chapter ten
It had felt almost like a month had passed when I slept, I woke up super refreshed, almost like an amnesiac again, sleep had kinda kicked my memories in the face for the moment, I don't know what else to say. I got out of bed and figured I should start working on that timeline thing Memmi said I should. Or maybe I shouldn't, you can read. But I did need to have a sit-down and figure out my own life, that was for sure.
For starters, Who was I? Well, I know the name “Cal Riddick”. I kinda forgot if Cal was short for anything, maybe California? That was a word I could remember that started with “Cal”. Calzone? Calzone Riddick, sure, why not. I thought the name was really funny, sorta cute, like I lived in some kind of pizza world with crust mountains and pepperoni secrets (the voice of a now-21 year-old Chicagoan rang in my head, declaring I had made him hungry. Sorry, hypothetical manchild, maybe you need to stay in your own lane), and honestly, the first name wasn't really that important to me. Calzone seemed like a jerk, always demanding things from other people but not willing to give up anything in return, a dominating sort of person who would strive to run a nation when they couldn't even run a refrigerator. He was looking to become a cop, probably so when people ask him “Hey, are you some sort of cop?”, he could respond with “Are you?” and totally throw them off when it turned out that yes, he was indeed some sort of cop. But he was mad at his twin brother and I think I do remember thinking to myself that I thought I would never see him again?
But what do I know about Tammy? Well, she's short and cute, seems like everyone loves her, and her brain's a bit odd (wait, or is that Calzone's? How does this work?!), and she looks really cute in a sweater and glasses. Who was she? I dunno. Evidently, she was nearsighted, saved coupons for burger places, and carried a photo for what was easily the best doggy in the world. Was that her doggy? How did brains work? Did this body have a brain that knew the mind's brain and could tell us who Tammy was? Was there, like, a little goblin who carried a big clipboard and would check off when Tammy did things the usual way? Have I killed the goblin by doing nothing Tammy-like, driving him into a spiraling depression over the pointlessness of his job?
Was I starting to overthink this?
Maybe Tammy was someone from the afterward, maybe the old afterward, maybe I should ask around and see what people have to say about her. I figured I'd start with Shim, for the following reasons:
1. She knows all the people in town, so there's a chance she would know Tammy.
2. I trust her an awful lot, she's been nothing but helpful to me.
3. I kinda just want a hug.
I headed out to the clothing shop and into the back room. Nobody was at the front, which worried me a little bit, but I figured that they were all piled together in the back room. This wasn't the case, though, Jev was sprawled out in the middle of the floor, and the other two were nowhere to be seen. I sat down next to her and gave her a poke or two. “Jev, hey, I have a question.”
“Oh, hey, mmm, what's up?” she asked.
“It's a film about an old man and his house, his wife dies,” I replied.
“What,” Jev said.
“What,” I said in return.
We stared at each other for a second, and I kinda felt bad as she still seemed half asleep and just wouldn't think quick enough to deal with my antics. “Did you want something?” she said, sitting up.
“Where's Shim?” I asked.
“Oh, I, uh... I dunno, she must have stepped out,” Jev replied, starting to lean on my shoulder.
“Oh, okay. I have a question for you, then, maybe you would know.”
“What's your question?” she said, wrapping an arm around my other shoulder.
“Do you know who Tammy Wilson was?” I asked.
“She's you!” Jev responded with a poke and a giggle.
“No, like, who she was. I have no memories going back that far and I think I used to be Cal...something, but who was Tammy?”
“Uh... no, I don't remember the name at all. Wait, there was a list of missing people when we all moved to this afterward. Maybe you'll find the name in there? That's just my guess, though,” she said, leaning into me with enough force to push me over.
“Oh, uh...” she said, “sorr-- sorry, I just... you know how it goes.”
“No, I, um... I don't,” I replied.
“It's just that you're... you know,” she (poorly) explained, rubbing her hands along my back during her pause.
“Okay,” I replied.
“Do you want a couple minutes, or...?”
“I could use a quiet moment or two, yeah.”
I laid there, wrapped up in Jev's arms and unable to move for a while. As I felt her breathing slow, I started to succumb to the warmth and comfort again. I gave a sigh, and I was out.
There it was, right in the obituaries. Scott Riddick had been killed on Thursday in his neighborhood of Horizon Hills, Illinois. I had some idea of where Horizon Hills was, based on what Scott had told me just last week. He was a short walk from the Brookfield Zoo and could hop on a train and get downtown in 20 minutes. He had his life taken from him, he didn't willingly give it up, though I don't know who would have done him in. I blamed myself, mostly, he could have, should have stayed in Kennewick, he wouldn't have been a thousand miles away, I could have saved him. This had to be some sort of punishment,a great cosmic joke at my expense. I couldn't save someone who was right there, but maybe I could save someone. My father visited the other day, giving me his old pistol he used for hunting and target shooting. I could sever from the police and become a vigilante, targeting, hunting the people looking to do wrong in the world, maybe I can make things right. Seattle might be a good first spot to look for work, but I have some favors I need to return for an old business partner in Portland.
When I woke up, I was still being held tight. I clutched at the arm wrapped around me. “Are you alright?” someone whispered, it sure wasn't Jev.
“Shim?” I asked.
“Nope,” the voice whispered.
I turned to see that the source of the voice was Shaw. “Oh!” I replied.
“I've been learning. Do you like my voice? Am I saying things right?”
“It's perfect!” I replied in a whisper.
Shaw smiled at me, and then sighed. “I now understand why Shim likes you so much.”
“Jev, too!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, she was cuddling me earlier.”
“Oh, she's been at the front for a while. I came back and thought I would try.”
“Well, it feels nice, thanks.”
“You, too,” she said with a quick laugh, “um, do you want me to...?”
“Yeah, it's been fun but I should probably get going.”
“Alright. Thank you,” she said.
I got up and Shaw sprawled out on the floor again. As I headed out, I saw Connor at the shop. “Oh, hey, you're that girl who was absolutely wasted the other day!” he said.
“Yeah, that was... that was me, yeah,” I replied.
“How's it going?” he asked.
“I've been trying to find myself.”
“Ah, doing some soul searching!” Connor replied.
“Ｎｏ, "Jev said, "ｓｈｅ ｗｏｋｅ ｕｐ ｏｎ ｔｈｅ ｂｅａｃｈ ｎｏｔ ｋｎｏｗｉｎｇ ｗｈｏ ｓｈｅ ｗａｓ. Ｓｈｅ ｔｈｉｎｋｓ ｓｈｅ ｋｎｏｗｓ ｎｏｗ, ｂｕｔ ｓｈｅ'ｓ ｓｔｉｌｌ ｔｒｙｉｎｇ ｔｏ ｆｉｇｕｒｅ ｅｖｅｒｙｔｈｉｎｇ ｏｕｔ. “
“Oh... oh! Man, am I sorry, oh gosh.”
“No, it's fine. Maybe you would know. The name Tammy Wilson familiar to you?” I asked.
“No, can't say it is. But you know what you could do?” Connor replied.
“Let me guess: there was a list of everyone who disappeared during the move to the new afterward and I should consult that?”
“Good guess!” Connor replied.
I sighed. “Who would have that?”
“I have that!” Memmi shouted.
“Gah, maybe we needed a bit more transition between those lines to indicate all the travel that went to being here!” I replied.
“Nonsense, the readers can figure it out. I mean, if they can't, then I think this bit of dialogue would be plenty of indication, though it really slows down the pace.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“So, you're after the missing persons list. I have that, let me find it. How have you been? Well?” she said, stepping into another room.
“Yeah, actually.”
“Good, good, getting lots of sleep and social interaction?”
“You could say that, yeah,” I said, feeling a little bit blushy about the secret I shared with the three Lizi in the shop.
Memmi returned with a clear purple drink in a tall glass. “Do I have to drink that for the missing people list?” I asked.
“Whuh? No, this is for me. The list, though... that's... that's here, shelf 12, row 6, item 3.”
Memmi set her drink down and grabbed a large book from the shelf and set it on the table. “Wait, Memmi, before I open this, I have a question.”
“Yes, my child?”
“Who was Tammy Wilson? Do you know?”
“Ah, at last, you ask the right question! The book has your answer.”
I flipped open the book, and each page was an image of the person and a short description. “We use these to remember everyone we lost, we could have just listed the names and it'd be about four pages, but then we would forget everyone. We used to do that, you know, but between all the Michael Rosenbergs and the Nathan Jamesons, you start to forget who was who. Was it Mitch or Larry who liked to put ketchup on his steaks? Either way, one of them was a lunatic, probably a sociopath.”
I flipped to the end and found the name. Tammy Wilson. Born in the year 2114, thought to be dead in 2133, described as about 4'11”, a wide-eyed girl with a love for studying the world around her, daughter of Dr. Marc Wilson, the creator of the food packets. Tammy's personal contribution was the invention of pink, a red-like food that produced overwhelming bliss in those who consume it, not just a warm happiness, inspired by her own love of the world. I felt crushed, I was filling in for such a delight, I felt like the guy who'd fill in if Weird Al didn't show up for a concert. I cleared my throat. “Memmi, who was Calzone Riddick?”
“What the... oh, Cal Riddick. Oh, yes, he was in one of these other books... let me see.”
Memmi handed me a significantly thinner book, and I flipped through it. Row after row of names, no descriptions of who was lost, and not a picture in sight. “The name's not here...” I said.
Maybe there was another book, this one might have pictures so I could get a better look at who I was, I was kinda sick of making up what I might have looked like, because I'd be disappointed in knowing the actual Calzone didn't have laser vision and kung fu grip alongside a slick leather jacket. Memmi handed me a second book, equally thin, and I flipped through it. “Cal's not in this book, either. No Riddicks whatsoever.”
“Huh. Try the third one.”
“Can we cut to the right book? I don't think anyone reading is caring for the suspense.”
“Neither is the writer, I take it,” Memmi said, pouring another drink.
There it was, Calvin Riddick. And it only took seventeen books!
“Stop lying to the audience to make your journey seem cooler,” Memmi said, “it hurts your credibility. That was the book I just handed you. The third book?”
“How did you...?”
“It's right up there,” Memmi said, “Metamancers. It's like magnetic waves for sci-fi writers, you can just say whatever and it's probably correct. Probably.”
The third book only had a vague description of people. Calvin Riddick, hired gun and vigilante. That was it. I started tearing up. “So some joyous, adorable girl dies in a terrible accident, and me, some sh—nasty hired gun fills in for her?!”
“Nice save on the cuss there, we almost had to jump up a rating!” Memmi said.
“No, please, it's... she deserved so much! Her dad probably is worried sick! What year is it, Memmi? What year is it?!”
I was full-on ugly sobbing now, I didn't care, it hurt me so much. Memmi downed her drink and then put her hand on my shoulder. “Tammy, child--”
“No, I'm... I'm not Tammy...”
“Well, my child, I hate to break it to you, but the very next page of that very first book...”
Memmi turned the page. Dr. Marcus Wilson, born 2090, thought to be dead in 2133. A genius inventor who condensed food into a single foil-lined packet, and gave it properties unlike anything humanity had seen before. Marc left the world a widow, his only daughter being destroyed by the Nexus with him.
Here comes the rain, there goes the rain.
We're only here for the day-by-day,
And when every day meets passing rain,
The best we can hope for is that we can say
We saw the storm for the rainbow.
-Marc Wilson
“I... that doesn't answer my question.”
“But it should ease your nerves, child. There is no more legacy for the Wilsons, you are their legacy now, just as there is no more legacy for the Riddicks. You can be the person you want to be, I don't want you to feel constrained by your past, by any past. Maybe you need something to help you forget all that?”
“No, Memmi, it's... it's my burden to bear, I think. But what year is it?”
“Honestly, make up a number, that's what the Author's about to do anyways.”
“Memmi, please!”
“It's... it's 2176, I'm pretty sure. Look, child, anyone who cared whether you were Tammy or Calvin is dead, I don't know how else to put it. You could forget about who you were, you could forget about who you are, and that's completely okay anymore. Heck, I used to be a strategist, and now all I am is an alcoholic, but you still show up! You arrive here looking for answers that I might or might not have, and all you can do is hope I have them or can weasel around enough words that it aids you. It's... I can tell you're tense--”
Times were tense, indeed. One moment I'm fighting the monster Jim was after, and the next I'm in the hospital with some disease the doctors haven't heard of. They're getting a specialist in tonight to look at it, they called it Blighted Blood. What does that mean? Will I be okay? I've felt horrible since I've woken up, like my ski͢n is̛ ́c̀rawling̡,͡ it ̵f͜eel̷s͝ like̵ the͝r̷e̷'̡s̕ ̸bugs ́i̸n ̕m͝y͞ ̵te̕e̢th̀. I̙̺̝̫̝̗͉t̖̭ ̘̲̖̖̣h͍͈̼͈̲̜͡ṷ̘̞͖͈̙r͈͓̜̠̖̺͘t̷̞s̫̺͉.̝ ̣̯͚̠̥̖W̢̰h̵͙̱͚̰̥͖̼y̶ ͕̺͈̦̤̼̀d͏̜̩oe̺͜ș̖͎͍̞̀ ͎̞̣̭i̻̖̞͇̰̹ṱ́ͅ h̥̜u͕̞̗̱̝͎̙r͚͎͎̱͖t ҉̪͓̮̦̞̻̼sơ͖͓̝ ͜mu̝̲̪̗̱͇̹c͔h͉͖?̱̤̩͖̜ ̴̼̩̭T̤͕̟̭̟̺ẖ̰͘ę͍̫̹͉r̻̘͔͢e̶͎̪̼̣'̼̫̙̼͓̥̭s̲̭̥̙̜̬͜ ͎͙̫͟s͉h̰̣̜͔͠ͅa̞̯̜͘ͅd̰̗̪͕̩̪̰ó̩͙̭ẉ̗̜̤͍͟ͅs ͖̘̪̪̩a̳͎͎l̶ļ̝̥̭̥ ̛̤̣͎̻͕͎a̰̟̣̝͠r̖̭͕͍͍̟͎o̬̭u̠̞͉̱̻͕ͅn͙d̜͚͖̦ m̝e̡͉̳̮ͅ,̨̝̯̬ ̨̤͚w̮̯͙̣̖̠a͔t̳̭cẖ̰̱͈f͙̜̳̞͇u͇͎̻͉̙͖̳l̞̝͢,̘ ͔̳͎͇g̙̤͚̘͙a̞͍̪̗̦z̻̯̩͇i͚̲̻̪͍͇̕n̡̝̜͉̱g͚̣ ͇͚̮͙e̛̘͓y͓̺͚e̫̙̮͇̻͘ś̜̞ ̦͉́ͅp̜̗̲͡e͕̩̲̫̜͚e͕̥͓r̛͕̙̣̭͉̯i͍̝͎̜͖ń̹̫̖͈̭͎g̲ ̞i̙̘̯͖̼͘n͕͉̩͇̦ͅ.̸̻͓͔̩͈ ͍S͉̕t̞̩͔̖̦o̶̩̬p̦̝̘͙ ͇̺̼͖̙i̳͕̱͍t̛͓͍͚̳, ̤̝͓̲́g̘̗̣͇͠é̱t̵̥̭͎̙ ̮ó͉u̳̙̗t̡̹̠̠ o͓̠̖͓̮͋͛͐ͅͅf̴̞̪͎͍̿ͬ̉̇ͨͦ͐́̉ ̤̗͔͇̳̠̘̙̈̌̊̕mͥ͆͒͏̜͍͎̯͎̖̦y̡̩̺͉͎ͦ̔͛ͭ̕ ̲͎͓̬͇͕̒ͮ̂͡b̶̖̮̻̦͌̾̈́r̵̛̤͈̮͖̪͉̺ͩ͐̇ͯ͊̅͘ȧ̟̜̮͓̓ͧ̏͗ͮͭí͈̰̼̯̞͗͌̕͢ṉ̵̭͉̻̓ͮ̔͡,̪͌͌͞ ̡̖̟̦͍̹̹̬͎̄͆́͛̅͂͐̊̄͘͠i̼̤͔̳͈̔͌͒̃͌͜tͫ͑̑̏͏̷̠̖̳̹͔͔̼'̙̪̹̞̝̺̖̻͊̈s̩͚̜̻̄̅̇͟ ̶̧̠͗ͮ̊ͥ̂̂͆ḙ̢̨̢̤̲̻̼̲̻̙̗̂ͥ̈́a̷̭̹̎̎̾͒̄͗ͬ̚t͐̃҉̱̙͎̮͙͔̝̬́ị̭̹̠̖͓̜̀ͪ̉͘͠͠n̶̺̦̖ͪͪ̅͛͗̕g̨͍̠̪̟͎̖ͣ͐ ̹̼̬̖̘̥͓̏̓͋͌͜͠m̧̠̖̭̗̱͛̅̇ͩė̊ͨ̓̒҉̹̼̻̝̼͢ͅ,̴̸̸̣̗͇̦̰̫̖̰͂͑ͦ̏̽̚ ̝͔̝̍͌ͫ̍͂ͫt̠̓̃̓̾͌̈̃ḫ̼̼̺͐̈́̋ͬ̀a̦̝̩͈̰̹͈̘͒̂ͣ̓ͪ̅̿t̤̦̯̂̽ ̡̡̥̲̼̘̺͗ş̢̣͔̀̑̂ͮ̎͑̓̚p̳̖̣̪̫̲̑͒ͪ͂̂͗́͗e̙̳̭̓̿͝͞ͅc̶̞̜͈͓̼̘̰ͤ̃̚͝͝i̦͚͙͉͂̔̏̇̽͑̄̈́̚͝ǎ̠̰̼ͮ̎ͥ̆͒ͭ̋ͮ͟͜l̵̷̯̘̲̬͐ͨ̾̿ͫi͇̮͂́̐̆͊͌͌̕s̡̗̫̟̤̙̀̿ͯͫ̃t̷̲̣̦̦̫͍̲ͦͧ ̛̙͍̗̗̠̼̜͚̙̏ͤͤ̄ͫç͇̥ͪͮͩ̀̄͂̾̓a̸ͮͬ͒̊͆ͣ̑̆͂͏͕̜͚̬̱͙̫n̙͙̣̬̿͝'̢͓͇̣̙̞͆̀ͫ̓ͭ͛ͣ̇́̕t̩͔̠͗̉̽͌ͩ̅̇̕͟͡ͅ ̷̭̗̱̺̄͌ͨ̏͑̔͊ͦ͡č͊̿̃͊̅̉҉̞̻̞̜̝̮̪͡ͅo̸͖̪̻̯̰̬̝͛͊̋͌ͥ̎̽͘͝m̸̨̙͎̦̍ͭͭͨe̥̦̝̓̐ ̨̛͈͔̫̲̉̔ͤ̍͊́ͯͬ͜q̨̢̰̗̟̻̀͟ů̢̢̼̼̼͎̩ͧ̄̒͘i̢̛͚͈̭̥ͩͩ͑ͪͮͤ͒̑͂͜c̯̘͖̬̲̯̱̞̳ͧ̅k̞͔̙̭̝̩̤͎͔ͥͬͯ̽ͦ ̸̞̦̱̬̮̺͕̝ͣ́ͭ̀͌̓ͅe̡̘͇ͪ̂ͯ̌͝n̴̛̼̫̹̟̳͊̒̔̌ͩ̾̍̅͡o̼͖͚̯͇ͨ̋ͯͤ́u̳̠̖͗̈ͤ̃̋̀̏̚ğ̵̯͕̐ͪͅͅͅh̨̓͊̆̂ͣ̇̚̚҉͓̖͈̳,ͬ̈́̋̇͂̈̓̈͏̧̥̟̜̯ ̞͙̭͊ͧw̨͔͖̖̳̪̹͆̓̈́ḩ̴̥͓̣̀̏ͮ́̈ͨ̑̌̚͞a̎͛͑̓̓̄҉̯͇̞̟͓̕t̗ͩͣ̕͠'͙̬̟͚̬̖ͣͨ̔̽͊̏̃͠s̵͎̤ͨͤͤ̑̌͝ ̸͙ͮͯͮ͟H̴̖͍̬̟̓͋͆́̚͞ ̼̳̱̠̩̬̯̰͑ͭͥ͑̋̾͂̑̀A͙̯͕̤̯̩͌́̇̎ͯ̔ͣ́̀̚̚ ̢̘̣̖̜̗́͗ͤ̃ͩ͘͞P͉͒ͧ͗͛̄͊͌̚͘ ͓͕ͦ̽ͪ̈́̀͋͋͘͢P̷̧̱̫̼͖͉̝̝ͭ͌̐̆̓̐̍ ̝̞̯̤̲͙̯̃̑ͪ̊͢͞ͅḘ̶̟̝̑͌͗̉ ̡̲͉̔ͯ̀͊̓̿ͩ̕N̢͖̫̫͙̰̣͇͊̋ͬ̈̕ͅ ̸̴͈̠͍̥̱̪̫͖̆͑ͥ̽I̖̫͍̯̳̪̻ͪ̄̒ͦ͞ͅ ̷̫̗͇̣̱͚̭̬ͬͤ̂̐͊ͨ̏ͮͫ̀N̰͈͔͍͛̉ͤͫͬ͑ ̺̱͊̔ͮ͗ͩ̑ͭ͂ͦ͘̕͟ͅG͚̖̈ͬ̋͑̒͊̃̔ͪ̕ ̢̦͍̩͑ͨ̀͝T̸̺̪̮̫̪̹̰ͨ̏͜ ͛̒̆͏̳̘̻̲Õ̡̖͚͙̑̓̿̊ͮ ̶͙̲͉̻̍̊̊̏Ḿ̘͎ͭͮ͐͋́ͬ͊ ͮ͗҉̢̙̹͟Eͤ́͊̌͏̶͙
"Child, are you alright? You just... you just collapsed!"
I was shivering like mad, Memmi looked a bit dark and shadowy in my vision, her hand reaching out to help me looked like claws reaching after me. I closed my eyes and tried to
G̶̢̨̲̟̙̘̱̼̥̦̒́ͮ͗̽̿̍̌ͮ͋̋ͨ͛͗̂ͬ̃͟E̢̢͈̳͓̮͈͖͋ͦ͋̈́̚T̃̑̽̎̓̊ͭ̔̆͛̄̔͋͋̚͠҉̗̭̙͈̭̲ ͆ͨ͛̑ͪ̓̇͆̽̉̑͘҉͡͏̞̱̙̣̘̣̟̟͍͕͔̼O͕̲̻̻̣̻̮͔̪͔̠͈̝͓̮̻͙̍͊̊͗̽́͢͜͡͠Ų͇͍̘̥̂̍͌ͪͫT̛̞̲̰̫͖̆̋͑̔͑ͪ́̌̒ͩ̆ͬͤ͛̇ͫ͛ ̵͖̳̪̗͓̭͎͙̼̩͕̻̭̙͙̬̜͖̦̎ͭ͂̅ͮ̏ͯ͗ͫ͛͐̀͘͞͝G̴̶̠̤͖̘̰̫̫̝ͦ̒̃͂̀͆̍͊ͣ̎ͪ͒ͧ̒̉͌̇͞ͅĘ̨̨̦̻̭̹̤̻̻͓̫̖̲͖̬͆̑ͭͤͭ̋ͤ͗͐̎̍ͧ͞ͅT͍̻̝͉͔͓̬̪̻̫̯̩̘̫͔̐̋ͭ̍ͯ̽̈̔̑́ͬͩͯ̂́̚ ̵̧̗̠̲͖͉̫̮͍̦̰͚̬͓̉̈́̌̎̊ͯͥ͗̐͒ͦ̈̒̓̾̀̀O̦͙͉̥̠̯̘͔̖̖͍͔ͧͤ̊̊̐ͭ̈͊ͣͣͧ́̚̚͘͘ͅU̢̺̥̯͉̝͈̱̜̤͉͕͆̈́̽̊͒ͭ̉̋ͭ̓ͣ̈́̽̉̈́̿̉ͩ̚T̶̷̡̘̱̥̝̦͓̰ͮ͋͂͆̌̌ͤͣ̌̓͋ͬͭ̈́́ͪ͠ͅ ̨̢̜͙̳̟̝͉̠̙̼̝̖͈͙̿ͣ̇̈́ͫͨ̎͑̌ͤ́ͧͩͩ̑̀͟͝G̢̛ͥͪ͆́̑͐̊͒̒ͨ́͏̣̠̟̮̬͕̗͖͈̗̭̳̘͚͍̩̦͘█̸̧̛̣̱̪̝͌ͫ̒̑ͦͣͮͥͨ̇ͧͧ͐̓ͩ̌̽T͉̼̖̭͚̭̹͕͕̦̞̜̺̝͔̳̋̎̿ͧͮ̎̔͡͞ ̴̸̧̩̬̯̹̬̬̳̠͔̳̥̺̟͇ͥͫ͑̆͗͊̿͞Ȍ̷̶̢͍̟̫̠̯̥͈̃̇ͧͬͫͤ̃ͥͥ́͝█̡̛̭̤̙̯̬̰͉̣̩͚͇̟̱̬̮̉ͧ̌̽̈́ͣ̇̄█̶̡̨̹̙̪̜͖̮̤̼̱̯̣̭̩͍͑̈́͌̑̌̀ͧͥͧ͋̇͜ͅ ͔̬͍̭͓̙͊ͭ̀ͣ͡█̧̛͉̙̭̲ͨ͂̆ͩ̈́̔̐ͨ̎̆̏̈́̏█̴̦͎̥̠͉̰̱̗̳̪͔͓͇̟̰̒̽ͬ̿̇͐̏̽̐͘█̹̜̙̰͔͈͎̪̻͎̞̙̘̖̯̹̲̪͛̓̈̉̋͒̈́̚̚͢͝ ̧̡̨̟̼̤̙͈̙̬̲̺̘̪̲̳̜̰̃̄͆̓̆̆̎͗̍ͪ̈́̄͢█̛̥̘̯̻̤̘̦͈̖̠͔̻̯̪͈̲̟͕̀͊̓͌͂͌̃̍ͭ̒ͦ̂̔̑█͇͓̻͔̬̯͖͖̂ͤͧ̌͐̐̎̕͘█̛̠̭̹̠͙̲̬͙̹̖̗̘̘̹̳̌̀̀̐̑̋ͫ̂̅͆́́͘ ̸̝͍̤͇̲̮̺̝͓͚͔͕̳̮͕ͥ͊̾̓ͬͧ̔̏̈͋ͯ́ͮ́͡ͅͅ█͗ͫ͛ͧ͂ͨ̊̎̋́̃̎́̉̌̃҉͚̭͙̠̫͔̙͘█ͪͮ̈̉͐͐̑͊̐̓̈̀͆͑̈̆͑͏̷҉͔̜̻̼̭̫̮̥̦̞̠̩̠█̢͙̪͖̬̱̠̫͍̦͖̰̜̬͔̗͍̦͍̽͊͆͛̐́̾ͫ͂̾ͧ̆̍͂ͨ̏͘ͅ ̸͚̗̭̪̦̜͈͇̹̭̙̰́͐͑̔ͤͤ̄͂̅̃̈́ͯ͑̿̎̒̑̾̚̕͢͠█̴̴̢͔̮̳̣̩͖̼̹͕͖̤̪͌̿́ͭͭ͑ͣ͠ͅ█̵͆͋̓͐͝҉̞͎̘̱̩̠̭̝͕̹̘̣̦͉͇͎͚█̨̞͕͕̟̩͎̼͇͇̙̤̳̙̟̻͙̯ͥ̅̎̌̔̃̊ͬ͘̕
Nothing seemed right anymore, an awful chill ran up my spine like a [METAPHOR NEEDED]
W̴̨̹̜͚̫̖̙̎̍̾ͤͫ̈́̔̐́́ͪ͒̈́́H̨̢̦̫̘͓̻͍̘͙̞̮͑̈̔̑ͤ͆̄͆̔̔Y̨̢ͥ̍̃͌͂̈̂̔̌͆́̈̏̍̓ͮ͑͏͉̭̺̬̀ ̧ͦ͆̉ͮ͆̒͂̓̑̍͑͛͋̉̾͛̄̔̀͟͏̰͕̲̱͉̟͙̼̮̜̫̹̥͙͔͎̳͚Ṅ̴̖̯̭͕͙̬͉͙̱̫̬̝̜̹̼̯̑̈̆̎̈̽̍̕ͅͅO̡̼͇̣̰̻̫̪͕͔͙͖̰̜̫͙͈̫̩͗̎̄͑̋̂̅̄ͪ̿͐ͥ̑͒ͧͤ̑͝W̃̆̓ͯ̒̄ͫ͋͊̆ͣ̈́ͩ͗̂҉̶̵̟͍̺̲̦̟͓͝,̴̧̛͙̫͖̗̺͉͓̜̱̟̤̺̼͎̼̥̳̜̩͐ͥ͂̔̔̌̏̔ͫͨ̎̂͛̓ͪͦ͒ ̨̂̆̉͛͢͏͕͉͎͕̜͎̫W̅̈́̄̑̅͂͛͂͐ͦ̋̅ͯ̃҉̨̛̹̖̝͉̮̠͙̪̯̙̬̯̳͉͔̘͜ͅH̴̨̹̩̺̘͇̱̪͇̱͚̲̟ͭ͗̈́̄ͧ́̃͌͋͟͜͝Y̨̡̛̙̩̟̦̺͓̘̩͍̝̱ͪ̄̽ͣ̀͜ ̬̜͓͓͖͇̗̳ͣ͌̽ͥ͐̌̀̕͠ͅM̶̴̧̠̣̙͔̣̹̤͍̜͍̱͈̥̯̻̙̈́̋͒̅͊̿͗̂̿̌͌̔̈ͬͯ͜Ë̶̝̱̤͈͖̮̬̜͓̟̠̹̞͎́̒̂̍ͬ̾,̴̛̇̄́̆ͫͭ̐ͭ̋̔͆ͩͭͣͤ̊͌̀̚͏̥̠̻͎̩͎̳̰̺ ̵̜̘̥͉̗̮͙̦͔̲̙̪̹͕ͣ͗̒͊̈́̿ͮ́̕Ȉ͓͔͖̹͔̱͉̬̱͒̂̑ͥ́͘͜'ͬ͒̽̈́͐ͬ̒̾ͭ̎ͤͮͥ͋ͩͩ̅̑̚͟҉̴͍̬̥̲Mͨͣ̆̌͋͛̍̒ͫͭ̑̅̔͆҉̱̯̗͕̥̲̲̟̩̝͠͡ͅ ̷̢̲̞̳͚̙̜͓̯̹͔̝̙̼̯ͪ͊̒̊̐ͤ̒̇͆̑͗͒̀̕Ģ̹̤͙͚͙͇̞̗͔̰̼̪̉ͣ̐̈́͊̈́͒ͥ̽ͧ̒ͪ̔Ó̷̤̭̪̝̯̭̭̰͉̙͎̪͕̼͕͆̎ͪ͆̒̓ͯͣ͗̀ͪ͛̅͆̅̋̚̕͟I̴̛̹̜̣̮̝̱̫̩̺͓ͨ̂̿͂̈͋̈̚͠͡ͅNͪ͑̑͑̚̕͏͏̦͔̳̬͍̟̺̪Ģ̤͉̦̼̟͓͎̘͖̳̦̈́ͩͮ͊̀̚͘͟ ̶̶̞̫̗͕̰̅̒̑ͤ̒̈̽ͤͥ̌̐ͤ͜͡͡T̋͊ͣ̓̈ͣ̓ͯ́҉̶̺̤̪̙̝̲͍̞̪͖̪̟̥̱ͅȰ͒ͮ̉̆̒ͥͦ̄̀͟͏͉̫̤̩͎̦̙ ̶̡͚̮̩̼̰͍̦̩͕͇̗̤̳̑̾͋ͨ̄̾̓̄ͩ̾̂̒͛̿́̚͟D̷̨̂̃̓̒̅ͥͮͬ̽̓̅ͤ̍ͨ̕͏̷̜͉͈̦̠̮͕̟̩̟̙̦̞Ì̸͖̯͙̼̥̠̺͔ͥͬ̉ͦ̈́̄̇̎̇͂̎͒ͫ͊̉́̕͡Ȩ̧̘͈̥̮̫͚͍͖͙̹͔͎͉͇͕̫̯̈́̏̀͊̈̐̈̀̀͝͡,̨̡̰̬̝͖̞̞͉̬̙̤̠̍ͬͭ͛̚ ̷̧̥͎̩̗ͧ̃̂̈ͫ͜T̵̲̠͚͙̺̤͓ͫ͐̃ͮ̈̑ͪ̿̆ͣ͟ͅ█̢̠̞̫̟̮̗͖̲̦̮͎͙̣̗̘̦́ͪ̄͗̾̇ͬ̊Ë̶̸̹̩̖͖͈̻͉͙͚̝̳̲̝̣̼ͯ̓͒̾ͧͯ̅͛̓̇ͥ̆̈͠ͅŖ̛̼͈̰̪̰̲̮̭͆̔ͯ̆̎̀ͧ͛̑̋̇̆̽̅́̔̎̚͘͢E̴͕̭̜̯̖͓̪̤͎̬͔̻̗͈̲͙ͣ́̈͒̐͋ͪ̌͂̔̂̑ͨ̿ͮͩ̒͟'̛̼̣̺͕̮̥͓̖̥̗͇̮͌̅ͬ́͒ͥ̐͂̈́͑̃ͩ̍͌̅̔̾͡S̯͕͙̫͍͙̮̗͎̟̓̑̂̅̊̀͜͠ͅ ̩̗̮̭̤̤̇̈̈ͥͧ͒ͨ̈́̓͌́͟N̡̦̪̺̜̯̲̦̻͚̙̳̜̘̟ͧ͑́̇̇ͣ̑̎̈́̂ͤ͋̐̄ͤ̕͜͢O̢̨̟͉͖̗̞͔ͬ͆̃̆͋ͨ̄ͦͦ͘͢͜T̔͌̃̌̓̋̐͝҉̤̟̼̩̫̜̗̮̼̲͕͜Ḩ̰͙̟̺̗̯̪̫̜̱̤͖̩̓̊̿ͣ̋͛ͧ̒ͬ͊ͯ̔͂͘͟͢͜ͅI̖̳̠̘͓͔̘̹͇̪̜͈̭̖͕̗͓͊̒̋ͬͧͫ͂̄̒̽̓ͨ͐̀́̀ͅN̷̨̬̣̲̖̤̪̺̼̓̃̈́͆ͮ͋̈́̌ͭ͆̑͟ͅG̶̟͙̻͖͔͔͙̠̳͉͈͇̼̞̯͙̹̿͊ͧͤ͜͢ͅ ̴̥̥͈͈̯̞̳̯͔̦̭͕̝̱̘͈̽̅ͤ̇̑̆̊ͨͧͭ͒͋͌̐͘̕̕͡ͅW̢͖͖͖͙̘̘̪̬̺̞̝̘̠̠͒͑̌ͮ͊͛̊͗̓̑ͣͧ͒͑́Ạ̴̣̖̰͇͚̥̬̬̲̥̥̅ͮ̅̏̀͘█̮̲̹̣̬͚͈̫̦̦̾̌̊͆͆͊ͥ͒͢͠Ť̨̄̆ͥ̇ͤ̑̈͘͏̸̴̜͈̪̺͙̗̗̻̗̼̪I̷͉̳̭͍̹͈̳̹͎͇͈͉̗̳͔̒̅̋̋ͩ́̔͐̈́̂̈́̿ͨ̽̚͞͡͠Ņ̸̮̣̩̲̳̭̓͛ͮ͂̊͛͒̈́ͯ̈́̓̓ͧͯͅG͌̄ͩ̃ͧͬͬ҉̶̵͈͇̞̝̝͔̪̭̞̀ ̸̗̼̰̦̖̅̎̓̏͂̑̍̃͂̀͡F̨̬͇̘̺ͩ̀͌̆̈́ͩ̇̽̎̾̆̊͊́̓̃̇̏̀͡Ǒ̸̡̡̰̰̲̱͐̒ͪ͘͟R̴̶̡̨͕̲̻͇͇̝̗̪̞̞̬̈́ͭ̇ͯͣͧ̂͒ͦͤ͑ͧ͒͂̓ ̸̡̢̖͖͇̘̳̬̼͈̪̣̌͌̅ͯ͡ͅM̧̨͙̫̦͉̠͍̈̾̀ͯ̉́ͬͧͣͧͬ͋͘͠Ę̼̞̝̜̦̼̜̟̤̤̭̙̊̐ͭ̏ͧͮ̌ͤ͟ ̶̵̠̖͔͙͕̟̻̺̥̞̤̰͍̼̣͖̭͒̆ͧͥ̑̃̑͒̏̇͗̍ͣͧ́O̸̷̢̬͍͓ͯ̊̅̓̈͆̐ͤ̇ͯͥ̅ͦͯ͜N̶̛͙̺͙̦͈̠̬̥͍̜͙̹͙̫̊͗̏ͧ̊̃ͯ͝͠ ̎̊̄ͧ̑̕͜҉̧̛̠͚̼̦̺̗̝͙̩̱̘̝͉ͅT̡̤̩̦̬̖̳̱͕͕̰̤̣͖̟̳͙͉̽̉ͥͮ̃̾̃̔̌͊̚͜͜H̵̷̸̨̞̺͓̜̖͈̼͈̦͙̤͇ͣ̃ͪ̾ͤ̇ͧ̊̓́͒̊̄̚E̵̷͈̻̫̝̙̬͎͖̱̼̗̹̻̭̖͙̻̅͋̆̔ͤ͗̈ͪͩ͗̌ͣ́ͥ̄͡ ̴͆̓̾ͨ̂̐̾̆̽̏͏͙̝̘̙̲Ợ̡̨̥̤̳̭̺̙̦̙͇̻̟ͭ̍ͫ͂ͩ̿͋̉͊̆̈̿̊̌ͯͥ͒ͩ̀ͅT̼̦̮̲͉̬ͨ̄̈̑͒̒̏̒ͬͣ̂ͥ̈ͬ́ͮ̕͝H̵̖̜͉̻̥̥̼͍̹̬̠͙͈̫̞̪̜̮͊̿ͥͪ̇͒̉̑̊̀͞ͅȨ̺̭̝̪͎̯ͦ͛͐͑͋̂̆̓ͮ̋̑̋̏̋͛̀Ȑ̶̛ͫͯ̐́̽ͫ̉̃̏ͣͤ́͝͏̙͕͕̠̘̭̜͓̫͇̫̘͔͍ ̵̸̝̲̥̗̯̪͇̹͖̜͍̹̼̭͗ͮͫ͑͛̌͋̓̅̏̀͡ͅȘ̴̵̸̢̱̪̦͍̪͈̠̤̣͉̦̟̖ͧ̅̽̏̆ͩͅI̷̷̴͙̥͓̘̹͙͈̘̝̥̬̙͓͎̣̤̻ͭ̎ͮ͛́̇̃̽̇ͧ̓̆̌̃ͬ́̀D̷̢̮̞̱̮̞̮͓̗̱͖̗̰̤̫͎͔̗̩͋̐ͨ̏̌̓̔ͮ̉̾̉̋̏ͫͦ̂̀̚͘͞ͅȆ̢̧͇̭͚̞̙͈͓͔̬͇̪͖̟͐͛̏̏̉̄,̡͕̜̙̖̩̭͈̠̯̰̻̲̑̌ͣͬͧ̀ͩ͘̕ͅͅ ͓͖̞̦̝̪͉͓̣̫̙ͨ̀͆͌̐̉̍͌ͪͧ̐̀͛̅̓͞͠͡ͅN̢̪̹͖̥͖̰̠ͩ̽̎͂ͯͧ̾Ǫ̣̝̳͍̝̼̯̮͖̞̯ͤ̇̈́ͦ͒͒͋͋͘͟͠█̧̦̰̫͈̗̦̖̙̗͖̏ͧ̍͜ͅH̢͉̥̮̘͍̪̟̎ͬͥ̓ͥ̇̂͊ͨͩ̈ͦ̍ͣ͜͡I̵̢̥̤͎͕̖̙̽̿͊͆̏͋ͨ̄̓̿̈́̚͜͡█̈̒͗ͧ̿̐ͥ̆ͧ̇ͪ̽ͫͧ̚҉͠҉͎̼͕̖̟̝̱̝̲̥̤͓̹̹̣͜Ģ̶̢͕̩̠͙̠͉̰̘̼̬̪̞̟̑̓̄ͫ̊ͤ̓̓̆̍ͭ́͆ͬͣ̚̕͜ ̨͉̦̝̠̪̹̪͔̄̏ͧ̑͘͠ͅG̵̡̛̰̞̬̦̥̰̻̘͔̃ͮ̉̇͛́̓ͪ̏̏͌ͭ̈́O̷͍͉̟͇̺̱̣̯̤̦͍͓̙͔̰̿ͭͥ̆̉̎̃͐̏͂ͨ̀ͣͩͦ̓͂Ǫ̸̷̙͇̯͉̲̗̼͓̭̦̯͎̪͔̉̊̈́ͫ̄͑̔͐̂ͭ̀̿ͧͣͯ̏́D̓̐ͧ̽͢͏͓̪͍̲̲͇͎͉̻̪̝̰͖̪̟̹͡
Suddenly I was being flipped over, and the end of a bottle was put near my mouth. I took a drink as Memmi poure̢̟̜ͅd ̝̰̲͖͗͌̓ͨͨͤ͢s̶̖͍̟̥̩̑ͨͮò̞̣̳̮̣̝̃̅ͧ̂̾͘ m͚̭͙͍̓ͩͮͯ̕͟ḙ̶̭̖̩̫̖̊̆ͫ̃̈́ͅ ̺͎ͫ̚o̼͕͔̤̞͕͚͂̅ͪ̊̐͡f̨͖ͦ̐̉͂ͅ ̴̢̩͔̃ͪ͗̈́ͅt͍̞̪͉͈͖͓̒ͭ̉̾̈ͧͫh̳̩͖̩̫̩̖̅͑͋̓̄̀͛̕ě̵̪͈̝͚͔̠͗͆ͦ̄ ̺̩͙̼͇̟̇̃̇̀ s̢͊ͭ̍̈͒͋̇̏̓͊͗̌͆̐ͣ̒͌҉̹̭̜̳̲̰̜̜͉̩̗͈̤͕́͟͞ͅu̷͔̤͎͍̯̤̘̻̙̜̫͖͗ͤ̏̔ͦͦ̀̿ͩ̊̇̈́̎ͤͥ͐̐͡b̵̧̺̤̪̰̥̘͇̘̻̜̔ͥ̈́ͤ̾̿̽ͦ̉̉̕͟͡š̵ͧ̂͋͛̄̇͌̐ͯ̅͛҉͇̻̥͚̘͉̳̼̦̳͍̫̩͙̙͙ t̷̶̨̡̻̜̹̘̞̣̖̺͚̯̔̒͛̇̎̒̄̒̇ͫ͢a̴̺̩̹̰̙͚̖̣̲͓̣͍̳͖͖̒̾̋̃̉ͧ̀n̶͓̣͉̮̹͚̖̥̻̞͙̟̱̼̈̃ͦ͐ͩͩ̎̓̓̆̌̽
I woke up in a bed that was not my own. Memmi stepped into the room. "Memmi, I..."
"Shh, child, rest. You gave me quite a scare there."
"Wh... what happened?"
"You had another flashback, and this one in particular was corrupt. Very, very corrupt. You must have found when the Nexus took control."
"What do you mean̸?̷̕"̡
"Ah, yes, that's a corrupt memory, and it's seeping out. I mean look up at the page. Look at how much of that is just illegible."
"What'd you give me?" I asked.
"It's a cocktail I like to put together made out of a couple packets of pink and a memory blocker. How much can you remember right now?"
"I remember you, I remember me, I... shoot."
"Alright, now that you can't think back to what you learned today, speak from the heart."
"That's the... that's the blood-pumpy thingy, right? Or is that the--"
"Yes, child, it is. Now, who are you?"
"Uh... Tampa—Tam... Tamm—Tammy! Tammy Williams!"
"Close enough. Who are you? Describe yourself with a few adjectives."
"Cute... small, um... I'm cute... gosh, that's a lot of--"
"--that's fine—whatever, and how do you get home?"
"I take a train!"
"Not a silver one, though," she said.
She's so smart! It was not-silver, I love that colors! She handed me a big coin and before I knew it, I was home. I think. "Conga Line, am I home?"
"Hello... human! This residence is owned by... Tammy Wilson. They have rented this apartment for... one month!"
She sounds lovely! I'll have to meet her in the morning.
ns 15.158.61.17da2
