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  • #4104
    Jib
    Participant

      “Is that lamb head on the menu?” asked Connie with a grimace on her face. “I can’t believe it.”

      “It looks like it, dear”, retorted Sophie offhandedly. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ve seen and eaten worse.”

      “Ewh”, said Connie, “I don’t want to know.” She was not quite honest, her reporter blood was thirsty about good and juicy stories. But she was not here to interview the temp, and the menu was leaving her perplexed. “What’s Hrútspungar ?”

      “You don’t want to know”, said Sophie, “Trust me.”

      Connie craved some vegan food and they didn’t seem to have any vegetables in the hotel restaurant. She pouted and finally gave up. “Take whatever you want, I’ll follow.”

      “You like to live dangerously”, said Sophie.
      “Whatever”, retorted Connie with a sigh. She put a hand on her round belly. “It may be an opportunity to begin that diet.”

      Sophie snorted. She never believed in diet. She had tried them all, just for fun, but she eventually found the rules boring and just forgot about the whole diet business.

      “Nice beehive hair Ladies”, said the waiter with an appreciative look at their heads. “What will you order?” he asked opening his small notebook.

      Sophie smiled at the compliment and closed the menu. “I’ve been told you had a special”, she said.

      The man tilted his head and looked at the old woman with a hint of surprise in his eyes. He shrugged as if it wasn’t his problem after all. Connie gulped, expecting the worse.

      “Two Svið with Gellur”, he said scribbling something in his notebook. “May I suggest some Brennivín?”
      “You may”, answered Sophie. “It can help us gulp the whole thingy”, she explained to Connie.

      “The common error is to go for the head and dismiss the eyes”, said the waiter. “They may surprise you”, he added before leaving.

      Connie looked murderously at Sweet Sophie, whom she would have renamed Sour Sophie in that moment. The old woman had an air of satisfaction on her face. “Why on earth would you pick that ?” asked the reporter.

      “Oh! That was part of the instructions in the letter”, answered Sophie with a shrug that made her beehive tremble.

      #4091

      “This Yannosh!” Quentin erupted when he saw the packed up mess in his suitcase.

      “How can this guy always muddy up the simplest things! I wonder why Tina likes him so much.” He eyed the suitcase and seeing the neatly packed shirts and trousers, he finally laughed at his outburst.
      “Yeah, that explains it!”

      He picked the first clothes out of the pile, and got out of the room to find the breakfast.

      The air was still a bit chilly in the morning, and the grounds seemed almost deserted. He wondered were the rest of the staff was. It was supposed to be a luxury resort, and beside the eccentric Barbara with her beehive hairdo, he had not yet seen many people.

      “Well, no bloody wonder it’s called the Hidden People Spa! Nobody’s up yet or what?” Quentin turned at the familiar voice.
      “You look in great spirits this morning dear” he greeted Tina “How was your night’s sleep?”
      “Can we skip the formalities Q, I’m already bored. Let’s have a tartine of rúgbrauð at the Þorramatur, shall we? I’m famished.”

      #4087
      ÉricÉric
      Keymaster

        “And don’t forget the black pepper dear!” Godfrey chimed in, “it’s been known to enhance the effects drastically.”

        #4069

        “Where the devil is everyone?”

        Miss Bossy Pants looked around the empty office with a mixture of disappointment and confusion. She had been anticipating the surprised looks on her colleagues’ faces at her unannounced return —she had no illusions about her popularity and knew better than to expect a joyous reunion—but the room was disconcertingly empty.

        Hearing the door behind her, she spun around in relief. It was the new guy, Prout, carrying a brown paper bag and a take out coffee.

        “Hello!” he said, hoping he did not sound as awkward as he felt and wondering if he could back out the door again. He had only met Bossy a couple of times and found her bluntness disconcerting. Terrifying, even. There was no reply, so, taking a sip of his steaming coffee, he bravely persevered.

        “Welcome back. How are you feeling?”

        “Are you the only one here? Where is everyone?” snapped Bossy Pants.

        Ricardo took a deep breath and focused on a wilted pot plant on the window ledge.

        God, I hope I don’t start rambling.

        Connie and the temp, Sophie, went to Iceland … something about following a lead from Santa Claus and I’ve not heard from them since. And Hilda … I don’t know where Hilda went to be honest. She emailed me a few days ago wanting to know what to feed Orangutans.”

        Bossy had paled. She seemed to shudder slightly and put out a hand to steady herself on a nearby desk.

        “They eat mostly fruit,” he continued, “but other stuff too of course. Insects and flowers and stuff like that. Honey I think, if they can find it I guess, and bark. And leaves. Mostly fruit though.”

        That’s probably enough about the Orangutans. She is clearly not into it.

        “I got a bit held up actually; there is a young boy outside drawing maps. Quite young … youngish. I am not sure how old really but he was little.They are bloody good too—there is quite a crowd out there watching him draw.”

        “Iceland,” whispered Bossy, her face a deathly white colour.

        “Yeah, Iceland. Keflavik … Miss Bossy, are you sure you are well enough to be back? You don’t look so good. I mean, you look good … attractive of course … I don’t mean you look bad or anything but you do look sort of pale. Are you okay?”

        “Santa Claus.” Bossy sat down slowly.

        “Yeah … I know, a bit crazy, right? They seemed to think it was a really hot lead.”

        “Stupid idiots; the lead wasn’t from Santa Claus— I will bet my life that it was from that depraved scoundrel, Dr Bronkelhampton! I heard through the grapevine he had gone to Iceland with a new identity after the Island fiasco destroyed his reputation—we covered the story at the time and it was huge—and now he is clearly after revenge. Dear God, what have they got themselves into?”

        #4058
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          Connie noticed the old woman was frowning a lot this morning, and thought to herself, Not so sweet after all, the old trout. In a funny sort of way, it endeared her to Connie in a way that the endless cheery sweetness had not.

          “There’s no Elf School in the directory, but there is a Tw’Elf Centre, do you suppose this is the one?”

          “May as well check it out,” replied Sophie.

          “Representatives of the twelve continents of the earth?” Connie read, adding, “Sounds like some kind of mumbo jumbo fringe nutjob stuff if you ask me.”

          “What, less nutjob than an Elf School?” replied Sophie with a snigger. Connie laughed, beginning to warm towards the old dear. “I’d be interested to hear more about the anticipated merger with the Bermuda Triangle.”

          #4050
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            “Don’t be silly dear, Hilda’s in Boston,” replied Sophie. Damn! she thought to herself. What was she doing here?

            #3996
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              The following is an e-mail from the past, composed on July 01, 2010. It is being delivered from the past through FutureMe.org

              Dear FutureMe,
              The Absinthe Cafe
              Dawn and Mark had a bottle of Absinthe (the proper stuff with the WORMwood in
              it, which is illegal in France) but forgot to bring it. Wandering around at
              some point, we chanced upon a cafe called Absinthe. Sitting on the terrace, the
              waitress came up and looked right at me and said “Oh you are booked to come here
              tomorrow night!” and then said “Forget I said that”. Naturally that got our
              attention. After we left Dawn spotted a kid with 2016 on the back of his T
              shirt. We asked Arkandin about it and we have a concurrent group focus that does
              meet in that cafe in 2016, including Britta. Dawn’s name is Isabelle Spencer,
              Jib’s is Jennifer….
              The Worm & The Suitcase
              I borrowed Rachel’s big red suitcase for the trip and stuck a Time Bridgers
              sticker on it, and joked before I left about the case disappearing to 2163. I
              had an impulse to take a fig tree sapling for Eric and Jib, which did survive
              the trip although it looked a little shocked at first. As Eric was repotting
              it, we noticed a worm in the soil, and I said, Well, if the fig tree dies at
              least you have the worm.
              At Balzacs house on a bench in the garden there was a magazine lying there open
              to an ad for Spain, which said “If you lose your suitcase it would be the best
              thing because you would have to stay”.
              Later we asked Arkandin and he said that there was something from the future
              inserted into my suitcase. I went all through it wondering what it could be,
              and then a couple of days ago Eric said that it was the WORM! because of the
              WORMwood absinthe syncs, and worm hole etc. I just had a chat with Franci who
              had a big worm sync a couple of days ago, she particularly noticed a very big
              worm outside the second hand shop, and noted that she hadn’t seen a worm in ages
              ~ which is also a sync, because there was a big second hand clothes shop next to
              Dawn and Mark’s hotel that I went into looking for a bowler hat.
              Arkandin said, by the way, that Jane did forget to mention the bowler hats in
              OS7, those two guys on the balcony were indeed wearing bowler hats, and that
              they were the same guys that were in my bedroom in the dream I had prior to
              finding the Seth stuff ~ Elias and Patel.
              Eric replied:

              And another Time Bridger thing; a while ago, Jib and I had fun planting some TB stickers at random places in Paris (and some on a wooden gate at Jib’s hometown).
              Those in Paris I remember were one at the waiting room of a big tech department store, and another on the huge “Bateaux Mouches” sign on the Pont de l’Alma (bridge, the one of Lady D. where there is a gilded replica of Lady Liberty’s flame).
              I think there are pics of that on Jib’s or my flickr account somewhere.
              When we were walking past this spot, Jib suddenly remembered the TB sticker — meanwhile, the sign which was quite clean before had been written all over, and had other stickers everywhere. We wondered whether it was still here, and there it was! It’s been something like 2 years… Kind of amazing to think it’s still there, and imagine all the people that may have seen it since!
              ~~~~

              The Flights

              I wasn’t all that keen on flying and procrastinated for ages about the trip. I
              flew with EASYjet, so it was nice to see the word EASY everywhere. I got on the
              plane to find that they don’t allocate seats, and chose a seat right at the
              front on the left. The head flight attendant was extremely playful for the
              whole flight, constantly cracking up laughing and teasing the other flight
              attendants, who would poke him and make him laugh during announcements so that
              he kept having to put the phone down while he laughed. I spent the whole flight
              laughing and catching his mischeivously twinking eye.
              I asked Arkandin about him and he said his energy was superimposed. I got on
              the flight to come home and was met on the plane by the same guy! I said
              HELLO! It’s YOU again! Can I sit in the same seat and are you going to make me
              laugh again” and he actually moved the person that was in my seat and said I
              could sit there. Then he asked me about my book (about magic and Napolean). He
              also said that all his flights all week had been delayed except the two that I
              was on. He wanted to give me a card for frequent flyers but I told him I
              usually flew without planes ~ that cracked him up ;))
              ~~~

              The Dream Bean

              Eric cracked open a special big African bean that is supposed to enhance
              dreams/lucidity so we all had a bit of it. The second night I remembered a
              dream and it was a wonderful one.
              (Coincidentally, on the flight home I read a few pages of my book and it just
              happened to be about the council of five dragons and misuse of magical beans)
              In the dream I had a companion with magical powers, who I presumed was Jib but
              it was myself actually. It was a long adventure dream of being chased and
              various adventures across the countryside, but there was no stress, it was all
              great fun. Everytime things got a bit too close in the dream, I’d hold onto my
              friend with magical powers, and we would elevate above the “adventure” and drop
              down in another location out of immediate danger ~ although we were never
              outside of the adventure, so to speak. At one point I wondered why my magical
              freind didn’t just elevate us right up high and out of it completely, and
              realized that we were in the adventure game on purpose for the fun of it, so why
              would we remove ourselves completely from the adventure game.
              In the dream I remember we were heading for Holland at one point, and then the
              last part we were safely heading for Turkey…..
              The other dream snapshot was “we are all working together on roof tiles” and
              Arkandin had some interesting stuff to say about that one.
              ~~~

              There were alot of vampire imagery incidents starting with me asking Eric if he
              slept in his garden tool box at night, and then the guy who shot out of a door
              right next to Jib and Eric’s, in a bright orange T shirt, carrying a cardboard
              coffin. He stopped for me to take a photo (and Arkandin said it was a Patel pop
              in); then while walking through the outdoor food market someone was chopping a
              crate up and a perfect wooden stake flew across the floor and landed at my feet.
              The next vampire sync was a shop opposite Dawn and Mark’s hotel with 3 coffins
              in the window (I went back to take a pic of the cello actually, didn’t even
              notice the coffins). Inside the shop was an EAU DE NIL MOTOR SCOOTER Share, can
              you beleive it, and a mummy, a stuffed raven, and a row of (Tardis) Red phone
              boxes.
              I had a nightmare last night that I couldn’t find any of my (nine) dogs; the
              only ones I could find were the dead ones.
              ~~~~

              Balzac’s House

              The trip to Balzac’s house was interesting, although in somewhat unexpected
              ways. (Arkandin was Balzac and I was the cook/housekeeper) The house didn’t
              seem “right” somehow to Mark and I and we decided that was probably because
              other than the desk there was no furniture in it. Mark saw a black cat that
              nobody else saw that was an Arkandin pop in (panther essence animal), and Dawn
              felt that he was sitting on a chair, and Mark sat on him. (Arkandin said yes he
              did sit on him ;) The kitchen was being used as an office. Jib felt the house
              was too small, and picked up on a focus of his that rented the other part of the
              house. (The house was one storey high on the side we entered, and two storeys
              high from the road below). There were two pop ins there apparently, one with
              long hair which is a connection to my friend Joy who was part of that group
              focus, and I can’t recall anything about the other one. Dawn was picking up
              that Balzac wasn’t too happy, and I was remembering the part in Cousin Bette
              that infuriated me when I read it, where he goes on and on about how disgusting
              it is for servants to expect their wages when their “betters” are in dire
              straits. Arkandin confirmed that I didn’t get my wages.
              The garden was enchanting and had a couple of sphinx statues and a dead pigeon ~
              as well as the magazine with the suitcase and Spain imagery. Mark signed the
              guest book “brought the cook back” and I replied “no cooking smells this time”.

              #3970
              Jib
              Participant

                That’s funny, Roberto thought, a bunch of nonsense.
                “What’s that ?” asked Liz, her curiosity picked by the alluredness of a strand of words.
                “It just fall off your hat”, said the gardener. He looked at the woman, thinking about what Godfrey had told him. The sunlight certainly made her look radiant. He noticed that the red of her lips was the same as the red rose bush he was just taking care of.
                Liz took the paper.
                “Be careful, It’s sticky”, said Roberto.
                “Say something I don’t know, dear.” She tried to get rid of the paper, tearing it in several pieces in the process.
                “I wonder…” she began, “Finnley”, she called waiting for her help. She would certainly know. She had a habit of sticking her nose everywhere.

                #3954
                F LoveF Love
                Participant

                  “Stop muttering, Godfrey. What are you not in the mood for?” She winked at him *lasciviously.

                  Godfrey glared. “Stupid ignorant fool of a bossy boss and look at this will you!” He pointed dramatically at his letter. “A typo! He spelt my name Dear!

                  LIz was unperturbed.

                  “Well, I will tell you what I am in the mood for!”

                  
She pirouetted around the recalcitrant Finnley who was still standing in the middle of the room and defiantly not making a start on **getting the cabbages.

                  “Nick, nack, paddywack! I’m in the mood for LOOOOVE!” sang LIz loudly and tunelessy.

                  Finnley grimaced and made a hasty exit.

                  notation* trying to sexy things up for our readers.

                  notation** being a euphemism for not writing a comment, of course.

                  #3952
                  ÉricÉric
                  Keymaster

                    “That’s a way to kill the mood” muttered Godfrey. “If you don’t get more compliant, I’m going to have to write you out.”

                    He didn’t say the last sentence out loud, but almost did.

                    The last letter from the editor which had just come through the mail got him all angered. He took a few deep breathes, reminded of the advice of Lady Ping Chongfu, the self-titled Goddess of Fengshui. “You should avoid getting angry during all this year, or the consequences might be disastrous.” Well, she told a lot of rubbish too, that this year men should say yes to their wife, and buy many precious totems and expensive trinkets. Roberto will be in for a spin, with Liz extravagant requests…

                    He looked again at the letter with a resolutely more compliant mood : “Dear, I have reviewed the drafts. The story is not coming out or compelling enough. I have put my remarks on each page. Please check the attached file. You need to rework on this outline. With a brief introduction on last year’s achievement, dwell on the current challenges and requirements to meet our business objectives and then move into strategic plans from your perspective over the period of 3 years that will support the business objectives.”

                    “Damn editors,” he muttered again. “Can’t believe the cheek, “not coming out or compelling enough.” That’s really a way to kill the mood.”

                    #3940

                    In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

                    “Actually, I was thinking about you, Dispersee, for a rather delicate mission.”
                    Medlik said in a slightly coying voice. “I’m getting anxious vibes from the Lady Floverley, and I think she may have run into trouble with the lost refugees.”

                    Medlik knew he’d caught her attention at the words “archangeology” and “refugee”. He didn’t actually use yet the word “archangeology”, but don’t forget all time is simultaneous in the Ascended Spheres.

                    “If I remember well,” Medlik continued with increased coyness “you were accustomed to delicate tasks of exploration in connecting with sensitive groups of people and tribes of many cultures in another lifetime of yours dear Gertie.”

                    The remembrance of her old nickname triggered amounts of memories, sand and romance, not necessarily in that order, nor in any order as it may.

                    “Well, then, it is agreed Lady Dispersee. You will go to settle the Dessert Lands, and offer the recalcitrant story refugees a domain carved from the old stories, with new borders and frontiers. Settle them well into their new territories, and let them forget about these silly liberties they have taken with their roles. Pip, pip, off you go. And don’t forget the Lady Floverley in her predicament.”

                    Medlik almost thought of how leaderly all that sounded, but he wouldn’t tip off the Lady Dispersee who would surely stubbornly go the opposite way, had she realized she was about to miss a novel way to defy authority.

                    #3939
                    ÉricÉric
                    Keymaster

                      Big G came to the rescue, as poor Finnley was visibly at a loss for words. Having her talking culinary delights was in itself a revelation as to her levels of stress.

                      Liz, dear. I think your cousin Badul is going to invite us for her nth wedding. There always has been a sort of untold competition between the two of you, hasn’t it?”
                      “Godfey, don’t be silly. There hardly was ever a competition at all, to begin with. Now, be a dear and go fetch me a new husband.”

                      Godfrey had anticipated the unexpected again. His eyes were set on the window, where the shady and hunky enough window-cleaner was peering through, visibly interested by the whole play. With a little make-over, he would make Liz a fine tenth husband, he reckoned.

                      #3938
                      Jib
                      Participant

                        Roberto had just heard the end of their conversation. I want to hear about dear cousin Badul, the old tart had said to the maid. Something in his brain was triggered by that name, something he had been led to forgot by his handlyer in Vegas before… his mission. Yes he remembered now that he had a mission. But still all the little tickling wheels in his brain were catching up with the forgotten memories.

                        He looked inside the house. The old tart was handling what looked like a sheep skull. Was she doing some dark magic ? Was she a bruja ? He was not particularly superstitious or religious, but he had learned to fear the brujas of his village in the desert.

                        “Put that on the library between Byron and Baudelaire, will you?”
                        The maid looked at the skull, then at her mistress with the same rollling eyes. Oh it was subtle, so very sutble that the old lady had certainly not seen it, but he had been trained to read people’s faces… well he had read an old book of Chinese face reading that his grand mother had when he was living there… That’s why they recruited him.

                        The maid left with the skull, removed a few books from the shelf and put the skull unceremoniously in between. She shoved the remaining books randomly on other shelves and shrugged.
                        “I’m going to make a banana yogurt cake… without yogurt”, she said to nobody in particular.

                        #3937
                        F LoveF Love
                        Participant

                          Finnley, who you will surely recall had been on a brief excursion to Nowherehampton, wondered whether to ask what she had missed while away. She decided forlornly there was no point.

                          It never makes any friggin’ sense.

                          Sense was important to Finnley. Even if superficially a subject made no sense, she liked to believe there was an underlying meaning.

                          That’s not true. What are you on about? Your brain is clearly addled. And possibly baduled as well.

                          Finnley! you are monopolising the thread again,” admonished Liz. “You are thinking too much and it is sabotaging the beautiful spontaneity of my story. Now, be a good dear and wipe that surly look off your face. You look so much prettier when you smile; you might even attract yourself a nice young man if you would make a bit more effort. Anyway, do cheer up—I want to hear about dear cousin Badul.”

                          #3934
                          ÉricÉric
                          Keymaster

                            “Why do you suffer pain? You have compressed yourself into a form and an identity, hence the suffering. You pursue spirituality from the same limited and conditioned standpoint and hence you cannot secure any foothold in these pursuits. In whatever subject you are absorbed, you deal with it from the standpoint of a personalized entity, and not as dynamic manifest consciousness…”

                            “Hear that Liz’ ?” Godfrey beamed in delight “It was not Roberto or any bloody character, it was only your dynamic manifest consciousness!”
                            “In other words, are you saying it was all my fault again, cheeky blithering fool?” Liz’ couldn’t contain her petulance.

                            “I think you’re missing the point, dear,… but yes.” He added after a dramatic pause “or you can blame it on Cynchtia Dipity, or her twin sister, Serene.”

                            #3914
                            TracyTracy
                            Participant

                              Liz patted Finnley on the shoulder. “Now, now, dear, I know it’s confusing, one moment confused, the next moment elated and bossy.”

                              #3896
                              TracyTracy
                              Participant

                                “What I really love about this, Finnley,” Liz said, “Is that it really is complete rubbish. I mean, it’s not cleverly pretending to be rubbish, it really IS rubbish. But I am feeling the energy, and I feel that I enjoy such utter rubbish and that’s the feeling that counts. Oh, and by the way, where have you been? You’ve been sorely missed, Finnley dear, there’s been rubbish accumulating all over the place while you’ve been gone.”

                                #3868

                                Becky sat looking at the key in her hand long after the others had gone to bed, her mind going over seemingly disjointed images and random memories, trying to piece them all together. Why had Dory sent her, Becky, the key to the detention camp? She wasn’t expected to fly to the island and physically release the detainee’s surely? Should she send it to someone in the area? But who? Or was it more symbolic? But symbolic of what, exactly?

                                Was it connected to the Imagination Wave? It surely must be, she thought. It must be connected to the surge of story character refugees, looking for a new story.

                                Becky sighed. There had been such a dearth of imagination during the previous waves that literally countless story refugees had been rounded up and detained, with no new stories available anywhere on the planet. Of course this wasn’t actually true: there were always countless new stories to be told, but the lack of imagination, the sheer lack of will to tell them, had brought the global situation to a dreadful impasse.

                                We could write them all out of the stories with a rat tat tat of the keyboards, she mused, and immediately cringed at the idea. Any fool can destroy in seconds. Destruction isn’t power, creation is.

                                Was it a coincidence that the leader of the old story where most of the characters were fleeing from, had the same name as that alien that kept promising to land, but never actually did?

                                Shaking her head, Becky wondered, not for the first time, if the world population can’t handle a few displaced story characters, what in Glods name would be the reaction to a load of aliens? Still clutching the blue key, Becky went to bed. She would discuss it with the others in the morning.

                                #3846

                                “Are you alright, Tina dear?” asked Becky kindly. First she sounded serious and quiet, the next moment seemingly on the verge of hysteria, what was the matter with her?

                                “Rules won’t help much during the Imagination Wave, you know. This is all out chaos, I’m telling you! I didn’t want to think about it, but now that I am, I am wondering if all these displaced and irate characters are going to be following any rules? Hah!” she cackled wildly, more rattled herself than she was willing to admit.

                                #3803

                                In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

                                Lord R’eye, the one-eyed ruler of the known universe, was known by many names, a great lot of them completely forgotten by the masses. He had to constantly reinvent Himself, borrow new disguises, create factions, sprinkle in a few miracles, create order ab chao and voilà.

                                He owned a few bodies, strategically placed here and there, one of his favourite in Geneva, quite involved in banking affairs. His bodies were a rare indulgence, and he couldn’t stay too long either, as his massive energy could easily get stuck with the lot of them, down to density.
                                Overall, he was much more comfortable managing his immense wealth “up there”, in the cosmic realms he had helped shape. So many underlings were ready to carry on his biding, and apart from a few small number of very close ergo very dangerous confidants, many of the minions didn’t even know each other, or that they were, for the most part, owned by Him, and part of the same team.

                                This was a cut-throat business, He had to admit, and everything was based on it. Manipulation and deceit, coercion, coaxing, anything necessary to control and manage the Empire.

                                One of those confidants, Lord Apex had been summoned and appeared almost instantly.
                                He had this charming archangelic halo and aura, but Lord R’eye would have none of it. A correction was in order, the latest results were extremely concerning.

                                “My Lord?” Apex asked in his mellifluous voice.
                                “My dear Apex, remind me what responsibility I gave you last century?”
                                “Of course my Lord, the Innovation project, the Great Disclosure and Holographic Contact projects, amongst other proj…”
                                “And how much progress have we had with those?”
                                “Well, my Lord surely knows that so much herding is delicate. The interference with Lord Bael’s projects too, you should know…”
                                “The Desert and Green Revolutions projects, indeed. A great success, so much pain and anguish! That’s what I’m talking, you should learn from Bael.”
                                “But my Lord, that has caused quite a conundrum with the Mars simulation, which, by way of fractal holographic recurrence, could well impact the whole delicate matrix we weave…”
                                “Stop your angel speech, Me’dammit. Plain Anguish, so I can understand every word. The Hell pits cannot wait to have you, so you better give some good explanation.”
                                “I mean, my Lord, that were the sheeple able to glimpse that the Mars experiment is but a reflection of a deception of grander scale in the cosmic realms, that the aliens saviours, or whatever saviours or… masters of any genre, are just ways to fleece them off their power… “
                                “Everything would unravel like a pile of dominos.” Lord R’eye’s voice made very clear that he had full grasp of the situation. “So,” he continued with the nicest menacingest voice “you better make sure that doesn’t happen.”

                                He dismissed Apex with a wave of a thought.

                                If the net of illusions unravelled before they have time to create the Earth 5th Dimension in time to double their profit, it would certainly be a disaster.

                                A few humans lost through the gaps were a hard to accept reality, but so long as they could cut the losses, it was not dramatic. But they were talking another order of magnitude. It could be a definitive blow. It always had been an issue when the net of illusion became too big in the past. They had bigger and bigger holes. So they had to start again, destroy, and recreate civilisations.
                                Stupid humans, if only they knew that Ascension was not the way out.

                              Viewing 20 results - 201 through 220 (of 498 total)