First thing in the morning, we approached the innkeeping monitor and requested a tour guide.
REQUEST PROCESSED
A cable whipped out from behind the monitor and joined together with a person passing by. The girl was in a wheeled chair--no, more than that, she was a part of the chair. The main wheels were connected to her hips and smaller stabilizing wheels were connected to her ankles. Her hands held onto the rails of the larger wheels, but she didn't actually move them to maneuver the chair.
She opened her mouth and a horrific screeching came out of the orifice, a nodal tone of hisses and beeps. Startled, I lept back, tripping over my own crutches and falling to the ground.
"We don't speak the machine's language," Charlie protested to the monitor. "We need another guide."
REQUEST HAS BEEN PROCESSED. TIME UNTIL CURRENT REQUEST EXPIRES: 23:58:52. VISITORS ARE ALLOWED ONE REQUEST PER DAY PER VISIT. TO RESET TIMER, PLEASE ACCEPT TOWERBORN TERMS OF AGREEMENT AND ALLOW ACCESS TO YOUR OPERATING SYSTEM.
The wheeled girl spun around and headed out the door. Sam sighed and helped me to my feet. "Charlie, see if you can at least get us a monitor." With that, we followed the guide out the door and into the city.
Much of what we were shown was similar to the mecho-organic structure of the cables I described yesterday. Every so often the girl would stop at what we assumed was a local landmark and "talk" in her screeching tonal language.
After about two hours in, Charlie's bargaining must have taken effect for her chest bulged outward in a mockery of accelerated puberty, then cloth and flesh tore to make room for a glass screen. A picture of colored blocks spun into view and the wheeled girl toned eagerly at us.
"Tell us about this district," Sam ordered. The monitor did not help at all. While the girl screeched and toned at us, the monitor flashed a quick succession of images. An anthropomorphic mouse swatted at flies, then was chased by a giant. Sam sighed and shook her head. "I guess that's the best we're going to get." We followed the wheeled girl through the rest of her tour. By the end, my jaw was aching from gritting my teeth and Sam was muttering dire threats under her breath.
A building stood before us, the biggest structure I had ever seen. The rhythmic rise and fall reminded me of something. It took me a moment to realize the building was breathing. It was built of bone and steel, tendons framing the windows and doors. The images shown on the girl's monitor meant little to us, until the end. A towering monstrosity of girders and flesh lumbered across the cityscape, the scene quaking with every step. Observers in the street pointed and screamed in terror, some fleeing, others chosing to point small black boxes in the thing's direction.
It reached a familiar plaza where a tall concrete building stood proud against the skyline. The monster reached out with rebar fingers and laid a hand on the roof. It paused for a moment, cocking its head to the side like a curious dog. The materials that made up its unnatural body flowed over the building until only a skeleton of steel girders remained. The wheeled girl was silent during the video but I doubt even her screeches could have been heard over the screams of the terrified crowds. As I watched the creature envelop the building, I started to make out shapes pressed against the windows; faces contorted in absolute terror, fists hammering at the glass.
More people fled the area when the creature began engulfing the building but some remained. A poor decision, once the creature had finished eating the building, tendrils whipped out and wrapped around hapless bystanders. Those that hadn't already taken the chance to run did so now; unfortunately the monster proved to be much faster than they. Even as the tendrils captured people, cables started to grow from the building's roof. The more people it grabbed, the faster they grew.
"Enough," Sam said finally. "We get the idea."
The video froze. I looked up at the building before us, then back to our guide. "What is it doing now?"
A clip of a boy draw in bright colors, with large "Z's floating above his head as he snored, oblivious to the people sneaking past his bed.
"Sleeping?" I watched it rise and fall. A whimsical part of me imagined that I could almost hear it snore. "What happens if it wakes up?"
The girl made her first remotely human movement of the day, a small shrug. On her screen, a giant monster breathed fire and obliterated an entire city with careless movements.
"I'm ready to go back now," I said, barely stifling the shudder that ran down my spine.
Showing posts with label charlie mistral. Show all posts
Showing posts with label charlie mistral. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Oct 11th, 2083: Bismarck's Power Grid
We've followed the cracked remnants of blacktop and faded green signs to a town called Bismarck.
Bismarck marks the border of the Gear Baby's territory. It is the first town we have seen with constant power. It is also the end of Charlie's route. We have hired another carriage, however we are not the only passengers. The new stagecoach driver did not consent to an interview. In fact, he spit on my boots and told me to get out of his face before he "tore me a new one." I didn't want to ask what new thing he would be tearing me. Sam was kind enough it explain it to me later.
The stagevan leaves the day after tomorrow. Charlie already has passengers for his trip back west, but he won't leave town until we are safely on our way.
The townspeople seem normal but Sam constantly has her hand on her gun. I talked her into walking with me around town, using my bum leg as a bargaining chip. She agreed, adding a cutting and unnecessary remark about how I needed all the help I can get. Charlie offered to let me borrow Presley, however my opinion of that horse is best limited to words of the four-letter variety or the more colorful expletives I hear Sam mutter when she's frustrated at some ignorant mistake I make.
We must have made an odd trio as we walked through the sparsely populated town. They looked, whispered behind their hands, stared as we passed. Underneath the brim of Sam's hat, her eyes darted every which way. Charlie lagged behind a couple of steps at a pace even slower than my crippled lurching. Even a "brain-dead nimrod with the looks of an inbred billy goat" could see that they were guarding me.
Our walk was fairly uneventful until I felt a wet drop splash onto the back of my neck. The substance was a red oil of some sort that seemed to be dripping from the wires overhead. We followed the wires through the town. Occasionally they wrapped around a tall wooden pole, sometimes they split up into two or joined together with other similar wires. Charlie pointed out a place some yards distant where the wire stretched to the ground. The dirt around the connection point was dark, presumably with the same oily substance. As we drew closer, our footsteps sank in the mud. My crutches sank in too far for me to continue. Sam held onto them while Charlie and I ventured closer.
We were right at the connection point when we saw that the wire was made of not just metal, but tissue as well. Blue sparks danced along it's length. I was reaching out to touch it when Sam spoke.
"Sen, Charlie, I need you to stop moving."
I was a breath away from touching the sparking blue cable. I very nearly breached that small gap, but after a week of traveling with her, the importance of listening to the Trader had finally sunken in. I remained still.
"Look down, but don't panic. If you panic, they'll attack."
When I looked down, I noticed the mecho-organic tendrils twisting through the damp soil like grass roots. Some were already creeping up the sides of my boots.
"As long as you move slowly, you should be able to get free."
Charlie started to creep out of the edge of my vision. I wanted to run but the quiet terror in Sam's voice told me that even at my peak, I wouldn't be able to escape them. Instead I backed away slowly. Every heartbeat seemed to last an eternity. My foot ached from the strain of my weight. The pain shot to my knee and the traitorous thing gave way under me. I staggered. Regained my bearing. Took another step. And another.
Each retreating footstep filled with the dark red substance that I was beginning to realize was some strange mix of blood and oil. Eons later I reached terra firma and collapsed on my hands and knees next to Sam, gasping. The stabbing pain in my foot ran all the way up my leg to lodge icepicks in the base of my spine. No more deadly blades grabbed at the soles of my boots so I figured I was safe enough to lie on my back while I rested.
From this angle, the sun hid Sam's face beneath the shadow of her hat. Charlie sat beside me, his arms resting on his bent knees. "Kid, you just can't catch a break, can you?"
"I'm twenty-three," I croaked, for the first time protesting the derogatory tone as I closed my eyes against the glare of the setting sun.
Charlie laughed, and after a moment, Sam joined him. It was the laughter from a life-or-death adrenaline rush, but it was laughter nonetheless and I was still alive.
I write these words now and I feel bile at the back of my throat just thinking of the tendrils of human flesh and metal wire that stretched across the city. But I have made an oath, as foolish as others think it may be. Tomorrow I will go out into the inner heart of Bismarck to see what other secrets the Gear Baby has in store.
Bismarck marks the border of the Gear Baby's territory. It is the first town we have seen with constant power. It is also the end of Charlie's route. We have hired another carriage, however we are not the only passengers. The new stagecoach driver did not consent to an interview. In fact, he spit on my boots and told me to get out of his face before he "tore me a new one." I didn't want to ask what new thing he would be tearing me. Sam was kind enough it explain it to me later.
The stagevan leaves the day after tomorrow. Charlie already has passengers for his trip back west, but he won't leave town until we are safely on our way.
The townspeople seem normal but Sam constantly has her hand on her gun. I talked her into walking with me around town, using my bum leg as a bargaining chip. She agreed, adding a cutting and unnecessary remark about how I needed all the help I can get. Charlie offered to let me borrow Presley, however my opinion of that horse is best limited to words of the four-letter variety or the more colorful expletives I hear Sam mutter when she's frustrated at some ignorant mistake I make.
We must have made an odd trio as we walked through the sparsely populated town. They looked, whispered behind their hands, stared as we passed. Underneath the brim of Sam's hat, her eyes darted every which way. Charlie lagged behind a couple of steps at a pace even slower than my crippled lurching. Even a "brain-dead nimrod with the looks of an inbred billy goat" could see that they were guarding me.
Our walk was fairly uneventful until I felt a wet drop splash onto the back of my neck. The substance was a red oil of some sort that seemed to be dripping from the wires overhead. We followed the wires through the town. Occasionally they wrapped around a tall wooden pole, sometimes they split up into two or joined together with other similar wires. Charlie pointed out a place some yards distant where the wire stretched to the ground. The dirt around the connection point was dark, presumably with the same oily substance. As we drew closer, our footsteps sank in the mud. My crutches sank in too far for me to continue. Sam held onto them while Charlie and I ventured closer.
We were right at the connection point when we saw that the wire was made of not just metal, but tissue as well. Blue sparks danced along it's length. I was reaching out to touch it when Sam spoke.
"Sen, Charlie, I need you to stop moving."
I was a breath away from touching the sparking blue cable. I very nearly breached that small gap, but after a week of traveling with her, the importance of listening to the Trader had finally sunken in. I remained still.
"Look down, but don't panic. If you panic, they'll attack."
When I looked down, I noticed the mecho-organic tendrils twisting through the damp soil like grass roots. Some were already creeping up the sides of my boots.
"As long as you move slowly, you should be able to get free."
Charlie started to creep out of the edge of my vision. I wanted to run but the quiet terror in Sam's voice told me that even at my peak, I wouldn't be able to escape them. Instead I backed away slowly. Every heartbeat seemed to last an eternity. My foot ached from the strain of my weight. The pain shot to my knee and the traitorous thing gave way under me. I staggered. Regained my bearing. Took another step. And another.
Each retreating footstep filled with the dark red substance that I was beginning to realize was some strange mix of blood and oil. Eons later I reached terra firma and collapsed on my hands and knees next to Sam, gasping. The stabbing pain in my foot ran all the way up my leg to lodge icepicks in the base of my spine. No more deadly blades grabbed at the soles of my boots so I figured I was safe enough to lie on my back while I rested.
From this angle, the sun hid Sam's face beneath the shadow of her hat. Charlie sat beside me, his arms resting on his bent knees. "Kid, you just can't catch a break, can you?"
"I'm twenty-three," I croaked, for the first time protesting the derogatory tone as I closed my eyes against the glare of the setting sun.
Charlie laughed, and after a moment, Sam joined him. It was the laughter from a life-or-death adrenaline rush, but it was laughter nonetheless and I was still alive.
I write these words now and I feel bile at the back of my throat just thinking of the tendrils of human flesh and metal wire that stretched across the city. But I have made an oath, as foolish as others think it may be. Tomorrow I will go out into the inner heart of Bismarck to see what other secrets the Gear Baby has in store.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Oct 6th, 2083: Charlie Mistral
Sam is still mad at me for what he calls my "damn foolish behavior." Instead of staying in the inn by the warm fire, I went to the stables to help Charlie with the horses. The first snowfall has dumped four inches on the landscape, covering it in a white blanket that glows in the moonlight.
The stables are actually a converted car garage. Charlie was in the middle of brushing down the horses when I entered. There are two horses that draw the carriage, plus Sam's horse, Looms. Charlie's breath misted in the cold night air. The horses look at me with wide blue eyes; their breath is nearly as cold as the air and doesn't show. They are beasts of the cold, like the laughing children.
My father may have bred horses, but I have always hated them. Still, they are important to Charlie. "What are they named?" I asked, hanging back near the shelves of car manuals that had been stripped of paper.
Charlie's good humor seems to have returned. "The paint is Pinwheel, and the roan is Presley. You know Looms." He gestured to each horse in turn. Looms ignored me, chomping contentedly at the contents of his feedbag. Pinwheel nickered and nudged Charlie's shoulder. He laughed and patted her flank affectionally and went back to brushing her. Presley eyed me and laid his ears back against his head.
"Is it all right if I ask you a few questions? For my journal," I clarified.
"Don't bother me none. I'd appreciate it if you grabbed a brush and took care of Presley, though. It's cold as a witch's tit out here." I did as he asked. Presley shifted a bit and nipped at me. "Don't mind him, he's a big ol' teddy bear." The horse rolled his eyes at me and nipped again. This time he caught my shirt, tearing a hole with his sharp teeth. Charlie chuckled. "Just thump him on the nose, show him who's boss."
I did as he said, knocking him on the nose just hard enough for him to feel it. Presley shifted back a bit, still eyeballing me, but he let me unbuckle his saddle and start brushing him down. Meanwhile, Charlie finished taking care of Pinwheel and was tapping a pack of cigarettes against his hand.
"So how long have you been a carriage driver?"
"Going on about fifteen years now. Took over my uncle's rig, but that broke down about five years into it. It's tough keeping the things moving. It's even tougher trying to find parts to fix it. Sammy's been a right genius when it comes to that." He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, inhaling deeply.
Presley's coat had a huge clump of fur matted together. "When did you meet Sam?" This asked through gritted teeth as I tried to unmat it.
He paused, mumbling and counting on his fingers. "Ten, maybe twelve years back." Silence as I avoided Presley's teeth. "No, now that I think on it, closer to twenty. Back when I was first learning the business from my uncle. She was a wee bit of a thing then, hiding behind her daddy's knee. Yeah, it must have been her, now that I think about it. Back before her daddy went and joined up with the Children."
"And then-wait, what?"
Charlie blew out a stream of silver-blue smoke. "What, what?"
"Sam's a girl?"
He stared at me for a moment, then burst out into laughter. "Boy, you don't know nothing 'bout Traders, do you? Sammy's not a girl or a boy, not as far as she's concerned." My confusion must have been evident. He shook his head, still chuckling. "Sammy is Sammy, that's all. Don't ever treat her different and you'll get along fine."
Presley chose that moment to step on my foot. Charlie helped me limp to the doctor, where I found out that cursed horse had broken three toes. I'm now restricted by crutches for the next few weeks. Sam mentioned going out to find some decent painkillers tomorrow, as the doctor didn't have much to spare. I am sorely disappointed by this turn of events, I had hoped to accompany Sam on his her next scouting trip. On the other hand, maybe I had best avoid Sam until I can straighten this all out in my head.
All in all, the interview with Charlie was rather terrible. I don't seem to be improving my interpersonal skills at all. I must try harder if I want this journey to succeed.
The stables are actually a converted car garage. Charlie was in the middle of brushing down the horses when I entered. There are two horses that draw the carriage, plus Sam's horse, Looms. Charlie's breath misted in the cold night air. The horses look at me with wide blue eyes; their breath is nearly as cold as the air and doesn't show. They are beasts of the cold, like the laughing children.
My father may have bred horses, but I have always hated them. Still, they are important to Charlie. "What are they named?" I asked, hanging back near the shelves of car manuals that had been stripped of paper.
Charlie's good humor seems to have returned. "The paint is Pinwheel, and the roan is Presley. You know Looms." He gestured to each horse in turn. Looms ignored me, chomping contentedly at the contents of his feedbag. Pinwheel nickered and nudged Charlie's shoulder. He laughed and patted her flank affectionally and went back to brushing her. Presley eyed me and laid his ears back against his head.
"Is it all right if I ask you a few questions? For my journal," I clarified.
"Don't bother me none. I'd appreciate it if you grabbed a brush and took care of Presley, though. It's cold as a witch's tit out here." I did as he asked. Presley shifted a bit and nipped at me. "Don't mind him, he's a big ol' teddy bear." The horse rolled his eyes at me and nipped again. This time he caught my shirt, tearing a hole with his sharp teeth. Charlie chuckled. "Just thump him on the nose, show him who's boss."
I did as he said, knocking him on the nose just hard enough for him to feel it. Presley shifted back a bit, still eyeballing me, but he let me unbuckle his saddle and start brushing him down. Meanwhile, Charlie finished taking care of Pinwheel and was tapping a pack of cigarettes against his hand.
"So how long have you been a carriage driver?"
"Going on about fifteen years now. Took over my uncle's rig, but that broke down about five years into it. It's tough keeping the things moving. It's even tougher trying to find parts to fix it. Sammy's been a right genius when it comes to that." He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, inhaling deeply.
Presley's coat had a huge clump of fur matted together. "When did you meet Sam?" This asked through gritted teeth as I tried to unmat it.
He paused, mumbling and counting on his fingers. "Ten, maybe twelve years back." Silence as I avoided Presley's teeth. "No, now that I think on it, closer to twenty. Back when I was first learning the business from my uncle. She was a wee bit of a thing then, hiding behind her daddy's knee. Yeah, it must have been her, now that I think about it. Back before her daddy went and joined up with the Children."
"And then-wait, what?"
Charlie blew out a stream of silver-blue smoke. "What, what?"
"Sam's a girl?"
He stared at me for a moment, then burst out into laughter. "Boy, you don't know nothing 'bout Traders, do you? Sammy's not a girl or a boy, not as far as she's concerned." My confusion must have been evident. He shook his head, still chuckling. "Sammy is Sammy, that's all. Don't ever treat her different and you'll get along fine."
Presley chose that moment to step on my foot. Charlie helped me limp to the doctor, where I found out that cursed horse had broken three toes. I'm now restricted by crutches for the next few weeks. Sam mentioned going out to find some decent painkillers tomorrow, as the doctor didn't have much to spare. I am sorely disappointed by this turn of events, I had hoped to accompany Sam on his her next scouting trip. On the other hand, maybe I had best avoid Sam until I can straighten this all out in my head.
All in all, the interview with Charlie was rather terrible. I don't seem to be improving my interpersonal skills at all. I must try harder if I want this journey to succeed.
Oct 6th, 2083: The Reader
We reached Miles City today. Against Sam and Charlie's advice, I stopped by the library. The library in my hometown is small; I hoped to have better luck finding reference materials in a larger town.
Sam and Charlie stayed outside, choosing to watch me through the gaps in the boarded up windows. The building was quiet, lights flickering and making the shadows dance. Shelves after shelves of books. I could have lived here all winter, absorbing all that knowledge.
"Dull sublunary lovers' love
-Whose soul is sense-cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it"
It was coming from the poetry section. I peeked around a shelf to see a Reader. The girl was curled up in a corner, muttering to herself. This was my first time seeing a Reader, though I had heard about them. She did not react when I approached, nor when I gently shook her. She merely continued to recite her poem. I stepped past her and continued to browse the shelves. A mistake on my part.
"Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun."
I heard the Reader laugh, a sad hopeless laugh.
"Where, like a pillow on a bed,
A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest-
Charlie was kneeling over me, slapping my cheek. I waved him off and sat up. A terrible headache throbbed in my temples and spots danced before my eyes. When my vision cleared, I spied Sam. The man stood with his back to us and was cleaning blood off his knife.
"That was a close call. The Librarian almost got you." This was the first time I had seen Charlie without a hint of a smile. I rose to my feet and looked in the window of the library. The Reader lay on the floor, blood staining the scattered tomes around her. A man stood over her, an old man in tattered robes. He looked at me with his eyeless face and gave me a smile full of rotted teeth.
Sam grabbed my shoulder and pulled me from the window. "You're a damned fool." He told me, his voice low and fierce. "No more libraries, you hear?" I nodded, the image of the Reader's sightless eyes still in my mind. "I did her a favor," he growled and shoved me at the carriage. "She wasn't a person anymore. She was a tool." He made his disgust evident by spitting at the building behind us.
"Hell, Sam, they're not all bad." Charlie looked worried. Upon retrospect, Sam seemed especially stricken by the event in the library. And Charlie has been overly protective of him since then. The two are fast friends and perhaps something more. Ah well, better that these feelings of mine die a quiet death instead of being cruelly ground into the dust.
Sam and Charlie stayed outside, choosing to watch me through the gaps in the boarded up windows. The building was quiet, lights flickering and making the shadows dance. Shelves after shelves of books. I could have lived here all winter, absorbing all that knowledge.
"Dull sublunary lovers' love
-Whose soul is sense-cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it"
It was coming from the poetry section. I peeked around a shelf to see a Reader. The girl was curled up in a corner, muttering to herself. This was my first time seeing a Reader, though I had heard about them. She did not react when I approached, nor when I gently shook her. She merely continued to recite her poem. I stepped past her and continued to browse the shelves. A mistake on my part.
"Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun."
I heard the Reader laugh, a sad hopeless laugh.
"Where, like a pillow on a bed,
A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest-
Charlie was kneeling over me, slapping my cheek. I waved him off and sat up. A terrible headache throbbed in my temples and spots danced before my eyes. When my vision cleared, I spied Sam. The man stood with his back to us and was cleaning blood off his knife.
"That was a close call. The Librarian almost got you." This was the first time I had seen Charlie without a hint of a smile. I rose to my feet and looked in the window of the library. The Reader lay on the floor, blood staining the scattered tomes around her. A man stood over her, an old man in tattered robes. He looked at me with his eyeless face and gave me a smile full of rotted teeth.
Sam grabbed my shoulder and pulled me from the window. "You're a damned fool." He told me, his voice low and fierce. "No more libraries, you hear?" I nodded, the image of the Reader's sightless eyes still in my mind. "I did her a favor," he growled and shoved me at the carriage. "She wasn't a person anymore. She was a tool." He made his disgust evident by spitting at the building behind us.
"Hell, Sam, they're not all bad." Charlie looked worried. Upon retrospect, Sam seemed especially stricken by the event in the library. And Charlie has been overly protective of him since then. The two are fast friends and perhaps something more. Ah well, better that these feelings of mine die a quiet death instead of being cruelly ground into the dust.
Friday, August 17, 2012
October 4th, 2083: Charlie the Carriage Driver
Sam has introduced me to our carriage driver, Charlie. He is a man with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. He has the darkest skin tone of anyone I've ever met. His teeth are so white they nearly sparkle when he smiles, which is often. He is a direct counterpart to the dour Sam. If opposites attract, then it is no wonder they are such fast friends.
Charlie drives a two-horse team hitched to a rusty old car that seems to be held together with wishes and duct tape. It bears the text "Cutlass era" across the trunk. We have filled the trunk and most of the back seat with supplies for our journey, so we ride in the front. Sam graciously lets me take the seat with the still-intact seatbelt while he braves the rough roads ahead without protection.
I am given to understand these contraptions were once called "horseless carriages." If I try, I can almost imagine them trundling through the once-whole roads that are now cracked and pitted. The careful observer will note that they are not constructed with horses in mind. The contraption must be cut nearly in half in order to be adapted for carriage use.
Charlie is originally from Gardin, a town few day's travel to the west of here. Gardin once marked the border of a place called "Yellow Stone" which was a park of some sort. Now the mountains run rampant with animals touched by Jack Frost.
The first winter snowfall was today. We will take shelter until daybreak.
Charlie drives a two-horse team hitched to a rusty old car that seems to be held together with wishes and duct tape. It bears the text "Cutlass era" across the trunk. We have filled the trunk and most of the back seat with supplies for our journey, so we ride in the front. Sam graciously lets me take the seat with the still-intact seatbelt while he braves the rough roads ahead without protection.
I am given to understand these contraptions were once called "horseless carriages." If I try, I can almost imagine them trundling through the once-whole roads that are now cracked and pitted. The careful observer will note that they are not constructed with horses in mind. The contraption must be cut nearly in half in order to be adapted for carriage use.
Charlie is originally from Gardin, a town few day's travel to the west of here. Gardin once marked the border of a place called "Yellow Stone" which was a park of some sort. Now the mountains run rampant with animals touched by Jack Frost.
The first winter snowfall was today. We will take shelter until daybreak.
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