin," Brendan simpers in a high-pitched feminine voice, "I didn't know you cared."

"I don't, man. But without you around, there won't be anyone Wes can beat at SimFighting."




Author's Note:
In case you were curious, the comments about NebulaQuest in the opening section were inspired by the "Darmok" episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. If somehow Devin didn't make my thoughts on the episode crystal clear, check out this super-old Green Room Thread, courtesy of the fact that I rarely clean out my comment notifications.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:29 am
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Tumbler

"This is gonna be fucking epic!" Devin yells, bursting into the room.

"It better be, dickcheese," Wes grumbles, pulling off his SimFighting headset with a glare. "You just made me die."

"Riiiiight," I snicker, "What's your excuse for the other six times I beat you today, then?"

Devin clears his throat and we both turn to look at him.

"Don't you two losers want to know what I found?" he asks, holding out his cupped palm to reveal a silvery nanochip.

"Looks like an IdentiChip," I say after squinting at it for a moment, "but whose?"

"Mine," Devin replies. "Met a guy from the Splinternet who makes them - impossible to distinguish from the real thing. With this baby installed, not only am I officially born in this City, I also have security clearance."

Wes lets out a loud sneeze that sounds suspiciously like the word "bullshit".

"Ought to get that cold checked out, buddy," Devin says, cocking an eyebrow in Wes's direction. "Anyway, once I install the IdentiChip, the possibilities are endless. I can get a job anywhere. We can fight the system from the inside!"

"Well, Kalen, what do you think?" Wes asks, still dubious.

For whatever reason, both Wes and Devin treat me as their leader. Although I find this ridiculous, given the fact that my famous act of heroism was a complete accident, I do the best I can. Now I consider Devin's words. While he isn't known for his street smarts, he's a genius with circuitry. With the proper identification, he'd be an asset to any military research team.

"It's kind of insane," I finally say, "but it just might work."

* * * * *

Wes is helping me put the finishing touches on a new, more humanoid body for CallaBot when the front door slams so hard we both jump. Devin walks into the living room, anger clouding his features. Pulling off his white lab coat, he tosses it on the floor and collapses on the couch.

"Who pissed in your VitaFlakes, dude?" Wes asks him.

Shooting me a sour look, Devin undoes his dark hair from its "professional" braid. He rakes a comb through it while staring moodily at the wall. Dress code at WeaponsDev isn't even supposed to allow long hair. However, after his performance on their technical tests, I wouldn't be surprised if they let him show up to work stark naked.

"Hey, pretty princess," Wes says, "What's wrong?" Devin grunts and points at his lab coat, still lying in the doorway.

"Oh, so now I'm the maid? You'd better buy me a pretty dress, then!" Wes begins strutting around the living room with an exaggerated swing of his hips. Devin sighs, and I retrieve the garment myself. I'm heading toward the coat closet to hang it up when Devin finally speaks.

"Inside pocket," he says.

The large pocket feels empty at first, but I feel around inside it anyway. Finally, my fingers close around a tiny capsule. Holding it up to the light, I examine it. It appears to be some kind of medication - one half is pink and the other is white, printed with numerals I can't quite make out.

"Ohhhhhh, I get it," Wes says, "You forgot to take your meds today. No wonder you're in such a funk." That, at least, gets a laugh. It's dripping with bitterness, though. I've never seen Devin in a mood like this and it worries me.

"Squeeze the top and bottom."

I comply with Devin's directions, and the pill's two halves separate, revealing some sort of mechanical device inside. A tiny pink laser shoots from its center and I nearly drop it in surprise. Devin laughs; it almost sounds genuine. He points across the room.

Projected on our living room wall in stunning detail are several sets of clothing. There's a formal dress, a men's suit, and several male and female outfits of the more casual variety.

"They've got you designing fashion?" Wes screeches with glee. "Dude, I knew you should've cut that ponytail."

"I'm assigned to work on the neural interface for it," Devin's voice is bleak and he's still looking at the wall. "This is the point where you should ask yourselves why a cocktail dress needs a neural interface."

"Don't look at me," I say, "I'm clueless about fashion."

"It's not about fashion, Kalen," Devin's eyes are hard. "Well, actually, it sort of is. They're explosive outfits for suicide bombers, undetectable by any existing security devices."

"So... they're for undercover agents, then?" I ask. I'm still not sure why he's so upset.

"Not exactly," Devin sighs again. "They're going to be marketed to the general public."

"What?" Wes and I shout in simultaneous disbelief.

"They wouldn't," I say, my heart sinking as I realize I don't even believe myself.

"Come on, Kalen," Devin says, "You know better than that. Fighting squads have waiting lists of a year or more, and the qualifications for soldiers are pretty stringent. Your own brother was disqualified from the military; he's by far not the only one. And he's not the only one who'd risk death to fight anyway."

"If our government is willing to go this far in the name of the War," I say, "we'll never be able to stop it."

"Exactly," Devin replies.

"Are you sure this is really what they're planning?" My stomach is churning.

"They're already putting together the preliminary ad campaigns. Full-page spreads in the neuromags. Marketing team's even come up with a slogan - 'Go Out In Style'."

* * * * *

"Are you guys sure I'm the best person for the job?" I ask my friends for the millionth time as I pull on my InvisiSuit. "I'm not so great under pressure."

"That's like saying Wes isn't so great at SimFighting," CallaBot snorts.

"Hey!" Wes protests, punching CallaBot in the arm with a loud clang. "Ow!" He rubs at his knuckles.

"That's what you get for hitting a lady," CallaBot snickers.

"Come on, guys, let's stay focused, okay? Kalen, it has to be you. You're the only one who's agile enough to get past the security lasers protecting the prototype." Devin hasn't been the same since he found out about Project FashionXplosion. His months of work on the project have taken their toll. Not only has he lost his sense of humor, he looks exhausted. His olive skin is sallow and there are dark circles under his eyes.

"It's just... I'm worried about messing up." After the incident with the bomb, no one can really blame me for that.

"You'll be fine," Devin says, with a smile that's a shadow of its former self. "Just don't sneeze."

"Let me just make sure I have everything straight. The security nanochip you installed in my neural implant should get me into the building. I just walk in through the back, right?"

"Exactly," Devin nods. "I stole that chip from a custodial robot. It'll give you access to any door or EleTube in the building. Once you reach the area where they keep the prototype, my modifications should also allow you to see the security lasers."

"Okay," I say, "I guess this is it. Wish me luck."

Turning on my InvisiSuit, I step out into the night. Its added bulk makes running harder, but I do it anyway. The sooner I make it to the WeaponsDev building, the faster I can steal the prototype and get back home to safety. As I run, my mind churns with questions.

What's the point of any of this? If Devin's right and we'll never stop the War anyway, how will stealing this prototype help? They'll just make something else even worse, won't they?

I know I can't just give up, though, so I keep sprinting. Nearly a year of living with Wes and Devin hasn't been conducive to staying in shape. I have to pause to catch my breath once I reach the back of the WeaponsDev building. Once I'm no longer huffing and puffing, I step toward the rear entrance, half-expecting to hear piercing alarms. Instead, a green laser scans me and the doors slide open.

So far, so good, I think, walking to the first EleTube I see and punching the button for the 69th floor. Turning right out of the tube, I force myself to take slow, measured steps. Invisibility won't help if someone's here working late and hears me crashing about like a wild beast. When I push through the double doors at the end of the hallway, my stomach drops.

Nothing Devin's told me could have prepared me for the sight of the security lasers that surround the prototype. Crisscrossing each other in a glowing network of red, blue, and green, the lasers form a complicated latticework.

No way would any of the others be able to slip through here, I think. I'm not even sure I can.

For a moment, my thoughts whirl as I try to remember the endless hours of floor routines my Combat Gymnastics instructor made me practice. Then I take a deep breath and turn my neurovision implant to the dance music channel. If I'm going to make it through this, I can't think too hard. Bending my knees, I leap into the air and dive through a gap in the lasers. I clear my mind of everything but twisting and flipping and hope for the best.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:29 am
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Tumbler

"This is gonna be fucking epic!" Devin yells, bursting into the room.

"It better be, dickcheese," Wes grumbles, pulling off his SimFighting headset with a glare. "You just made me die."

"Riiiiight," I snicker, "What's your excuse for the other six times I beat you today, then?"

Devin clears his throat and we both turn to look at him.

"Don't you two losers want to know what I found?" he asks, holding out his cupped palm to reveal a silvery nanochip.

"Looks like an IdentiChip," I say after squinting at it for a moment, "but whose?"

"Mine," Devin replies. "Met a guy from the Splinternet who makes them - impossible to distinguish from the real thing. With this baby installed, not only am I officially born in this City, I also have security clearance."

Wes lets out a loud sneeze that sounds suspiciously like the word "bullshit".

"Ought to get that cold checked out, buddy," Devin says, cocking an eyebrow in Wes's direction. "Anyway, once I install the IdentiChip, the possibilities are endless. I can get a job anywhere. We can fight the system from the inside!"

"Well, Kalen, what do you think?" Wes asks, still dubious.

For whatever reason, both Wes and Devin treat me as their leader. Although I find this ridiculous, given the fact that my famous act of heroism was a complete accident, I do the best I can. Now I consider Devin's words. While he isn't known for his street smarts, he's a genius with circuitry. With the proper identification, he'd be an asset to any military research team.

"It's kind of insane," I finally say, "but it just might work."

* * * * *

Wes is helping me put the finishing touches on a new, more humanoid body for CallaBot when the front door slams so hard we both jump. Devin walks into the living room, anger clouding his features. Pulling off his white lab coat, he tosses it on the floor and collapses on the couch.

"Who pissed in your VitaFlakes, dude?" Wes asks him.

Shooting me a sour look, Devin undoes his dark hair from its "professional" braid. He rakes a comb through it while staring moodily at the wall. Dress code at WeaponsDev isn't even supposed to allow long hair. However, after his performance on their technical tests, I wouldn't be surprised if they let him show up to work stark naked.

"Hey, pretty princess," Wes says, "What's wrong?" Devin grunts and points at his lab coat, still lying in the doorway.

"Oh, so now I'm the maid? You'd better buy me a pretty dress, then!" Wes begins strutting around the living room with an exaggerated swing of his hips. Devin sighs, and I retrieve the garment myself. I'm heading toward the coat closet to hang it up when Devin finally speaks.

"Inside pocket," he says.

The large pocket feels empty at first, but I feel around inside it anyway. Finally, my fingers close around a tiny capsule. Holding it up to the light, I examine it. It appears to be some kind of medication - one half is pink and the other is white, printed with numerals I can't quite make out.

"Ohhhhhh, I get it," Wes says, "You forgot to take your meds today. No wonder you're in such a funk." That, at least, gets a laugh. It's dripping with bitterness, though. I've never seen Devin in a mood like this and it worries me.

"Squeeze the top and bottom."

I comply with Devin's directions, and the pill's two halves separate, revealing some sort of mechanical device inside. A tiny pink laser shoots from its center and I nearly drop it in surprise. Devin laughs; it almost sounds genuine. He points across the room.

Projected on our living room wall in stunning detail are several sets of clothing. There's a formal dress, a men's suit, and several male and female outfits of the more casual variety.

"They've got you designing fashion?" Wes screeches with glee. "Dude, I knew you should've cut that ponytail."

"I'm assigned to work on the neural interface for it," Devin's voice is bleak and he's still looking at the wall. "This is the point where you should ask yourselves why a cocktail dress needs a neural interface."

"Don't look at me," I say, "I'm clueless about fashion."

"It's not about fashion, Kalen," Devin's eyes are hard. "Well, actually, it sort of is. They're explosive outfits for suicide bombers, undetectable by any existing security devices."

"So... they're for undercover agents, then?" I ask. I'm still not sure why he's so upset.

"Not exactly," Devin sighs again. "They're going to be marketed to the general public."

"What?" Wes and I shout in simultaneous disbelief.

"They wouldn't," I say, my heart sinking as I realize I don't even believe myself.

"Come on, Kalen," Devin says, "You know better than that. Fighting squads have waiting lists of a year or more, and the qualifications for soldiers are pretty stringent. Your own brother was disqualified from the military; he's by far not the only one. And he's not the only one who'd risk death to fight anyway."

"If our government is willing to go this far in the name of the War," I say, "we'll never be able to stop it."

"Exactly," Devin replies.

"Are you sure this is really what they're planning?" My stomach is churning.

"They're already putting together the preliminary ad campaigns. Full-page spreads in the neuromags. Marketing team's even come up with a slogan - 'Go Out In Style'."

* * * * *

"Are you guys sure I'm the best person for the job?" I ask my friends for the millionth time as I pull on my InvisiSuit. "I'm not so great under pressure."

"That's like saying Wes isn't so great at SimFighting," CallaBot snorts.

"Hey!" Wes protests, punching CallaBot in the arm with a loud clang. "Ow!" He rubs at his knuckles.

"That's what you get for hitting a lady," CallaBot snickers.

"Come on, guys, let's stay focused, okay? Kalen, it has to be you. You're the only one who's agile enough to get past the security lasers protecting the prototype." Devin hasn't been the same since he found out about Project FashionXplosion. His months of work on the project have taken their toll. Not only has he lost his sense of humor, he looks exhausted. His olive skin is sallow and there are dark circles under his eyes.

"It's just... I'm worried about messing up." After the incident with the bomb, no one can really blame me for that.

"You'll be fine," Devin says, with a smile that's a shadow of its former self. "Just don't sneeze."

"Let me just make sure I have everything straight. The security nanochip you installed in my neural implant should get me into the building. I just walk in through the back, right?"

"Exactly," Devin nods. "I stole that chip from a custodial robot. It'll give you access to any door or EleTube in the building. Once you reach the area where they keep the prototype, my modifications should also allow you to see the security lasers."

"Okay," I say, "I guess this is it. Wish me luck."

Turning on my InvisiSuit, I step out into the night. Its added bulk makes running harder, but I do it anyway. The sooner I make it to the WeaponsDev building, the faster I can steal the prototype and get back home to safety. As I run, my mind churns with questions.

What's the point of any of this? If Devin's right and we'll never stop the War anyway, how will stealing this prototype help? They'll just make something else even worse, won't they?

I know I can't just give up, though, so I keep sprinting. Nearly a year of living with Wes and Devin hasn't been conducive to staying in shape. I have to pause to catch my breath once I reach the back of the WeaponsDev building. Once I'm no longer huffing and puffing, I step toward the rear entrance, half-expecting to hear piercing alarms. Instead, a green laser scans me and the doors slide open.

So far, so good, I think, walking to the first EleTube I see and punching the button for the 69th floor. Turning right out of the tube, I force myself to take slow, measured steps. Invisibility won't help if someone's here working late and hears me crashing about like a wild beast. When I push through the double doors at the end of the hallway, my stomach drops.

Nothing Devin's told me could have prepared me for the sight of the security lasers that surround the prototype. Crisscrossing each other in a glowing network of red, blue, and green, the lasers form a complicated latticework.

No way would any of the others be able to slip through here, I think. I'm not even sure I can.

For a moment, my thoughts whirl as I try to remember the endless hours of floor routines my Combat Gymnastics instructor made me practice. Then I take a deep breath and turn my neurovision implant to the dance music channel. If I'm going to make it through this, I can't think too hard. Bending my knees, I leap into the air and dive through a gap in the lasers. I clear my mind of everything but twisting and flipping and hope for the best.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:24 am
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Visiting Hours

"Fucking Brendan!" Devin bursts into the room where I'm napping, startling me awake.

"What did he do this time?" I ask with a weary sigh. These days, it feels like half my time is spent breaking up fights between these two.

"It's what he didn't do that's the problem," Devin replies. "Remember how he wanted to raid that weapons stockpile, and you told him to wait?"

"Yeah," I say. "I wanted to rebuild our robot army first. That way, he'd have reinforcements."

"Apparently, he had his own ideas," Devin says, "He went ahead on his own, and now he's in jail."

Guess I'll have to catch up on my sleep some other time. Rubbing my eyes, I follow Devin into the living room where our other roommates are already sitting.

"Can't we just leave him in there?" he asks. "It's his own fault for being stupid."

"I second the motion. It's quieter here without him anyway," CallaBot laughs, raising her hand.

"He's my brother," I tell them. "We have to break him out."

"Yeah, and anyway," Wes says, "What if they torture him and he spills all our secrets?"

"Helloooooo, this still isn't an episode of NebulaQuest," Devin rolls his eyes at Wes.

"For once," I say, "Wes is actually making sense. In school, we had classes about interrogation techniques and how to resist them. So that must be a real thing. Although knowing Brendan, he's too stubborn to give anything up."

"And how exactly do you propose to free him?" CallaBot's voice drips with condescension.

I really need to adjust her attitude chip, I think.

"Maybe he could have another sneezing attack," Devin says.

"Laugh it up, pretty princess," I say. "I don't see you coming up with any ideas."

"Hey!" Wes objects. "I'm the only one who's allowed to call him that."

"No one is allowed to call me that," Devin snarls. "What's so wrong with being serious about personal hygiene? Man, catch a guy deep-conditioning one time..."

"Dude!" Wes shouts, interrupting his diatribe. "I know how we can bust Brendan out of jail. We can sneak in subdermal implants and use them to make lasers, like they did on this one episode of NebulaQuest!"

"Are you freaking kidding me?" CallaBot looks like she's about to fry Wes with her own lasers. "That is the worst idea I've ever heard. Well, except for all the other ideas you've ever had."

"That plan could work, in theory." I've never seen Devin look so reluctant. "There are subdermal transponders that use a crystalline energy source that shouldn't trip your standard weapons sensors. Exposing the crystals to light would create a primitive laser. Using that, we should be able to subdue a guard, allowing Brendan to escape."

"See? I do have good ideas!" Wes yells in triumph. "I can easily score us some of those transponders!"

"I'm with CallaBot," I say. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

Wes's face falls.

"But since we don't really have any other tricks up our sleeves, we might as well try it anyway."

* * * * *

"Kalen, cut it out! Your pacing is making me anxious," CallaBot says.

"I'm sorry," I say, sitting down on the couch. "It's just that Wes and Devin should have been back by now. I wish we could have gone with them to spring Brendan from jail."

"Yeah, but you know that's not possible. As the best-known terrorist in the land, you can't exactly just show up for visiting hours at a public prison."

"Maybe I could have worn a disguise or something - "

"Riiiiight, that's you. Master of subterfuge," CallaBot says, cutting me off.

I'm about to start pacing again when the door flies open. Wes and Devin stomp inside, looking sweaty and irritated. Cruising along behind them is a large, squat security robot. The robot is carrying my brother, unconscious and trussed up like a pig.

"What the hell happened, you guys?" I ask them.

"Everything was going fine at first," Wes says. "Brendan was out of his cell in no time. Then on the way out, he got in a fight with another inmate and almost got us thrown in the brig!"

"It's not called a 'brig' in real life, you tool," Devin hisses.

"Anyway," Wes continues, "Devin sneaked up behind Brendan and conked him on the head."

"Yeah, but since this mental deficient must weigh a ton and a half," Devin says, gesturing at my brother, "then we had to reprogram this SecurityBot to carry him home. It was a real clusterfuck."

"But dude, on the bright side?" Wes says. "My plan totally worked!"




Author's Note: For those you of you who are not giant NebulaQuest Star Trek geeks like I am, the escape plot in this story is based on this episode of Star Trek, the original series.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:24 am
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Visiting Hours

"Fucking Brendan!" Devin bursts into the room where I'm napping, startling me awake.

"What did he do this time?" I ask with a weary sigh. These days, it feels like half my time is spent breaking up fights between these two.

"It's what he didn't do that's the problem," Devin replies. "Remember how he wanted to raid that weapons stockpile, and you told him to wait?"

"Yeah," I say. "I wanted to rebuild our robot army first. That way, he'd have reinforcements."

"Apparently, he had his own ideas," Devin says, "He went ahead on his own, and now he's in jail."

Guess I'll have to catch up on my sleep some other time. Rubbing my eyes, I follow Devin into the living room where our other roommates are already sitting.

"Can't we just leave him in there?" he asks. "It's his own fault for being stupid."

"I second the motion. It's quieter here without him anyway," CallaBot laughs, raising her hand.

"He's my brother," I tell them. "We have to break him out."

"Yeah, and anyway," Wes says, "What if they torture him and he spills all our secrets?"

"Helloooooo, this still isn't an episode of NebulaQuest," Devin rolls his eyes at Wes.

"For once," I say, "Wes is actually making sense. In school, we had classes about interrogation techniques and how to resist them. So that must be a real thing. Although knowing Brendan, he's too stubborn to give anything up."

"And how exactly do you propose to free him?" CallaBot's voice drips with condescension.

I really need to adjust her attitude chip, I think.

"Maybe he could have another sneezing attack," Devin says.

"Laugh it up, pretty princess," I say. "I don't see you coming up with any ideas."

"Hey!" Wes objects. "I'm the only one who's allowed to call him that."

"No one is allowed to call me that," Devin snarls. "What's so wrong with being serious about personal hygiene? Man, catch a guy deep-conditioning one time..."

"Dude!" Wes shouts, interrupting his diatribe. "I know how we can bust Brendan out of jail. We can sneak in subdermal implants and use them to make lasers, like they did on this one episode of NebulaQuest!"

"Are you freaking kidding me?" CallaBot looks like she's about to fry Wes with her own lasers. "That is the worst idea I've ever heard. Well, except for all the other ideas you've ever had."

"That plan could work, in theory." I've never seen Devin look so reluctant. "There are subdermal transponders that use a crystalline energy source that shouldn't trip your standard weapons sensors. Exposing the crystals to light would create a primitive laser. Using that, we should be able to subdue a guard, allowing Brendan to escape."

"See? I do have good ideas!" Wes yells in triumph. "I can easily score us some of those transponders!"

"I'm with CallaBot," I say. "That sounds like a terrible idea."

Wes's face falls.

"But since we don't really have any other tricks up our sleeves, we might as well try it anyway."

* * * * *

"Kalen, cut it out! Your pacing is making me anxious," CallaBot says.

"I'm sorry," I say, sitting down on the couch. "It's just that Wes and Devin should have been back by now. I wish we could have gone with them to spring Brendan from jail."

"Yeah, but you know that's not possible. As the best-known terrorist in the land, you can't exactly just show up for visiting hours at a public prison."

"Maybe I could have worn a disguise or something - "

"Riiiiight, that's you. Master of subterfuge," CallaBot says, cutting me off.

I'm about to start pacing again when the door flies open. Wes and Devin stomp inside, looking sweaty and irritated. Cruising along behind them is a large, squat security robot. The robot is carrying my brother, unconscious and trussed up like a pig.

"What the hell happened, you guys?" I ask them.

"Everything was going fine at first," Wes says. "Brendan was out of his cell in no time. Then on the way out, he got in a fight with another inmate and almost got us thrown in the brig!"

"It's not called a 'brig' in real life, you tool," Devin hisses.

"Anyway," Wes continues, "Devin sneaked up behind Brendan and conked him on the head."

"Yeah, but since this mental deficient must weigh a ton and a half," Devin says, gesturing at my brother, "then we had to reprogram this SecurityBot to carry him home. It was a real clusterfuck."

"But dude, on the bright side?" Wes says. "My plan totally worked!"




Author's Note: For those you of you who are not giant NebulaQuest Star Trek geeks like I am, the escape plot in this story is based on this episode of Star Trek, the original series.
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:20 am
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Group Think

This piece is back story for Wes and Devin. It takes place 3 or 4 years before Polemic.




Why do they even have a class this early? I wonder. 6:30 am is inhumane.

Holding my breath, I take a swallow from my institutional paper cup. The SynthBrew here is terrible, but I need it this morning. Even the aftertaste is enough to induce a full-body shudder; it's all I can do to keep it down. To my left, someone bursts out laughing.

"Dude, that's my reaction to the Brew here, too."

Looking up, I see a guy about my age with spiky dark hair and a bleached-blonde goatee. He looks far more awake than I am. Flashing me a cheery smile, he takes the seat to my left.

"Hey. I'm Wes." My new classmate offers his hand. I shake it, stifling a yawn.

"Devin." I mumble, gulping down another mouthful of foul brown liquid.

"Nice to meet you! Devin's a cool name. I like your ponytail." Wes has obviously had his SynthBrew already.

Hoping it will shut him up, I grunt in response.

"Do you like SimFighting?" he continues. "What's your favorite weapon? Mine's the rocket launcher. Only you have to be careful not to use it inside a small room. Did that once and exploded myself and my whole team. Oops."

I groan out loud. Is this guy gonna yap at me for the whole hour and a half?

"Hey, Wes?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure you're a really great guy and all," I say, "but I'm pretty much the polar fucking opposite of a morning person. So do you think I could at least choke down the rest of this swill before we make with the friendly chatter?"

"Sure, dude." Wes looks a little hurt. "Whatever you say."

I finish my repulsive cup of SynthBrew in blessed silence. By the time it's gone, the professor has entered the room and begun lecturing. Sociology 101 sounds interesting in theory, but I can already tell the actual curriculum will be a total waste of time.

"Unlike our City," the instructor drones, "the Other Side has no social structure. The lives of its people are pure anarchy. Lack of proper regulation has led them to develop dangerous and violent natures."

Yeah, glad I got up at the ass-crack of dawn for this. Never heard that before.

By "proper regulation," the professor means "constant monitoring of all neurovision implants". Thanks to my contacts on the Splinternet, my own implant is free of such impediments. I can use it whenever I want and even pick up signals from the Other Side. Turning it on, I tune out for the rest of the class with an episode of NebulaQuest. It's not brain food by any means, but it'll keep me awake.

After the lecture ends, Wes gets up to leave with a tentative wave. I start to feel guilty about the way I've treated him. After all, he seems like a nice enough guy.

"Hey, buddy," I say. "Sorry for being such an ogre earlier. Like I said, I'm really not a morning person."

"It's all good, dude." Wes's expression brightens. "So, do you like SimFighting?"

* * * * *

"Brace yourself," I tell Wes. "You're gonna feel a little pinch."

Adjusting my laser-imaging goggles, I squint at the neurovision implant still inside his brain. I take a moment to steady my hands and then begin making the modifications. When he feels the pressure of the laser screwdriver, Wes flinches. It's a good thing I have exceptional reflexes. I correct for his movement and keep working.

"Hold still, buddy," I tell him, "or the only profession you'll be fit for is cooking VitaFries."

"Dude," Wes moans, "Being a fry cook couldn't be much worse than the profession I've already been assigned."

"Hmmmm?" I murmur absently.

It's not that I'm uninterested in Wes's plight. I'm just too focused on the task at hand to respond in any meaningful fashion. The last thing I want is to turn my friend into a drooling myrmidon. Fortunately, Wes doesn't require much input to carry on a conversation.

"Yeah, dude," he continues in a sad voice. "I'm supposed to be a Floral Arranger."

"What's wrong with flowers?" I muse. "They're cheerful."

"They're boring," Wes corrects me. Then he laughs. "Now that I know you like them, though, I'll be sure to bring you the samples from my classes. You can put 'em in your pretty, pretty hair."

"I've told you before not to call me 'pretty'," I growl. "It's especially inadvisable when my screwdriver's inside your brain."

It's nice that he's feeling better, though, even if it's at my expense. Biting my lip in concentration, I disable the restriction circuits on his implant. After that, I make the final tweaks and pull off my goggles.

"Okay, I'm all finished. Now sit back, relax and enjoy 9999 channels of neurovision goodness."

"Are you serious, dude?" Wes looks like a kid in a candy store. "Where do I even start?"

"Channel 4242 airs NebulaQuest nonstop," I say. "It's a pretty cool space exploration show."

"Space exploration?" Wes yells, clapping his hands in glee. "How awesome would that be?"

He's such an excitable guy; sometimes just talking to him makes me tired. Still, he's pretty much the only person I've met in this City who doesn't make me want to claw my own eyeballs out.

"The plots aren't exactly believable, but if you can get past that it's a lot of fun."

Wes doesn't answer. He's already staring off into nowhere, completely entranced.

* * * * *

Fidgeting in my hard plastic chair, I wait for the Examiner to arrive so my Professional Placement Interview can begin. My appointment time was 7 am; I've been sitting here since 5 minutes before that and it's now 7:30. The Testing Room is just large enough to hold a tiny table and two chairs. Above me hangs a single bare bulb. Dressed in a suit and tie, I'm beginning to sweat under its harsh light.

The door opens and a small, thin balding man walks in and sits down across from me.

"Good day," he says. "I am Examiner Farlan, and I will administer your Placement Interview today. And you are?"

"Devin Renton." I offer my hand; he ignores it. Right off the bat, I can tell I'm going to love this guy.

"If you're ready, let's begin." Clearing his throat, Farlan continues. "What is your greatest strength?"

"Well, I'm fucking brilliant - "

I'm kicking myself the moment the words are out of my mouth. Exactly what evidence am I supposed to provide for my self-professed genius? Somehow, I doubt my ability to hack CompuPanels or my expertise at illegal neurosurgery are going to impress him. More likely, they'll just get me thrown into a Reprogramming Facility.

Farlan's eyes drill into me, awaiting elaboration. For the first time I can remember, I'm at a loss for words. A painful amount of time elapses. Finally, Farlan clears his throat.

"Duly noted," he says. "Perhaps we should go on to the next question. What is your greatest weakness?"

"Well, obviously, it's my big fucking mouth," I laugh.

Farlan gives me a wilting look.

"Um, I'm good under pressure?" This would be hysterical if it weren't so tragic.

"Clearly," Farlan says.

* * * * *

Standing outside Wes's quarters in Multiversity Housing, I pound on the door. It's barely 9 am on a Saturday but hey, he's a morning person. I'm starting to wonder if he's still asleep after all when he throws the door open, looking chipper as ever.

"Dude! What are you doing here?" He pauses, noticing my formal attire. "Oh yeah, your Placement Exam..."

"Yeah, that," I scoff. "No big."

"So you rocked it, right?" Wes says.

"If by 'rocked it', you mean a promising career in waste-processing technology maintenance, then yes."

Wes's face falls.

"Dude, I'm sorry," he says. "I know how you feel."

"At least you don't have to touch raw sewage?" I offer.

"But I hate my assigned profession," Wes sighs.

"You know," I tell him. "I know some people on the Other Side. Kinda thinking about moving there."

"The Other Side? Aren't they all maniacal killers over there?"

"From what I've heard, a lot of them kinda are," I say. "But not all. At least over there, we'd be allowed to do what we wanted for a living."

"Yeah!" Wes perks up in a flash. "We could be like those people on that one NebulaQuest episode who survive by stealing technology and modifying it to suit their needs."

"Dammit, Wes!" I say. "I'm already sorry I introduced you to that show. That'd never fucking work in real life. Now are you coming with me or not?"

"'Course I am, dude," he replies. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:20 am
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Group Think

This piece is back story for Wes and Devin. It takes place 3 or 4 years before Polemic.




Why do they even have a class this early? I wonder. 6:30 am is inhumane.

Holding my breath, I take a swallow from my institutional paper cup. The SynthBrew here is terrible, but I need it this morning. Even the aftertaste is enough to induce a full-body shudder; it's all I can do to keep it down. To my left, someone bursts out laughing.

"Dude, that's my reaction to the Brew here, too."

Looking up, I see a guy about my age with spiky dark hair and a bleached-blonde goatee. He looks far more awake than I am. Flashing me a cheery smile, he takes the seat to my left.

"Hey. I'm Wes." My new classmate offers his hand. I shake it, stifling a yawn.

"Devin." I mumble, gulping down another mouthful of foul brown liquid.

"Nice to meet you! Devin's a cool name. I like your ponytail." Wes has obviously had his SynthBrew already.

Hoping it will shut him up, I grunt in response.

"Do you like SimFighting?" he continues. "What's your favorite weapon? Mine's the rocket launcher. Only you have to be careful not to use it inside a small room. Did that once and exploded myself and my whole team. Oops."

I groan out loud. Is this guy gonna yap at me for the whole hour and a half?

"Hey, Wes?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure you're a really great guy and all," I say, "but I'm pretty much the polar fucking opposite of a morning person. So do you think I could at least choke down the rest of this swill before we make with the friendly chatter?"

"Sure, dude." Wes looks a little hurt. "Whatever you say."

I finish my repulsive cup of SynthBrew in blessed silence. By the time it's gone, the professor has entered the room and begun lecturing. Sociology 101 sounds interesting in theory, but I can already tell the actual curriculum will be a total waste of time.

"Unlike our City," the instructor drones, "the Other Side has no social structure. The lives of its people are pure anarchy. Lack of proper regulation has led them to develop dangerous and violent natures."

Yeah, glad I got up at the ass-crack of dawn for this. Never heard that before.

By "proper regulation," the professor means "constant monitoring of all neurovision implants". Thanks to my contacts on the Splinternet, my own implant is free of such impediments. I can use it whenever I want and even pick up signals from the Other Side. Turning it on, I tune out for the rest of the class with an episode of NebulaQuest. It's not brain food by any means, but it'll keep me awake.

After the lecture ends, Wes gets up to leave with a tentative wave. I start to feel guilty about the way I've treated him. After all, he seems like a nice enough guy.

"Hey, buddy," I say. "Sorry for being such an ogre earlier. Like I said, I'm really not a morning person."

"It's all good, dude." Wes's expression brightens. "So, do you like SimFighting?"

* * * * *

"Brace yourself," I tell Wes. "You're gonna feel a little pinch."

Adjusting my laser-imaging goggles, I squint at the neurovision implant still inside his brain. I take a moment to steady my hands and then begin making the modifications. When he feels the pressure of the laser screwdriver, Wes flinches. It's a good thing I have exceptional reflexes. I correct for his movement and keep working.

"Hold still, buddy," I tell him, "or the only profession you'll be fit for is cooking VitaFries."

"Dude," Wes moans, "Being a fry cook couldn't be much worse than the profession I've already been assigned."

"Hmmmm?" I murmur absently.

It's not that I'm uninterested in Wes's plight. I'm just too focused on the task at hand to respond in any meaningful fashion. The last thing I want is to turn my friend into a drooling myrmidon. Fortunately, Wes doesn't require much input to carry on a conversation.

"Yeah, dude," he continues in a sad voice. "I'm supposed to be a Floral Arranger."

"What's wrong with flowers?" I muse. "They're cheerful."

"They're boring," Wes corrects me. Then he laughs. "Now that I know you like them, though, I'll be sure to bring you the samples from my classes. You can put 'em in your pretty, pretty hair."

"I've told you before not to call me 'pretty'," I growl. "It's especially inadvisable when my screwdriver's inside your brain."

It's nice that he's feeling better, though, even if it's at my expense. Biting my lip in concentration, I disable the restriction circuits on his implant. After that, I make the final tweaks and pull off my goggles.

"Okay, I'm all finished. Now sit back, relax and enjoy 9999 channels of neurovision goodness."

"Are you serious, dude?" Wes looks like a kid in a candy store. "Where do I even start?"

"Channel 4242 airs NebulaQuest nonstop," I say. "It's a pretty cool space exploration show."

"Space exploration?" Wes yells, clapping his hands in glee. "How awesome would that be?"

He's such an excitable guy; sometimes just talking to him makes me tired. Still, he's pretty much the only person I've met in this City who doesn't make me want to claw my own eyeballs out.

"The plots aren't exactly believable, but if you can get past that it's a lot of fun."

Wes doesn't answer. He's already staring off into nowhere, completely entranced.

* * * * *

Fidgeting in my hard plastic chair, I wait for the Examiner to arrive so my Professional Placement Interview can begin. My appointment time was 7 am; I've been sitting here since 5 minutes before that and it's now 7:30. The Testing Room is just large enough to hold a tiny table and two chairs. Above me hangs a single bare bulb. Dressed in a suit and tie, I'm beginning to sweat under its harsh light.

The door opens and a small, thin balding man walks in and sits down across from me.

"Good day," he says. "I am Examiner Farlan, and I will administer your Placement Interview today. And you are?"

"Devin Renton." I offer my hand; he ignores it. Right off the bat, I can tell I'm going to love this guy.

"If you're ready, let's begin." Clearing his throat, Farlan continues. "What is your greatest strength?"

"Well, I'm fucking brilliant - "

I'm kicking myself the moment the words are out of my mouth. Exactly what evidence am I supposed to provide for my self-professed genius? Somehow, I doubt my ability to hack CompuPanels or my expertise at illegal neurosurgery are going to impress him. More likely, they'll just get me thrown into a Reprogramming Facility.

Farlan's eyes drill into me, awaiting elaboration. For the first time I can remember, I'm at a loss for words. A painful amount of time elapses. Finally, Farlan clears his throat.

"Duly noted," he says. "Perhaps we should go on to the next question. What is your greatest weakness?"

"Well, obviously, it's my big fucking mouth," I laugh.

Farlan gives me a wilting look.

"Um, I'm good under pressure?" This would be hysterical if it weren't so tragic.

"Clearly," Farlan says.

* * * * *

Standing outside Wes's quarters in Multiversity Housing, I pound on the door. It's barely 9 am on a Saturday but hey, he's a morning person. I'm starting to wonder if he's still asleep after all when he throws the door open, looking chipper as ever.

"Dude! What are you doing here?" He pauses, noticing my formal attire. "Oh yeah, your Placement Exam..."

"Yeah, that," I scoff. "No big."

"So you rocked it, right?" Wes says.

"If by 'rocked it', you mean a promising career in waste-processing technology maintenance, then yes."

Wes's face falls.

"Dude, I'm sorry," he says. "I know how you feel."

"At least you don't have to touch raw sewage?" I offer.

"But I hate my assigned profession," Wes sighs.

"You know," I tell him. "I know some people on the Other Side. Kinda thinking about moving there."

"The Other Side? Aren't they all maniacal killers over there?"

"From what I've heard, a lot of them kinda are," I say. "But not all. At least over there, we'd be allowed to do what we wanted for a living."

"Yeah!" Wes perks up in a flash. "We could be like those people on that one NebulaQuest episode who survive by stealing technology and modifying it to suit their needs."

"Dammit, Wes!" I say. "I'm already sorry I introduced you to that show. That'd never fucking work in real life. Now are you coming with me or not?"

"'Course I am, dude," he replies. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:14 am
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Barefoot, Uphill, Both Ways

I'm so fucking stupid. What have I done? I wanted to stop the War, but I've only made things worse.


Ears ringing, I dash through the trees. Branches scratch at my face and arms. My heart hammers in my ears and my breath comes in gasps. It's hotter than blazes and the air is so humid it's more like breathing soup. Still, I force myself to keep going. For once, I'm grateful for my years of mind-numbing physical training.

I'm too busy trying to get away to even think about where I'm going. So when I find myself in front of the house where my friends Wes and Devin live, I'm a little surprised. Still, it's as good a place as any to hide out. My hand is poised to knock when the door flies open. I jump backward so far I nearly tumble off the front steps.

"Kalen, dude!" Wes exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. "You're a living legend! I can't believe you did that."

"Uhhhh, yeah," I hedge. "About that - "

"No, seriously," he cuts me off. "You're a hero! Your name's all over the Splinternet."

"Hey, um, do you think we could go inside? I'm pretty sure there are troops looking for me."

Moving aside, Wes lets me in and triple-bolts the door. "Don't worry, dude," he says. "We've got a top-notch security system here. If anyone's coming, we'll know in plenty of time to take care of business. That's how I knew you were coming."

"Yeah, you scared the shit out of me."

"Pretty jumpy for such a big damn hero," calls a raspy voice from another room. A moment later, Devin appears, rubbing his eyes. He's still in his pajamas and he's holding a steaming mug the size of his head. Yawning, he rakes a hand through his rumpled dark hair.

"Late night, Devin?" I ask.

"Yeah, I stayed up gaming. Wasn't really expecting all this fucking excitement." He looks at me pointedly. "You've been holding out on us, buddy. Why didn't you tell us you were planning to stage an attack on the border?"

"The funny thing is - " I begin, but Wes cuts me off again. While Devin is clearly on his first cup of SynthBrew, Wes looks like he's drunk a whole pot already. He's practically crackling with excitement, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"So, what's next on the agenda, partner?" Wes asks. "We could hit an armory or something."'

"Uh, well..." Suddenly, the realization hits me. In my hurry to save myself, I've forgotten one very important detail. Big damn hero, my ass. "Shit, you guys! I was supposed to meet Calla at the tree. I've got to go back and find her."

* * * * *


Stomach churning with anxiety, I survey the scene before me. Border patrols are stationed every few feet along the fence, armed with laser cannons and probably nanoblasters as well. The gap in the barbed wire where the explosion occurred is especially well-guarded. There's no way to get past them to return to the hollow tree. If my partner in crime made it out alive, she'll be waiting for me there - unless she panicked like I did.

"Maybe we can create some kind of diversion?" Devin ventures.

"How are we going to do that?" I demand. "We're completely unarmed."

"Hmmmm," Wes strokes his bleached-blonde goatee for a minute, thinking. "I know! I'll limp over to those guards and pretend to be hurt. Meanwhile, you and Devin can jump 'em from behind. We'll take their uniforms so we can pass as patrolmen."

"Um, Wes?" Devin's voice is filled with scorn. "You've been watching too much neurovision. This isn't a fucking episode of NebulaQuest. Shit like that doesn't work in real life."

"Oh yeah?" Wes looks hurt. "How would you know? You dropped out of Multiversity before you even finished Strategy 101."

Maybe bringing these guys along wasn't such a great idea. Between the brutal heat and their bickering, my head feels like it's going to explode. Though I'm not the best at thinking on my feet, at least I have combat training. Wes and Devin are smart guys, but they grew up on the Other Side, and the only "battle experience" they have is from playing SimFighting.

"Well, Kalen," Devin says. "You're the fucking military expert. What do you think we should do?"

"With the way they've beefed up security, there's no way we can get through without reinforcements. Maybe we can go back to my parents' house and pick up my robots."

It's an hour's walk to my parents' house. By the time we're close enough to see the security gates of their neighborhood, I'm drenched in sweat. It's Reaping, the beginning of fall, but the weather doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. At the moment, though, that's the least of our worries.

"What'll we do now?" Wes yells, clutching Devin's arm. "This place is crawling with troops!"

"Wes. Keep your fucking voice down." Devin hisses. "They'll hear us!"

Repressing the urge to deck them both, I ponder what to do next. If I can't get my robots, I'll just have to build new ones and hope Calla can survive on her own until I'm finished. Wes and Devin might lack common sense, but they've got more than enough connections to find me the supplies I need.

"Guys," I say, fighting to keep the irritation from my voice. "I'm starving. Let's go back to your place and eat something while we plot our next move. Do you know where we can find some spare parts?"

* * * * *


Taking a deep breath, I climb the fence. Once I'm on the opposite side, I breathe a sigh of relief. Security seems to have slackened a bit in the three weeks since I was last at the border, and my robots had no trouble subduing the few patrolmen we encountered. Still, I'm keeping my InvisiSuit cloaked as long as I can - I'm pretty sure being caught here would mean certain death.

Gathering my robot troops, I begin moving toward the hollow tree where Calla and I were supposed to meet. I've only been underway for a short time when I notice the sun glinting oddly off of something metallic up ahead. While I'm puzzling over what it could be, a loud voice barks out an order.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, INTRUDER! IDENTIFY YOURSELF!"

For a moment, I think it's more troops. But the voice sounds distorted, like it's coming from inside an InvisiSuit like mine. Why would border patrolmen need to be invisible? Pressing the "Talk" button on my own Suit, I respond. "Uh... why don't you identify yourself first?"

How come my words sound so quiet? The "Talk" function on my Suit should have amplified my voice. A purple laser scorches the air, inches from my face, and I shout in surprise. Shouldn't I still be invisible? Either my Suit's malfunctioning, or I pressed "Uncloak" instead of "Talk". Great.

"YOU DIMWIT!" shouts an oddly feminine robotic voice - how's she know I made a mistake operating my InvisiSuit? It takes a minute before I realize she's not talking to me. "Haven't you done enough damage with your substandard weapons? Besides, your aim sucks."

By this time, I'm close enough to see that my adversary has a robot army of his own. It's unusual to encounter someone besides me with mechanical minions, and what's more, these robots look strangely familiar. One of them even has a custom paint job with glowing blue flames that looks just like something I'd do. In fact, all of the robots look strikingly similar to the ones I left at home. They can't be my creations, though, because they're fitted with awkward off-brand weaponry I'd sooner die than use.

Wait a minute. Those can't be my robots, unless...

Before I can finish my thought, the feminine robot speaks again. "KALEN?!"

"H- how do you know my name?" I stammer.

Before the fembot can respond, another purple laser streaks past me.

"KALEN, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Suddenly, it all makes sense - the robots that look like mine, the familiar anger, and even the shoddy weapons.

"Brendan?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU RUINED MY LIFE, AND YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO DIE!"

Blue spheres hurtle toward me - nanoblaster fire. A loud "Bzzzzzzt!" sound issues from Brendan's general vicinity. "OW!" Brendan screams, dropping the laser pistol on the sand. It's only after the danger's passed that I realize - blue nanoblaster fire means he had his weapon set to kill, not stun.

"Where did you get these weapons - Discount RoboMart?" the fembot snickers. Her body - an insectile thing with lots of segmented legs and vicious pincers - doesn't match her voice at all. I remember building that robot, but I definitely don't recall making it female.

"SHUT UP, CALLA!" Brendan yells.

What in the world is going on here? Why in the world would Brendan modify my bugbot to have a female voice? Why would he name after my best friend? And most important of all, why would my own brother try to kill me? "Um... Brendan?" I ask, dodging yet another purple laser from one of "his" robots, "Why did you name that robot Calla?"

"He didn't name me Calla," the fembot snorts.

Robots can snort? I definitely didn't program my robots to do that.

"I am Calla," she continues. "Your idiot brother turned me into a robot!"

"YOU TURNED MY BEST FRIEND INTO A ROBOT?" I shriek, "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Pulling a remote control from the pocket of my InvisiSuit, I press the button that says "Robot Troops Attack". I watch with grim satisfaction as my metal soldiers fall upon Brendan like a pack of hungry wolves.

* * * * *


"Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten us into, Kalen," Brendan says, staring at the smoking rubble that surrounds us. Scattered about are the melted remains of our faithful mechanical allies, gone from this world too soon. Both Brendan and I are covered in soot and grime. Our InvisiSuits are destroyed, and the clothes we had on underneath are in tatters. The CallaBot is nowhere to be seen - she must have left at some point during the fracas.

"Me? You shot first," I retort.

"Yeah, and then you told your entire robot army to attack me!" Brendan's voice is indignant.

"You turned my best friend into a robot!" I can't believe Brendan's trying to blame this on me.

"It's not my fault your robot malfunctioned and shot her," Brendan grumbles.

"It malfunctioned because you modified it... badly!"

"ARE YOU CALLING ME INCOMPETENT?" Brendan screeches, running at me with his fists, the only weapon he has left now that our robot armies have blasted each other to bits. I grab him by the hair and elbow him in the gut. He doubles over, making an oof sound.

"Are you fools still fighting down there?" The CallaBot's voice asks from behind me. I jump and turn around to see her climbing down the side of the ravine created by our hours-long robot confrontation.

"CallaBot!" I shout, overjoyed, "You came back!" She may look like an enormous metallic insect, but she's still my best friend.

"Yeah, but I'm leaving again if you two don't stop pummeling each other." Her voice drips with contempt.

"But he ruined my life with his terrorist attack!" Brendan shouts.

"Speaking of ruined lives," Calla says, sounding none too pleased. "Why did you set off the explosion? I thought the plan was not to push the button unless we were in mortal danger."

"Yeah, um," I say, feeling my ears start to burn. "That was... it was kind of an accident."

"What?" both Brendan and Calla say with simultaneous incredulity.

"I was backing away from the fence, keeping an eye on the Enforcers to make sure they weren't going to open fire. Just as I was getting ready to give you the signal to run, I-" I pause, too embarrassed to continue.

"You what?" Calla demands.

"Um, I sneezed," I say, my face hot with shame. "I sneezed, and I squeezed the button by accident."

For a moment, Calla's mechanical eyes glow as if lasers are about to come out of them. Then she laughs.

"Worst. Terrorist. Ever."

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n3m3sis43: (Default)
2012-09-10 11:14 am
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Barefoot, Uphill, Both Ways

I'm so fucking stupid, I think to myself. What have I done?

Ears ringing, I dash through the trees. Branches scratch at my face and arms. My heart hammers in my ears and my breath comes in gasps. It's hotter than blazes and the air is so humid it's more like breathing soup. Still, I force myself to keep going. For once, I'm grateful for my years of mind-numbing physical training.

I'm too busy trying to get away to even think about where I'm going. So when I find myself in front of the house where my friends Wes and Devin live, I'm a little surprised. Still, it's as good a place as any to hide out. My hand is poised to knock when the door flies open. I jump backward so far I nearly tumble off the front steps.

"Holy crap, dude!" Wes exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. "You're a living legend! I can't believe you did that."

"Uhhhh, yeah," I shuffle my feet uncomfortably. "About that - "

"No, seriously," he cuts me off. "That shit is all over the Splinternet."

"Hey, um, do you think we could go inside? I'm pretty sure there are troops looking for me."

Moving aside, Wes lets me in and triple-bolts the door.

"Don't worry, dude," he says. "We've got a top-notch security system here. If anyone's coming, we'll know in plenty of time to take care of business. That's how I knew you were coming."

"Yeah, you scared the shit out of me."

"Awfully jumpy for such a big damn hero," calls another voice. A moment later, Devin appears, rubbing his eyes. He's still in his pajamas and he's holding a steaming mug the size of his head. Yawning, he rakes a hand through rumpled dark hair.

"Late night?" I ask.

"Yeah, I was up gaming. Wasn't really expecting all this excitement." He looks at me pointedly. "You've been holding out on us, buddy. Why didn't you tell us you were planning to stage an attack on the border?"

"The funny thing is - " I begin, but Wes cuts me off again. While Devin is clearly on his first cup of SynthBrew, Wes looks like he's drunk a whole pot already. He's all but crackling with excitement, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

"So, what's next on the agenda, partner?" Wes asks. "We could hit an armory or something."'

"Uh, well..." Suddenly, the realization hits me. In my hurry to save myself, I've forgotten one very important detail. Big damn hero, my ass. "Shit, you guys! I was supposed to meet Calla at the tree. I've got to go back and find her."

* * * * *

Stomach churning with anxiety, I survey the scene before me. Border patrols are stationed every few feet along the fence, armed with laser cannons and probably nanoblasters as well. The gap in the barbed wire where the explosion occurred is especially well-guarded. There's no way to get past them to return to the hollow tree. If my partner in crime made it out alive, she'll be waiting for me there - unless she panicked like I did.

"Maybe we can create some kind of diversion?" Devin ventures.

"How are we going to do that?" I demand. "We're completely unarmed."

"Hmmmm," Wes strokes his bleached-blonde goatee for a minute, thinking. "I know! I'll limp over to those guards and pretend to be hurt. Meanwhile, you and Devin can jump 'em from behind. We'll take their uniforms so we can pass as patrolmen."

"Um, Wes?" Devin's voice is filled with scorn. "You've been watching too much neurovision. Stuff like that only works on NebulaQuest."

"Oh yeah?" Wes shoots back. "How would you know? You dropped out of Multiversity before you even finished Strategy 101."

Maybe bringing these guys along wasn't such a great idea, I think, massaging my temples. Between the brutal heat and their bickering, my head feels like it's going to explode. Though I'm not the best at thinking on my feet, at least I have combat training. Wes and Devin are smart guys, but they grew up on the Other Side, so most of their battle experience comes from SimFighting.

"Kalen, you're the military expert here," Devin says. "What do you think we should do?"

"With the way they've beefed up security, there's no way we can get through without reinforcements. Maybe we can go back to my parents' house and pick up my robots."

It's an hour's walk to my parents' house. By the time we're close enough to see the security gates of their neighborhood, I'm drenched in sweat. Summer should be turning into fall by now, but it doesn't seem to have gotten the memo. At the moment, though, that's the least of our worries.

"Shit!" Wes yells. "This place is crawling with troops!"

"Can you keep it down, Captain Obvious?" Devin hisses. "They'll hear us!"

Repressing the urge to deck them both, I ponder what to do next. If I can't get my robots, I'll just have to build new ones and hope Calla can survive on her own until I'm finished. Wes and Devin might lack common sense, but they've got plenty of connections.

"Guys," I say, fighting to keep the irritation from my voice. "I'm starving. Let's go back to your place and eat something while we plot our next move. Do you know where we can find some spare parts?"

* * * * *

Pressing the "Uncloak" button on my InvisiSuit, I breathe a sigh of relief. Security seems to have slackened a bit in the three weeks since I was last at the border. My robots had no trouble subduing the patrolmen who were still there, and climbing over the fence was a cakewalk.

Gathering my robot troops, I begin moving toward the hollow tree where Calla and I often meet. We've only been underway for a short time when I notice the sun glinting oddly off of something metallic up ahead. While I'm puzzling over what it could be, a loud voice barks out an order.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, INTRUDER! IDENTIFY YOURSELF!"

For a moment, I think it's more troops. But the voice sounds distorted, like it's coming from someone in an InvisiSuit like mine. I've never known patrolmen to utilize that technology. Pressing the "Talk" button on my own Suit, I respond.

"Perhaps you should identify yourself first, my friend. I've got enough firepower to blow you into next Reaping."

"Oh, really?" comes the disbelieving response. "We'll just see about that." A purple laser scorches the air only inches from my face.

"YOU DIMWIT!" shouts an oddly feminine robotic voice. "Haven't you done enough damage with your substandard weapons? Besides, your aim sucks."

By this time, I'm close enough to see that my adversary has a robot army of his own. It's unusual to encounter someone besides me with mechanical minions, and what's more, these robots look strangely familiar. One of them even has a custom paint job with glowing blue flames that looks just like something I'd do. In fact, all of the robots look strikingly similar to the ones I left at home. They can't be my creations, though, because they're fitted with awkward off-brand weaponry I'd sooner die than use.

Wait a minute, I think. Unless... Before I can finish my thought, the feminine robot speaks again.

"KALEN?!"

"How do you know my name?" I reply. Before the fembot can respond, another purple laser streaks past me.

"KALEN, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Suddenly, it all makes sense - the robots that look like mine, the familiar anger, and even the shoddy weapons.

"Brendan?"

"I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU RUINED MY LIFE, AND YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO DIE!"

Blue spheres hurtle toward me - nanoblaster fire. A loud "Bzzzzzzt!" sound issues from Brendan's general vicinity.

"OW!" Brendan screams.

"Where did you get these weapons - RoboWalMart?" the fembot snickers. Her body - an insectile thing with lots of segmented legs and vicious pincers - doesn't match her voice at all.

That's odd, I think. I don't remember making that robot female.

"SHUT UP, CALLA!" Brendan yells.

"Um... Brendan?" I ask, dodging yet another purple laser, "Why did you name that robot Calla?"

"He didn't name me Calla," the fembot snorts.

Robots can snort? I didn't program my robots to do that.

"I am Calla," she continues. "Your numbnuts of a brother turned me into a robot!"

"YOU TURNED MY BEST FRIEND INTO A ROBOT?" I shriek, "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" Pulling a remote control from the pocket of my InvisiSuit, I press the button that says "Robot Troops Attack". I watch with grim satisfaction as my metal soldiers fall upon Brendan like a pack of hungry wolves.

* * * * *

"Well, this is a fine mess you've gotten us into, Kalen," Brendan says, staring at the smoking rubble that surrounds us. Scattered about are the melted remains of our faithful mechanical allies, gone from this world too soon. Both Brendan and I are covered in soot and grime. Our InvisiSuits are destroyed, the clothes we had on underneath are in tatters, and I've lost both my shoes somewhere along the way.

"Me? You shot first," I retort.

"Yeah, and then you told your entire robot army to attack me!"

"You turned my best friend into a robot!"

"It's not my fault your robot malfunctioned and shot her," Brendan says.

"It malfunctioned because you modified it... badly!"

"ARE YOU CALLING ME INCOMPETENT?" Brendan screeches, running at me with his fists, the only weapon he has left now that our robot armies have blasted each other to bits. I grab him by the hair and elbow him in the gut. He doubles over, making an oof sound.

"Are you dipshits still fighting down there?" The CallaBot's voice asks from above. I look up, expecting to see her atop the lower side of the ravine created by our hours-long robot confrontation. She's not there, but I do see a line of troops marching by like ants as they investigate the source of the commotion. The CallaBot must be on the higher side of the ravine, using her using her built-in vocal amplifier so we can hear her.

"Calla!" I shout, overjoyed, "You came back!" She may look like an enormous metallic insect, but she's still my best friend.

"Yeah, but I'm leaving again if you two don't stop pummeling each other."

"But he ruined my life with his terrorist attack!" Brendan shouts.

"Hey, that reminds me," Calla says, as she climbs swiftly down the side of the ravine. "Why did you set off the explosion? I thought the plan was not to push the button unless we were in mortal danger."

"Yeah, um," I say, feeling my ears start to burn. "That was... it was kind of an accident."

"What?" both Brendan and Calla say with simultaneous incredulity.

"I was backing away from the fence, keeping an eye on the Enforcers to make sure they weren't going to open fire. Just as I was getting ready to give you the signal to run, I-"

I pause, too embarrassed to continue.

"You what?" Calla asks.

"Um, I sneezed," I say, my face hot with shame. "I sneezed, and I squeezed the button by accident."

For a moment, Calla's mechanical eyes glow as if lasers are about to come out of them. Then she laughs.

"Worst. Terrorist. Ever."


This story is part of an informal intersection with the always-amazing [livejournal.com profile] alien_infinity. Please read her post, which can be found here, to see Calla(Bot)'s version of this story.
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