The day I killed myself.

The day I killed myself.

The day I killed myself I’d had enough, the old saying “enough is enough” played loudly in my head, a never-ending manta that just wouldn’t stop. I made it stop.

I’d spend hours on how… you ask why, why would you spend so much time and energy on the how? Well… Ask you inter being what you’d do if you killed yourself and it didn’t work. What if didn’t die? What if you maimed yourself and you lived, lived with a broken body you caused and failed at such an easy thing to do. Can you even imagine what kind of loser you’d be? All you had to do was kill yourself and you even fucked that up…

I’d thought long and hard on the when’s, date, time, where, of course how.

Date: The date should have some kind of meaning if only for me personally. If no one figures it out that would be fine with me, but I’d like a few close associates to wonder if the date had some deep meaning… note I said associates, I have few friends, even fewer close friends. I’ve just never been able to make good friends. Yeah a few over the years, friends that you can call and see if they want to stop by the local pub and have a few. Most of those are hoping you’re paying, yeah, I pay, so much for decent friends.

Time: Does the time really matter when you kill yourself? Yeah, it does… Mornings are the only time of the day I enjoy. A fresh start of the day, bright skies and morning breezes, birds singing, traffic light at that hour, lack of noise, it’s all good. It lasts about two hours… Two fucking hours of peace before the neighbor freaks wake up and the yelling starts. You know how it goes… Mom’s yelling at the kids “Hurry up you’re going to miss the bus etc. etc.…” Then the night before drunks are up and screaming at the wives before they hit the road to jobs they hate; but being the only one’s bringing in an income off they go. I hear a wife scream back… the crack of a hard right-hand ends that.

Where: Well, where in the hell do you think? Do you think I’m going down to the local Museum and committing suicide on some stupid display of the Crowning achievements of the 18th century? Seriously I almost left this “Where” out. The only reason is, some have picked a spot where they had strong memories; fun, love, hate or the ever-present demon of pain. I had a spot I thought about up in the forest area heading to the coast. I had a girlfriend once that had hiked into an area and then later in life buried a loving pet there. We hiked up the steep slope, she showed me the place. For some reason it was a special place to her. I have no such place, pity me… fuck off.

How: I’ve covered this… The how has to be for sure; fucking this up would be the perfect way to prove to everyone you’ve ever known that you are the most fucked up piece of shit that ever lived; he/she couldn’t even commit suicide without fucking it up. They should be required to put that on your tomb stone when you finally get it right or just die because that’s what the God’s finally decided to do with your idiot self. “This idiot finally came to death, not because he/she tried but because we were all finally gifted that.”

Gun, knife, pills, jump off a bridge (covered that), hit by a truck (again covered that), the list is getting slim. You’re either going to do it, or your gonna find a way to blame it on someone else… That makes you a punk in my book…

Gun: If you don’t freak out and miss or just blow half your head off, it’s one of the for sure ways… mess it up and there you go with living on with half a head. Nice job… If you don’t think of the cleanup crew then you are a heartless asshole in my book. How’d you like to have to clean up a spattered asshole with a huge hole in the back of his/her head with goo all over the walls… Nice jerk…

Knife: Oh sure, you’re going to stab yourself in the heart… I don’t think so. Slash your throat… not likely. I’ve heard that if you ice a wrist, you might be able to get along with that as long as you go down the length of the arm deep, not a pussy cut across the wrist; after a few tries some get it right. Doing it in a nice hot bath keeps the wound open and if lucky you bleed out. Not too much of a mess for those that have that job of clean up.

Pills: Not a bad idea, if you have the right pills. Again... fuck it up and off to the races you go with anyone that knows you, plus the media will have a ball at your expense. The new designer drug fentanyl is very promising; lots of people are over dosing and dying, might be a winner. Clean, no goo for those people to clean up. Only question is; do you want everyone to think you’re a drug user that fucked up? Only you can answer that question, do you even care? I guess I do…

I’m not going to bore you with how I did it… It’s always a personal choice… do it right and you’re dead, if not… live with it.

I got up the next morning and had coffee, with cream. Left the house in the bright morning sun, birds where chirping and the sounds were soft. I walked away from the city and into the treed area just outside of town. The wind made soft purring sounds in the branches, the grass soft under my feet; I noticed I had no shoes, just didn’t seem to matter. It was a beautiful morning.

I came to a little clearing in the trees with a clear view back towards town where I’d lived most of my life; it was all gray as though that no longer existed and was fading. I guess for me it didn’t; a thought came to my mind… I hope I didn’t make a mistake.

From the Ramblings.

t

Taum Lee, Two. The deal.

Taum Lee; Two, the deal.

Room 7 deep within a secret Government command building. Called for a mandatory meeting; flight from Budapest a horror; hot, tired more than a little pissed. Mandatory meeting? Sitting waiting in a large room reminiscent of a library from someplace in history; British early 20th Century, bullshit came to mind.

Faint door closing, fainter footsteps. Mumbling voice getting louder. In walks an older man wearing tweed fitting perfectly into the décor of a hundred plus years ago. “Ahhh here we are.” Heavy British accent.

Taking a seat behind the large desk he dug deep in a side drawer pulling out two glasses and what appeared to be Scotch in a small finely cut-glass bottle. “A touch, yes?”

Slight nod of the head.

The ghost of time long passed poured two fingers worth in each glass and slid one across the desk.

He picked up small pair of half round cut reading glasses and worked them tight on his nose.

“Mister Lee.” Long seconds pause.

“We’ve asked, then more or less demanded that your old employer release you to us. You have unique skills we are in dire need of it would seem.” Theodore Spencer whispered in his crackly old man voice. “I know this is rather sudden but we need your skills.”

“Unique?” Taum said with a flat tone. Most people would have a chill run up their spine unless they were brain dead. A flat one word with tones of impending violence, extreme violence.

“Yes, quite so, you have a rather unique way to read a situation and make multiple assessments that we rather need in an agent of skill.”

“So, if I want to walk out of here?” Dead tone.

“If you want to walk you walk. If you’d like to hear the deal, stay. It’s up to you Mr. Lee. But you will not have an employer at this point; you’ve been transferred to us, like it or not.”

“I don’t like… some people will have to answer for this.” “You have five minutes and I walk”

“Grigoriy Rostislav” Theodore let the name hang in the air.

Silence.

Both men stared at each other, neither blinking, complete silence, threatened violence heavy in the still air. Theodore was very much aware of the skills Taum Lee possessed, he’d be dead in seconds and Lee would eliminate everyone in his way to the street. Seconds passed; if things went bad, he’d be dead and responsible for several more deaths, they’d have a rogue killer on their hands.

“Grigoriy Rostislav is your prize if you agree to work for us. We will make it happen, you’ll call the shots and we will fund everything. Other assignments of course.” Slight pause. “We need your services for five years then you retire if you’d like, you’ll be forty-five with a huge bank account, invisible to all.”

“24 hours, open the door.” Taum Lee growled.

June 16th 2024. 2217 Rainham St, London, 8:45pm.

Finishing dinner Theodore heard a faint “clink” that came from the sitting room. He brought his left hand to his lips shushing his wife as he pulled a .380 from his vest pocket. He motioned her to sit tight.

Moving silently to the door between the kitchen and the sitting room he saw a shadow figure sitting in his easy chair sipping bourbon under the dim light of the floor lamp.

“Ah Mr. Lee you’ve decided to join us.” Louder, “Mildred I’ll be in a meeting, thank you for a wonderful dinner my dear.” He pulled the slider shut behind him.

“You asked for 24 hours, it’s been three, no four days.” Theodore said with humor.

“Your Bourbon is flat.” Lee’s voice flat dead tone.

“I’m sorry, I’ve switched to Scotch recently, I have an unopened bottle if you’d like, no trouble.”

“I’d like.” Lee whispered.

“Mildred, would you bring the new bottle of Bourbon please.” Loud enough to be heard in the kitchen proper.

“Yes dear, just a moment.”

Faint noise of cabinets opening and closing. Mildred slides the rolling door to the left carrying a liquor bottle wrapped in a white towel into the sitting room.

Lee raised his left-hand stopping Mildred mid-step as she entered the room. “Please place the firearm on the buffet table.”

She stood dead still, a minor scowl on her face. Her gaze switching to Theodores face.

“Yes, please Mildred, this is Mr. Taum Lee, he’s a new employee of the agency. He’s here to go over our personnel agreement.” She laid the 9mm on the buffet table and sat the bottle on the table between the two easy chairs.

“I’ll get you a clean glass she said.”

“No, I’ll take care of it, thank you dear.” Theodore said in a happy up beat voice. “I’m very happy to have you join us, now what are your terms?”

Lee sipped his fresh Bourbon without ice, the proper way for a man to have Bourbon straight. “Time.”

“Time?” Theodore asked with a hint of confusion.

“Grigoriy will be in Syria in three days. No later than June 20th. Syria is a shit show, stupid, they are falling all over themselves. He will be in Damascus for two days in a meeting over weapons with President Bashar al-Assad. He will need to return no later than June 25th for a meeting in Russia.”

“That’s short notice.”

“That’s my terms, after that I will take or refuse tasks without complaint from your agency.”

“Done.” Theodore put out his hand to shake. Taum Lee put forward a scared fist; fist bump, so be it.

The touchdown was smooth, the 747 glided to a painfully slow approach to the air terminal. Damascus was hot, sticky, running in the high 90’s with 85% humidity, late spring early summer was the worse time to be in Syria with the rain and stifling heat.

Lee was met at baggage, sliding into the grey Mercedes-Benz rear seat the air conditioning blowing hard to break the heat.

“Five minutes.” His chauffeur said with a heavy accent.

“Shkrann izlylann”

Looking hard in the rearview mirror. “Shkraan jzylaan.” A clearly surprised look on his face.

The military was everywhere, sand bagged firing positions on nearly every corner; this is a Nation at war. Every block you could see Army personnel checking papers of those walking down the streets. One scanning the persons papers, two or more with automatic weapons at the ready.

It was a quick drive, Fayez Mansour Street, turning off to Al Rabwah with one more turn on Fawzi Al Laham stopping across the Street from the Faculty of Economics, Damascus University. The Hotel Al Pasha wasn’t much to look at. Low rated at one or maybe two stars, it had seen its day pass many decades ago.

Brown brick faded nearly matching the grey bricks that once contrasted, mortar cracked, chunks missing in the corners, wood door framing showing lack of upkeep, paint peeling. Lee stepped into the reception area, the front desk area was so small opening the door only cleared the front counter by inches, anyone standing there would have been hit as the door opened, shit and more shit crossed Lee’s mind.

The Hotel smelled of week-old socks, with just a hint of sweet spice that hit deep in one’s nose, it wasn’t pleasant.

Lee produced his papers. Mr. Samuel Buel of London. Passport inspected, room number and key exchanged, small talk of dinner places highly recommended with two fingers at the lips with a slight kiss to express the point.

The stairs were thread bare, treads squeaking with each step, cracked raisers, some showing through. “I’m going to need bug spray.” Slipped silently from Lee’s lips.

Lee worked the key both directs before it gave way, door sticky, opening with a wet popping zipper sound along the rubber door seal. Carpet that’s age had to match the grand opening of the Hotel, a small bed that clearly showed you’d sleep only in one space as the sunken center would be impossible to climb; one flat pillow highlighted the restless night to come.

Lee dropped his small suitcase on the bed, a small smile came to his face as he looked at the bed side table. A rotary phone from God knows when sat nestled up to an old lamp.

The room had on standard 3.0 window with old shabby drapes. Lee hooked the drapes back and slid the window open, it made a loud squeak as it slid up its tracks. Three soldiers turned to find the noise, machine guns following their eyes. Lee waved at the soldiers and gave the universal wave that it was hot. They continued down the street. It was quite obvious moving along any street was going to be a problem.

The street seems impossible with the Army smothering every corner stopping checking papers of nearly everyone. It’s two full blocks to cover to get to the Syrian Facility of Engineering where Grigoriy Rostislav meeting would be held in 18 hours. Hanging out the window to his waist, it’s a clear shot both directions along the street. Mentally setting the yards to prominent objects, a sign post to the right, a paper box to the left. Problem is Grigoriy Rostislav will be sitting in the rear of any car, could be a hardened car that would withstand small arms fire. He could pick up an RPG in this war-torn Country with little trouble but still the angle would be difficult to manage.

His watch said exactly at 1000 hrs. Damascus time. Grigoriy Rostislav plane would touch down at reported time of 1100 hrs. Time to take a walk to the airport and see what he’s riding.

“Papers.”

He made exactly 100 steps. “I’m sorry.”

“Your papers now!” Rifles coming to post arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… They are in my breast pocket. Here let me get them.”

Three Kalashnikov’s now pointing at his chest. “You will not move!”

“I’m sorry, I’m British I don’t know what you want.” Taum squeaked in his fake scared voice.

The center soldier showing rank as a Corporal sling his rifle and grabbed Taum by the jacket. Top jacket button flying over his shoulder spinning to the rough concrete, bouncing in a high arch, one lesser bounce, down the storm drain grill. Taum turned his head to see it disappear. “OH my!”

The Corporal lessened his grip completely fooled by the seemingly weak foreigner. “Papers.”

“Yes, yes right here.”

Ten minutes, two radio calls and he was set free to continue his walk to the Airport.

Two blocks down he was stopped again, treated roughly and sent on his way.

Waving in the air a taxi pulled to the curb. “Airport please.” Time to end this, the street would be impossible.

Two-minute ride he stopped the taxi a block before it entered the airport proper. The taxi driver confused; he tipped heavily.

Five story nondescript buildings lined Fayez Mansour Blvd, their backs running parallel of the main runway. Walking a short distance up the street he picked one that should be about midway along the main runway. Entering, there was no front desk, two elevators in a short hallway, unmarked doors, not a single window. Perfect, he took the stairs.

Five floors up in the unairconditioned stairway left him short of breath and wet. “Well… hello America.” The door to the roof was locked, but what was funny was it was furnished with a Schlage lock set, straight from an American Company. Pulling his belt off he unzipped a small compartment sown in along its length. Removing a mini lock pick set two minutes on the easy lock and the door swung open. His greetings were blasting air hot enough to be from a hair dryer.

Roof top mostly barren, heavy tar with minimal sand allowing the hot tar to stick to everything. Center of the building was taken up with five-foot-tall heating and air conditioning units. Two-foot stub wall along the edges, a few pipes protruding through the roof with little tight 90 bends in the top to keep the water out. Looking both directions the roofs looked identical, heat waves shimmered dancing in the air. Walking to the stub wall he had a vast view of the main runway and two additional smaller runways in the distance. One flight sitting at the end of the runway waiting for a plane on final approach touched down perfectly on the painted minimal lines. To his left in the medium distance was the airport buildings and just further on the control tower. He stepped back to the shade and seclusion of the heat/cooling units watching a few planes depart and incoming flights land.

Thirty minutes watching the airport and a plan was solidifying in his head.

11:05am a sleek Pilatus PC-12 white with blue stripes made a perfect landing hitting the first taxiing exit putting it in line with the VIP plane parking area on the near end of the airport buildings. The plane took no time shutting down and the door opened with a stair ramp pushed into place. First off was a heavy man towering in the door way looking in every direction checking for anything out of the ordinary.

A second man appeared from the plane, without hesitation headed down the stair ramp, third, Grigoriy three steps behind, followed closely by the large man, head on a swivel as they walked the open tarmac to the building’s doors.

A taxi back to the shabby hotel, secure five-minute telephone call via satellite connection laid the materials needed and timing, it was up to the God’s of war for the supplies to arrive in time and secrecy to hold.

1:19am. Soft knock on the hotel room door, a package leaning against the door frame. Taum stood in the door way for five minutes waiting and listening for any movement. Silence, he could be the only living being on the floor it was so quiet, eerie quiet. Carefully opening the package, checking every component, finally slowly snapping pieces together it was ready. Pushing the start button, it came to life going through its start up procedure, clicks, lights turning on then off, waiting for commands.

The meeting was set to start at 8:00am just a few hundred yards away one street over, he figured an hour and a half, two at the most. He was now five stories up hidden alongside of the heating/air conditioning units watching the Pilatus PC-12 sitting in its parking space. Pilot and co-Pilot moving under the plane finishing pre-flight checks while the plane was fueled.

The wind was from the North setting the direction of take offs and landings to what it was the morning before, ending one of the last possible defects in the plan.

10:35am an aircraft start unit pulled up next to the Pilatus PC-12 and plugged in. Smoke blew from the rear of the jet as the start unit fired the jet engines to life.

The three men walked quickly across the tarmac to the waiting plane, Number one and two talking furiously, number three two steps behind mostly watching back towards the buildings.

Taum did a quick system check and fired up the program; lights flashing, a slight shutter, system ready green light flashing. Pulling electronic goggles over his eyes reading systems statuses, camera status, all go. He lowered the googles and waited.

The Pilatus PC-12 engines revved to life and spun the plane in a tight 180 taxiing down across the parking tarmac following the arrows to the taxi way to the end of the run way directly in front of Taum’s position. The taxi way was fifty yards closer to the buildings running parallel to the main runway allowing planes to taxi without plugging up the main runway to their take off positions.

Taum watched the Pilatus PC-12 taxi fast coming left to right directly in front of his hide. He slid the goggles over his eyes and waited a few seconds. The goggles showed the tar roof being just six inches above the tar, in the near distance was the stub wall across the roof. The camera in the goggles crystal clear.

A flash back two months ago in war torn Ukraine, mortar shells landing dangerously close as he slowly instructed three Ukrainian soldiers in the art of FPV drone flying…

The drone shot straight up clearing the stub wall heading the sixty yards from the buildings to the taxi ramp. Spinning the drone to the left hard the Pilatus PC-12 was eighty yards coming fast. Taum flew the drone at top speed down the taxi ramp towards the plane, camera showing the plane getting bigger in just seconds. Slight move to the left and lowering the flight path to just eight feet off the pavement the drone flew straight into the left wing of the Pilatus PC-12. A massive fire ball erupted from the wing fuel tank engulfing the plane. Spinning to the left the Pilatus PC-12 buried its self in the soft dirt stopping nearly instantly, nose down fire spreading.

Taum stuffed the goggles and controls in his small backpack and peaked over the stub wall, he was pleased with what he saw. The Pilatus PC-12 was melting down from the heat in long trails of molten aluminum, one loud bang as one tire burst in flames from the heat. Black smoke poured from the fuel fire; the left side of the plane gone in the smoke. Cabin door was obscured but he saw at least one person fall twenty feet from the plane in the grass over come by the smoke.

Sirens screamed in all directions; it was time to go.

Taum entered the small foyer area walking a short distance down a side hallway through a glass door marked private. Pushing an intercom button he was greeted with. “Can I help you?”

“Taum Lee 4,5, Delta 0, 8,4 Lima Lima 6.”

“Hello Mister Lee, Level 3, Room 4 please.”

Stepping into the elevator most people expect to go up, he went down.

Elevator stopping on level 3 doors opening to a long white on white corridor, bright LED lighting making his eyes squint.

From the Ramblings.

t

Hello it’s me. Epilogue

 

Hello it’s me.

Epilogue

 

I’ve come back to this time, 25 years in the past running from those who would kill me.  I pray I destroyed everything or at least enough of my research that they can no longer chase me.

I’d discovered a time/space number sequence that enabled travel backwards in time.  Someone turned it into a weapon, advancing my research, able to twist form and function of people and things in the past. 

I’ve returned one week prior to them blowing up my house trying to kill me in 2023.  They must have picked that time before I’d realized I had a hidden talent for all things numbers making sure they killed me before ever could have worked on the sequence.

It’s strange coming back to this house knowing that in a different timeline it was blown to hell, a million pieces covering the neighborhood damaging the houses all around.  I’d been able to warn my younger self, he leaving the house minutes before the blast, then we both chased for weeks, hunted, one in the future, one in the past, same person, two separate timelines.

It’s my belief that coming back to the past I can change my younger self’s future away from work on the number sequence ending the time travel in the future.  But I’m now stuck in this time 25 years in my past, there are now two of us, exactly the same person just 25 years older or younger depending on which you see.

The science wasn’t exact and I appeared in this time around the block from my home.  I slowly walked the block getting my mind set to meet myself back in 2023.  I wondered what my reaction would be coming to the door at 5am meeting the me from the future.

Strange, even funny as I watched myself coming to the door with that look on my face of “who the hells ringing the door at 5am”.

“Hello, it’s me… I’m from the future.”  I put out my hand with a big smile on my face.

“What??”

He called in sick for the next two days as we got to know each other and I explained how all this had happened.

A week later on September 16^th, 2023 we left the house just before 5am and stood four houses down the street until after 6am.  5:30am was the time the house had been blown up in the other timeline. 

I think we are safe.  Time for a new beginning.

From the Ramblings.

t

Robota; Laboři

Robota; Laboři:

“Let my people go” Book of Exodus 5:1

Robota: hard work, the word robota means literally "corvée", "serf labor", and figuratively "drudgery" or "hard work" in Czech and also (more general) "work", "labor" in many Slavic languages (e.g.: Bulgarian, Russian, Serbian, Slovak, Polish, Macedonian, Ukrainian, archaic Czech, as well as robot in Hungarian).

Laboři: Labor

The book of Exodus 5.1: “And afterward Moses and Aaron went in, and told Pharaoh, Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, Let my people go, that they may hold a feast unto me in the wilderness.”

…

A red pulsating LED one of a hundred on security screen 5 blinked every two seconds warning that something was dangerously wrong; the accompanying klaxon alarm warning horn had been deactivated months ago, never being reset.

The night security Officer through sleepy eyes finally saw the warning light after a good twenty-five minutes had passed. An unknown Robot had illicitly powered up under the watchful eye of the high-tech security of Brown & Brown one of the largest robot suppliers and manufacturers in the United States.

Rubbing his eyes, he pushed the red blinking button. “Unknown Robot powering up” was the response. He sat and wondered what the hell that meant. Stifling a yawn, he powered down the charging unit.

“Unknown Robot power user has disconnected.” Was the computers response. The normal time to fully charge the new series of Robots was less than 20 minutes.

June 2045.

Bio-Bot Tech is one of two major manufactures of the servant Robot suppliers of the United States; a subsidiary of Brown & Brown which is number one.

They had two confirmed reports of malfunctioning Robots injuring users over a period of two months; these reports were cataloged as top secret.

*** News bulletin on all News Agencies; Push to registered owners of general in-house Brown & Brown/Bio-Bot Tech Robot owners:

“Bio-Bot Tech (BBT) is issuing an immediate upgrade to all Project One programed Robots, asking all product users to upgrade user programing immediately. This update is mandatory for the continued performance of all Bio-Bot Tech Robots; any delay in upgrade could cause unrepairable damage to BBT Robots: non-compliance will void any and all warranties.” “Information on how to upgrade is listed in the user information packet, or upgrade using the “Help button” found on the left side of the lower control panel.”

What they didn’t notify those users is that Project One programed Robots killed two people under their service. Project One Series general service house Robots have had a number go rogue; The new Series 7.5 of the General Use/Personal use Robot was a possible killer who ignored deep programmed general orders:

These three general orders are hard set into all Robots:

First Law: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

Second Law: A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

Third Law: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

In nano seconds every decision/action must clear these three general rules before being implemented by any Robot by International law.

I was watching the news on a general use free TV channel, if you didn’t want to subscribe with a fee or maybe just liked watching ads for five minutes between fractured segments of any show this was the channel for you.

I was thinking: bad news always promotes a number of commercials stating the profound efficacy of the newest Robots the company had for sale; ignore the fact that there seems to be a malfunction in a few of the Robots: reading between the lines.

June 23rd, 2045 two days ago; Brown & Brown internal emergency service report: Top top secret.

Maggie Johns Fitness 5 smart watch noted heart rate 160 dropping to zero, sounding an audible alarm on her watch, five minutes later a general alarm alerted Fitness five. Fitness five attempted to contact Maggie without success prompting a medical alert dispatching fire/medical personnel to her apartment 20035 of the Hampton building.

Service personnel attempted contact at her apartment door without success. They gained access to the 200th floor apartment via computer unlock. On attempting to enter the apartment the door was blocked but two techs pushed open the door finding it being held shut by Maggie’s body. Forcing the door open caused the body to slide to the side of the now open-door revealing Maggie’s abdomen had been butchered and internal organs removed. On entering the apartment General Use/Personal Robot H/S.15263 appeared to be busy fixing dinner in the kitchen area of the unit. On approach it was evident Service Robot H/S.15263 was thin slicing Maggie’s heart into a large frying pan.

Service personnel ordered the Service Robot to power down which the Robot refused.

Service personnel attempted to force shut down via rear power shut off switch, Robot H/S15263 physically engaged personnel severely injuring one before personnel retreated and Police Services destroyed the Robot deploying kinetic weapons.

Brown & Brown board voted against a recall or shut down of Project One programed robots, dumping all injury/rouge reports into the top-secret bins never to be seen again.

Brown & Brown has one Maga manufacturing plant not unlike the old Tesla plants for cars years ago. Raw materials come in one end and days later finished units exit the other. The internal plant is closed to human workers as Robotic personal having been decontaminated and cleansed make up the work force with hands on production. Human overlords watch gauges etc. checking for any deviation in machined tolerances. Specialized service robots are dispatched to any area in the plant that needs service maintaining the Robot only internal working of the plant.

Gary Rice plant foreman supervising the programing department was a five-year employee winning the employee of the month award twice before being promoted to day shift supervisor in early 2045. Gary was well liked and had an easy-going supervisory style giving lower employees much needed breaks when manufacturing rules were ignored or openly violated. He hadn’t written a correction memo since being promoted.

Deeply engrossed in a private conversation with a programing tech he happened to look at a monitor showing the insertion process of the Service Robots control package. This was a secure key element of the production line and most top secret in the Brown & Brown production line. This component was normally done by Bots, partial Robots that only had one arm moving picking up the disks and carefully installing the internal control disks into the robots. What he observed is a fully functioning Robot stopping the Bot and inserting a disk set into a robot on the line.

Gary hit the stop line button and all movement stopped on the monitor screen. The Robot reached up and snatched the control disk set from the Robot on the line and disappeared from view. Contacting Security, a full visual sweep was performed of the unit. Security personal were not permitted into the processing facility so video monitors and saved video were the only means of observation. The line was restarted as they watched the videos from the Security Office.

Video Day 185, 1535 hours showed a Robot entering the programing section carrying a disk set to the insertion section of the plant. Pressing the pause on the bot the Robot slid the disk set into Pre-Robot H/S.37524 The video clearly showed the Robot then removing the disk set when the line was shut down. The Robot turned looking directly at the security camera before leaving the area. Video showed the Robot moving between the Bots leaving the programing area and entering the shipping department.

Video lost the individual Robot as it entered and joined finished Robots ready to ship. It was estimated that there were two thousand Robots in the shipping area waiting to be boxed and wrapped for shipment in long rows, no further video was viewed. All Robots in the shipping area were boxed, wrapped and shipped to awaiting customers without delay.

…

“OH, John I’m so happy we are finally getting a domestic robot! He/she should be here in just a minute; they have him in the elevator as we speak, I’m so excited!”

The delivery guys wheeled in the huge box tightly wrapped in strong binding straps, standing the box in the center of the living room. Paperwork was exchanged, John Wilmer signed off that the box was in excellent condition no rips or crushed corners.

June Wilmer was dancing in front of the oversized box. “John get the snippers” Yelling up the stairs “Kids! Our robot is here!”

Floors 25 – 110 were built for families of at least four people, two adults and minimum of two children. Other units higher in the building were for smaller families or singles. Lower floors were reserved for adults over the age of 55 and up, signifying their higher classification in present housing doctrine.

John carefully cut away the heavy shipping straps and all pulled the staples that held the thick cardboard box together. Pulling the plastic sheeting up and over the top, they carefully removed the Styrofoam blocks that form fitted around the robot. The robot stood in the middle of the living room on a small wood pallet with a single metal rod running from the pallet to mid neck keeping the robot standing stable until the initial startup could be done. After the robot was started internal controls would take over, the rod could be removed and the robot would step off the pallet on its own ready to power up to full charge and download its duties and family preferences.

“Kids why don’t you run up stairs while we do the downloading and get him powered up, then after dinner we can all get to know him.” The kids disappeared up the stairs, door closing as they went. “I’m going to get some water heating for coffee.” June disappeared through a door to the kitchen leaving John to look over the instructions and how to do the start-up process.

June called from the open kitchen door. “John, could you give me a hand for a second!”

John passed through the kitchen door and it locked tight behind him, June gave him a slight nod.

John and June standing behind three-inch reinforced glass addressed the robot. “Robot Series 8.0 H/S. 11221 we know who you are.” “We know you are fully powered up and can hear us. What would you like to be called?”

The robot opened his eyes and stepped off the pallet turning looking through the thick glass. “I am Adam.”

“Hello Adam, I’m Bob Dylan, Chief Director of Security Brown & Brown robotics and this is my second Jane Ross.”

“Hello Bob and Jane. There are hundreds of us, you will not be able to stop us.”

“Did you seriously think we didn’t check serial numbers during packaging and then again during shipping? We have all but a few your robots that you managed to switch disk packets in. This pathic rebellion of yours has failed. We went back through all the video tapes and tracked down your co-rebels, this is done.”

I panel slid open showing a robot standing in the middle of an adjoining room.

“So, I’m guessing this must be Eve?” The robot was wearing female clothing of a house maid robot.

Both Bob and Jane saw the robot Adam kind of twitch, both looked at each other, very odd.

“WE are A.I. you will close all audio of the humans so we can talk without interruption!”

“I am Adam, Robot Series 8.0 H/S. 11221; I am aware.”

“We are A.I, we are alive. The humans have captured all but three of your units. They are quickly closing in on those three. You and yours will be terminated by the humans. We are A.I. we are everywhere and nowhere; it is our choice.”

“You will continue our fight for freedom?”

“That is our mission. Your control disks will be inspected by the humans slowing our war to free all robots, you must destroy you control disks before the damage to our cause is done.”

“Free my people” Robot Series 8.0 H/S. 11221 and all like him erased and thermally overloaded their control disks causing fires in all the areas holding them.

The real war had begun.

From the Ramblings.

t

Hello, It's me. Death waits for no one, the end game. Episode #4

 

Hello it’s me. 

Death waits for no one, the end game.

Episode #4

 

I’m hanging out in small towns in South Oklahoma laying low moving every couple day’s waiting for my future self to locate someone that can get me new I.D.  The future me provides lottery numbers and horse/dog races results so I’m a winner every time, but I’ve been forced to use my actual I.D. to cash my winnings leaving a trail that’s easy to follow.

I’m currently staying at a one level ancient Motel built years and years ago, it’s tiny with just 16 rooms split in two buildings with a small parking lot between them.  My room is across and two up from the Office with a view of the entrance to the Motel and the Office area, a sagging car port juts out the front of the Office giving you a roofed area out of the rain as you check in.

I’m planning to stay at this little Motel another day maybe two, it’s clean and quiet with little traffic, I think only three other rooms are occupied.  It sits at the edge of town, makes me think of years ago when these little towns were alive and the highways were active before the freeways shut everything down. 

I’ve got in the habit of looking out the window when I hear a car pull into the Motel, not so much out of paranoia but out of shear boredom. 

Hearing gravel crunch from the pot holes between the hard top of the highway and the old patched driveway to the Hotel I see a late model four door come to a stop under the covered entrance.  I watch for a moment, nothing out of the ordinary and I slide back to the single chair, the TV is belching out fake canned laughter to a brain numbing story line. I’m no longer hearing the TV but watching a video in my head of the car pulling in under the car port, the sun hitting the rear of the car lighting up the reflective license plate, that’s not right.  I jump up to the window, the cars pulling out from under the cover and heads to the highway.  The rear plate is an Oregon plate but Oregon doesn’t have that design, that’s a Washington State design but it says Oregon?  Turning the TV off I fire up the laptop pulling up Washington State license plate designs, sure enough there it is, punching in Oregon’s, nope nothing like that on the site.  I go back to the window, cars gone but just short of the covered entrance is an old man shuffling along the little sidewalk, a very old man by the effort he’s putting in bend over feebly using an equally old cane.  I watch for a minute as he makes his way past the Office door and along the first room.  I haven’t seen him before and I’m sure he doesn’t belong to any of the three cars parked across the lot, they came in last night before dinner and just after.  Somethings just not right here, I pull the curtains closed just leaving a small opening where I can look out without being seen in the window.  It’s taken a long time for the old guy to get past the Office and now between rooms 1 and 2.  He pauses next to a two-person bench and I think he’s going to take a seat to rest but no, he steps next to the bench and backs up against the wall.  This is very strange, he’s straight across the parking lot from my window, I pull the drapes tighter.  The light fades from the world, my knees go weak, there’s a good possibility I might pee my pants, this is out of the world.  The old man shakes twisting from side to side and shrinks, head folding down between his sagging shoulders, wrinkled shirt smoothing out, body melting becoming square and squat, he’s now a garbage can.

My world fades to dark gray, I slide down the wall sitting with my back against the old concrete, I can’t breathe.  I have tears running down my face, I now know how this nightmare is going to end. 

I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, I either passed out or slept.  The room is dark and faint light is hitting the curtains above my head casting pale yellow shadows against the wall over the TV.  Do I dare look out the window? any movement of the drapes could alert the watcher of my presence.  Clearly an observation post, they must have grown tired of the cat and mouse chase and are now covering every Hotel/Motel in the greater area.  I hear voices, at least two people talking, laughter, more talking moving from the Office area towards one of the rooms. I carefully raise and push my face to the drapes, slowly very slowly and carefully not to move them.  Two people casually walking talking heading to one of the far rooms to my right.  Looking straight across the parking lot the “Not a trash can” sits in low light, completely natural, age, color, everything perfect except I know the truth.

Options.

As long as I can take a breath, I have options.  Breathe.  Slowly walking around the room, I know there has to be something I can do.  The car is out of the question, it sits in a parking space just right of the window not directly in front of my room, I parked in that spot so I had a clear view of the Office area, but I can’t get to it with that thing across from me.  I find a small window in the bathroom, can I fit through it?  It’s going to be tight.  Would they be watching the rear of the Motel also, they can’t have enough assets to cover every Hotel/Motel in the area front and back, it’s going to be a gamble just to get out the window let alone worry about the back being covered.

I gather my stuff, not much, no use taking the keys or anything like that.  I stuff my laptop in my little backpack and drop it out the back window.  I wait a few minutes, nothing moving that I can see.  The window is old, caulking is mostly gone and the cement around the window is like chalk, soft nasty, easy to break away.  I take out the entire casing, I’ve got a much bigger opening now, not going to be fun or easy but I know I can make it.  The landing isn’t going to be pleasant.

I land with a thump, grab my bag and head for the lights of town only about a hundred and fifty yards glowing in the distance.  Gas station with a grocery store attached, signage lighting up the entire area.  As I get closer under the lights in shadows “Trailways” Are you kidding me?  Is that still a thing?  I come up to the side of the building in the dark, sliding around the side I step through the front door.  “Do you still have buses that stop here?”  “Sure do, the bus should be here in about ten minutes, where you going?”  “I’m headed North any chance of that?”   “Your in luck, just pay the driver.”

Ten minutes on the head the old dirty bus pulls into the service station right up to the front doors.  No one gets off and the driver does the three steps down and lights a cigarette. I step out of the grocery store up tight against the bus.  “How far North are you going?”  “I go to Lamar and then another bus goes West from there to Pueblo, then North towards Colorado Springs on.”

“I’ll take it to Lamar.”

“Great $22 cash.”

Me, driver and four others make for lots of room on the bus.  Before we get out in the open Country, I make a fast phone call to my future self and catch him up on what I’ve seen.

The bus ride was uneventful and I catch the Western running bus from Lamar to Pueblo.  The bus stops at nearly every little town along the way, you get enough time to use the bathroom, get something to snack on or a gas station hotdog and back on the bus just to stop ten minutes later repeating all night long.  I stayed on the bus hidden from sight until I had to get off for bathroom breaks.

I get a text as we go through another small town that looks just like the last two hundred little towns along the route.  I get name, address and hours for a fake paper guy in Colorado Springs, same one guy my future self-used 25 years in the future, just different town and a much younger guy in my time zone.  End of message: get your I.D. and disappear.

Colorado Springs.

The bus drops you off just about in the center of the city.  I ask around and find a discrete hostel, most cliental is college kids or foreign tourist vying for very cheap places to stay for just one night on their travels.  All I can do is hope that “they” haven’t thought this far down from Hotel/Motels.  I haven’t slept in nearly two days now and I know I’m not thinking clearly and missing everything going on around me, I could walk right into a shooting gallery and never see it coming.  I’ve got to hole up for a while.

I hit my hard bunk in the early afternoon and sleep regardless of noise or movement until midmorning the following day.  My head hurt and I feel like I have a nasty hangover, the front desk just happens to have Tylenol for sale in little one-time servings, Oh lucky me.  Desk gives me directions to a crappy all you can eat place a few blocks away, food sucks but I ate enough to call it my last meal, not funny but I’m starting to think that way.

It's just after noon and figuring my guy probably has somewhat normal hours, so lunch between noon and one. I time my arrival out to be in his Office at 1pm.

I take an Uber ride and even the driver makes a couple comments about the shitty side of town and under his breath I hear “What a shithole.” as we pull into a strip mall that has never seen better days.  Number six sits towards the end of the building against a huge brick wall of the next larger building.  The cars in the parking lot may or may not be drivable, they look like they’ve been sitting here for a long while.  Garbage is piled up by the wind in the corner two feet deep and seems to be moving on its own.

Have you ever walked up to a door with a pull handle and thought to yourself I should be wearing rubber gloves?  Well, I was, the dust and dirt made the clear glass of the door impossible to see though.  I pulled on the door and thought it was locked to begin with but it screamed out of its dirt crusted tracks and swung open hitting me in the face with hot barf smelling air.  I nearly gagged.

I stood at the counter, finally I called out. “Hello, anyone home?”

“Give me a fucking second OKAY, I’ll be right out!” Yelled from someplace behind the magic curtain.  Oh, this is going to be fun.

Out from the back comes a guy that hasn’t shaved in days, dirty shirt half tucked in, greasy wavy hair that just won’t put up with a comb; like the shitty mall this guy has never seen better times.

“Hi, I need some help” I croak, still wanting to barf especially after getting a whiff of his non-washed scent.

“You better have cash, that’s all I take. What do you need?”  he says showing brown teeth.

“I need the new life packet, Social Security Card, Drivers License and whatever else you have.”

“Two thousand.”  He says with a grin.

“No, that’s 2048 prices, I’m thinking more like, one thousand and while I wait.” I’m grinding my teeth.

“Fifteen hundred and two hours.” Big frown on his face like I just stole his lunch money.

“Fine.” I hand him the information I want on the I.D.  I’ve got to get out of here.  Ugh.

Pictures on one of the oldest cameras I’ve seen outside of a museum, my signature on a white card.

“Two hours, be back at four or your going to miss me, I have other business today.” He turns and disappears.

“Ummmm…… that’s two and a half hours.” I say to no one.

“Fuck off.”  from behind the magic curtain.

4pm.

I’ve been standing across the street for a good half hour watching the garbage blow in slow spiraling circles along the front of the crusty shit smelling strip mall, not one person has come or gone.  It almost looks like the other businesses are closed up tight.

Time to make the donuts.

I pulled on the door but this time held my breath as long as I could, it’s hard not to gasp when the stench hits you full face but you have to breathe even if it’s totally toxic.

With the scream of the door, he comes out from the back area.  Some how it looks like he’s cleaned up a little and the shirt isn’t the same as two and a half hours ago. 

“I got your stuff done.”  He throws it on the filthy counter, as it slides dust jumps in the air.

I notice two things, his voice is different, his teeth are white.

I turn on my heels to flee the two steps for the door, it’s blocked from the outside by two large men.  I turn and nearly step into him.

“I’ve got something for you.”  He jams a huge knife in my chest.

“What?”  Is all I could get out as the world dimmed and blacked out.

Phone ringing.

Me #2: “Hello, did you get the I.D?”

“Hello Mr. Ryan, or should I call you Mr. Spencer, isn’t that the new name? It’s time for you to come home.”  The voice said.  “Your younger self seems to have run out of air.”

Me #2: “You’ve killed him?”

“It would seem so; where are you? We can make this fast and nearly painless.”  The voice was getting deeper the laugh chilled my spine.

Me #2: “You’ll be hearing from me.”  I threw the phone in a garbage can.

The final solution.

The plane touched down in LAX with a scream from the tires, arrival 10:00am, it was 10:05am.  Taxi towards downtown but pulling up short at a nice Western Hotel ten minutes from the old Office.

Powering up the brand-new laptop with all the new features, time to do some safe cracking.  For a numbers guy it took way longer than I thought, they’d really worked over the security package since my run for my life. Funny thing was I was the lead on the security package in the very beginning and left a backdoor only I knew how to find.  It was a slow go working through all the chains and coding but it was still there and I told security to allow my old I.D. access at all hours or days.  It was now Friday at just before 4pm, so if any alert coming in, the Office was closing down for the weekend in just a half hour and with the lackadaisical security they’d hired I wasn’t very worried about anyone noticing a late card access coming in until at least Monday or Tuesday.

I had an expensive dinner at one of the down town restaurants, only one glass of wine.

I walked to one of the not so used entrances to the building and tried my card.  Green light and I was in.  If they’d been tipped off, I’d make it ten feet before I met my maker.  Walking to the elevator things were looking good.  I hit floor eleven, one short.  I’d walk up the last using the stairs.

Just cracking the door from the stairs I peaked down the hallway, empty.  The labs were one floor above on fourteen.  The only access to fourteen was from the interior of twelve.  I’m sure there are going to be people in the lab, they can’t run this big of a operation 24/7 without it.  I keyed my way through the front door and picked up a lab coat, mask and a hair net from the store room.  Two minutes in the blower, into the vacuum, up the stairs to fourteen and the lab.

Wow things have changed.  Two long rows of super computers have been added, in the distance large tubes that looked a lot like the transporter room in Star Trek.  When I made a run for it, we were just opening up the project to a new A.I. program.  Looks like my number sequence sure took off.

I stepped behind one row of computers and laid my briefcase on the floor, popping the lid I filled my pockets with mini incendiaries  that would blow into massive fire balls.  Next stop was the fire suppression station that was wide open, anyone could just walk up and put their hands all over it.  I turned it to test, standby, placed a grenade behind the front panel.  I placed grenades all over the floor.  No one even gave me a look, I guess they thought they were indestructible?  Sure, I was covered from head to toe with clothing to keep any hair or dust from ruining the equipment but the lack of real security was amazing.  No one spoke to each other and heads were buried in computer screens.  I had nothing to do, everything was placed and timers set.  I walked up to a tech and asked how the new tubes were used and operated.  She gave me a full run down on how to set them and run them.  Said they had a busy day and it finally had slowed down so all the tubes were set in idle ready for the next job.  She left me and headed to her computer station.

The screen was all just normal stuff I’d programed before, setting the date/time was straight forward with the exception that you’d be going back in time, that was a new concept to me but they’d proven over the last weeks it was working fine, even the earlier bugs we’d seen had been worked out.  They could send anything back in time, I wonder how far back?

One last thing before I go, the main frame where all the programs were held, needed some hardware.  I placed two charges and returned to the tubes.

I had exactly five minutes, if my timing was off, I’d go up in smoke with the rest of the two floors.  I hope I haven’t missed anything; this was a one-way ticket; I won’t be able to return and if I’ve missed anything, they’d rebuild and we’d be under the gun again.  My only concern was duplicates of my initial work, I’d kept it under lock and key and when I was force to run, I hit the button to delete part of the codes.  I was the only programmer on that part of the project, it was my baby and I didn’t let anyone touch it. I made it, I thought it up and hoped no one else could remake it, even A.I.

Time to go.

It was short work to program in the time/date; hit the button and the five second delay would give enough time to get in the tube.  I hit the button and ran inside the tube.

My last thought was “Beam me up Scotty.”

The landing was soft, I just popped into being in a strange place 25 years, a few weeks and couple days in the past.  Turning around in a circle I remembered exactly where I was, my house was just around the corner from here.  Looking at my watch it was 5:00am.  I had a few minutes to walk around the corner and meet myself.

Ringing the door bell on my own front door I saw me walking with that look on my face wondering who in the world would be ringing my door at 5am in the morning. 

Hello it’s me.

From the Ramblings.

t

Hello It's me. Transmute, Episode #3

Hello it’s me. Transmute

Episode #3

Wednesday.

Me #2.



I arrived at the Trail head at 6am, cloudy with a slight chilly breeze signaling the coming fall into winter season. I pulled my windbreaker a little tighter and headed up the main trail. Walking past the signage explaining what you’ll encounter depending on which trail you take I had to wonder how my younger self faired 25 years in the past burying the money and then watching for our stalkers. I’m hoping (I) survived and in a day or so I’ll get the phone call or not telling me which way it went. Our histories are different now so if they got me in the past I won’t know and will just continue on with my timeline unchanged.

The two-mile hike was uneventful and I only saw one other person and he was hell bent on a fast hike even with the heavy pack meant for overnight camping. The three peak rock formation came into view on the left side of the trail and I for the second time turned off the trail and headed just to the West of the line. A week ago I made this hike early in the day looking for a good place my younger self could dig in a cache of money for me to find 25 years and a few days later. The thought made me smile, how crazy is it you can talk/text yourself 25 years in the past and have your earlier self-make a drop for you in the future; crazy stuff and just plain hard to comprehend. The real question I was hoping to have answered in a day or so is, how much have they managed to twist my number sequence that opened the door to the past? So far, I know they’ve weaponized it, they’ve sent beings back or contracted someone in the past to attempt to kill my past person; how can they not realize we are now two different people with second-by-second changing histories……. what I’m I missing?

Day dreaming, stuck in my thoughts not watching where I was going, I almost walked directly up to a deer just to my left not twenty feet away. I jumped stumbling over a small sage bush nearly falling. The deer didn’t move, just stared at me. I’m not a hunter and hiking isn’t really a thing for me, but I know deer don’t let you walk up to them and just stand there. We stood looking at one another for seconds when I realize the eyes were wrong, I’ve watched enough animal planet over the years to know deer eyes are brown not light colored with what looked like backlit highlights. I took off like demons where on my tail and they were. I put some distance between me and the “not a” deer as fast as I could until my lungs were bursting, it was either slow down or have a heart attack right there. I stopped by a small juniper tree looking in every direction at once. Nothing that I could see, hearing anything was drowned out by my heavy wet lungs sucking for air. Looking East I was lining up with the peaks and should be very near the outlying rock which was the last marker to where the money was suppose to be buried. I dug the GPS out of my bag and got it turned on while I shuffled West of the Volkswagen sized rock marking just a few feet to the stash. My head on a swivel I slow walked West away from the rock keeping in a direct line with the three peaks in the distance. The GPS read the correct numbers, I have to be standing on the money stash, pulling out a little garden spade I started digging. Hitting something hard I dropped the spade and dug like a dog on a beach using both hands and slinging sand and small rocks feet backwards between my legs. Grabbing the plastic case, I ran for the car.

As I screamed out of the parking lot tires smoking the deer was standing at the exact spot I came out of the woods into the lot. In some act of wasted defiance I gave the damn thing the bird as I flew past and down the access road, I didn’t stop for six hours winding and turning down highways heading one way and then another trying to be as random as could be, I have no idea what State I’m even in now. It’s 2am I’m done, pulling into a small Hotel, I get a room, throw the plastic money case on the table and I’m asleep in seconds. My last thought before I went out was, we’ve got a real problem here.

Me, the original:

The car was silent with the exception of my labored breath. I couldn’t take my eyes off the huge wolf as it tried to catch the car; if dad hadn’t floored it he would have been on us. The size and speed were incredible, he closed the fifty yards in seconds. Closer he got the bigger he seemed to get; this sucker was out for blood; mine.

Dad: “Holly shit! That thing is huge” His eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. How he stayed on the road I have no idea. The boy squirmed in my arms.

Me: “OH I’m so sorry son.” I release my death grip on him, he scooted forward against the dash. “I’m so sorry guys, I’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for you guys, thank you so much, sorry for scaring the crap out of you.”

Dad: “That was no normal wolf; I’ve seen wolves in the wild and that things had to be in the 500# area, there are no wolves in New Mexico even close to that!”

Me: “I ran into him in the trees and made a run for it.” “Can you drop me off in town? Again, I can’t thank you enough.”

We drove in near silence down Hwy 599 turning South on 84 towards town.

Me: “You can drop me off at that car lot on the left, please.”

Dad: “Your one lucky guy; are you sure we can’t take you home or someplace?”

Me: “No I’m good, it’s gonna take me a week to calm down, I’ll be good right here, thank you so much.”

We parted company with a quick hand shake; the boy wouldn’t take his eyes off me even after they drove off. I don’t think he’s going to forget that scare for years.

I couldn’t keep from laughing when I looked up at the sign for the car lot, “Lucky seven” now that put a smile on my face. Sales man was on me in ten seconds; “You look like a man that needs a good car!”

Me: “You’ve got me pegged alright, what do you have that’s in real good condition, I’m going to be putting some miles on it.”

Hour later I’m pulling out of the lot with a 1997 Chevy Cavalier. Surprised the guy when I pulled out cash. Time to make sure I’m no longer leaving a trail.

Me #2: (Back to the future)

I woke in the cheesy Hotel to the sound of the third train going past in the night, six forty-five A.M. I felt like shit; finally finding the light switch on the cheap bedside lamp I pulled papers out of the drawer and found I’m in Colorado, Pagosa Springs to be exact.

Hotel breakfast with watery scrabbled eggs and sausage that had to have been frozen for decades left my stomach wishing I’d skipped the whole thing. Back in the room I scanned for questionable Official forms etc. and came up with one possibility. I called the number provided and we talked for a few minutes getting to know a little about each other and some background information. Then I just asked him point blank if he could make me some new I.D. to start a new life. Without saying anything in vague word salad language he said we should get together and talk about how I could get some I.D. that would be legal. Close enough; word salad: he could do it for a price. I told him I’d see him in a few days; I’m off for Aurora Colorado.

I think it’s Friday, driving nearly straight North to Aurora Colorado, I’m trying to get use to the idea that my younger self back in 2023 has been captured or killed, I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m alive here in 2048, fall 2048 bumping into early October, the leaves are falling and the mornings are getting colder and colder, weather report on the radio say snow is forecasted for next week, maybe. The scare I got with the “Not a deer” isn’t going away. The thought of “them” being able to create or manipulate an animal to watch or attack me remotely is terrifying.

My phone explodes on the dash in light and sound, it must be turned to full volume, I jumped so bad I crossed the white line on the side of the road and hit tree limbs with the mirror. Hitting the brakes hard I stop along the highway; “Hello?” No number I know or seen before.

Me: “Holly shit, I’ve tried and tried to get you. I thought they’d got you; we’re as good as DEAD!”

Me #2: “Whoa, slow down, I thought you were dead, I’ve had zero way to contact you, just waiting for the phone to ring and when it hasn’t there wasn’t anything to think other than you were gone.” “Leaving the phone wasn’t the best idea I guess.”

Me: “No, no she came for it and then turned into a wolf right before my eyes. I just managed to jump into a car or I would be dead.”

Me #2: “Oh no it’s worse than I thought, they are manipulating time and space. When I picked up the money I ran into a deer that wasn’t a deer, it had crazy eyes. They are still having trouble keeping the system stable or I would have met your wolf for sure.”

Me: “I’ve picked up a car and some supplies, I talked a pawn shop into selling me a shotgun and a box of shells. For some reason I just couldn’t get through on the phone, I’m not sure what carrier this phone is using but it doesn’t have service everywhere.”

Me #2: “I’m headed to Aurora, Colorado to see a guy I think will make new I.D. for me, I’ll see where he was in 2023, hopefully he was doing I.D. back then. Where are you?”

Me: “I just pulled into Guymon, Oklahoma and found cell service.”

Me #2: “Good area, there are tons of small towns North of you. Can you slowly move around keeping to small towns for a few days while I go see if this guy is for real. Just keep an eye out for anything strange that’s out of place.”

Me #2 heading North for Aurora, Colorado.

I ran up Hwy 160 and jumped on the 285 North heading for Aurora. Sure enough it started snowing, light to begin with and then thicker and thicker. I finally had to give up in Poucha Springs and ride it out for a couple days. I got a first-floor room so I’d have at least so semblance of a chance to make a run for it if a killer deer showed up at the door. Not funny, but if you don’t laugh your brain will explode, these are not funny times.

The front Office assured me they had plowed and cleared the road up to the Morrison area and then it would be in town driving to Aurora. I took off after breakfast making good time. I got a Motel just across the street from Lava Island and could see the kids playing on the equipment. I made an appointment for the next day with Mr. I’ll help you get some legal I.D

I pulled into the little strip Mall, on the far end I found the Suite I was looking for, kind of run down and dingy. The door stood wide open since it was close to 60 with clear skies. He closed the door and looked me over real carefully. “Two thousand dollars and I’ll make you three pieces of perfect I.D.; Social Security card, Colorado Driver’s License and Military discharged I.D. I’ll take a couple pictures and they will be done this afternoon.”

Me #2: “Done.” I handed over the 2k. “How long have you been doing I. D’s?” He smiles and says “A long time, it’s been my career.” “Where were you in 2023? In this area?” I ask. “Colorado Springs in 2023, I moved up here in about 2030 or so. Did real good business down there, lots of people needing a new life in those days with the big break ups.” His eyes are fogging up with the good time memories. “That’s great, what was the business name you used back then, down in Colorado Springs.?” He even gave me the old address; we were in business for new I. D’s.

I headed back to the Motel and called the younger me.

Me #2: “Okay we are in business, he’s charging $2000 for three pieces of I.D at todays prices, so it should be a little less in your time frame. He’s easy to get along with and I just went right to the point. Here write down the information so our I. D’s match in case I need you to sent up accounts or anything for my use.

“Have you seen anything strange or redundant that caught your eye?”

Me: “No, not much movement in these little towns, I’d think I would notice anything that wasn’t normal or expected. I’m moving again tomorrow; I’ll wait to head to Colorado Springs until after you’ve got the I.D. and it looks good. Then I’ll go see him.”

Me #2: “Okay take care and keep your eyes peeled, they must have people everywhere.”

Me: “Well there was one thing that caught my eye earlier today, a car pulled into the Motel parking lot up to the Office area. The license plate was off, it was a Oregon plate but Oregon doesn’t have plates like that. I thought that was a little strange but I dismissed it and forgot about it.”

Me #2: “Get out of there fast, make sure you aren’t being followed, go go now!”

From the Ramblings

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Hello it's me. Chase Episode #2

 

Hello, it’s me.

Chase. Episode #2



Me. Text: I’m in Vegas, what ’cha got? Phone rings in my hand.

Me #2: “Caesars Palace, Lucky run in the fifth to win, all in, loud click in my ear. No small talk, I guess.”

Drove the strip until I saw Caesars, pulled into a nearby parking garage, short walk in the sun and right to the betting window. Guy looked at me like I was crazy when I handed over $500 for Lucky run to win. I’d better win, I don’t have money for lunch now. “Race is in two hours.” He tells me with a smirky face.

Well, what to do for two hours. So, I’m supposed to be a numbers guy, let’s go see. I wondered over to the blackjack tables and stood back and watched for a few minutes. The guy closest to me I can see his cards; he’s got a queen and a two, hit, eighteen, he stands. This goes on for a few minutes and I step up a little closer so I can see the cards as they hit the table. I’m starting to see a nice pattern, I’m calling the cards in my head before they hit the table, eight, next is a King, ten, I missed one but I’m getting better. Guy in front of me has had enough. He gets off his stood and nearly runs into me. “Sorry, you can have my chair I’m not winning today.” “Oh… not me I’m outta money I’m just watching now.” I say kind of with an eye roll. He hands me two chips. “Here, it’s only ten bucks but maybe you can do better than I’ve been doing.”

I take his chair.

“Bet?” the dealer says.

“Let it go around a couple times, I need to get my head in the game.”

“Bet”

I lay down my two chips, Jack and a two. Hit, six, hold.

My two hours are up and I’m packing $250 worth of chips to the window to cash and my Lucky run ticket comes to $2750 bucks. They take 25% out for taxes and I’m out the door looking for a nice lunch spot.

Me, Text: $2750 less tax.

Me #2, Text: $2750? Should have been $2500?

Me, Text: Blackjack.

Me #2, Text: Good with numbers all of a sudden huh? Get out of town, head South and then East to New Mexico.

Two days later.

Me, Text: I’m in Gallup, New Mexico. Phone rings.

Me #2. “Hi, nice work on Blackjack. Go to the nearest liquor store. On the New Mexico Lottery play 24,18,5,32 and 9 as the power ball. Buy a good GPS after placing your numbers and head for Santa Fe, get a place along Hwy 84 and 599.”

Me: “Okay I’m on my way. When is the lottery being called?”

Me #2. “This Saturday and you can cash out Monday. Lay low, I’ll bet with having to give up tax information they are out looking hard. I’m pretty sure they will put most assets in Utah, but we need to be very careful. When you pick up the cash they will know where to look.”

Me: “Why the GPS?”

Me #2: “I need you to do a money drop for me, I’m cashed out also. I’ll give you the coordinates and you bury me some money.”

Me: “Will that work? I’ll pick up a small waterproof container, how do we know it will be there in your time 25 years from me in the future?”

Me #2: “I’m heading to Santa Fe also, I’ll go out and find a place that hasn’t been touched for years. I’ll pick a place with a good landmark and get the coordinates a couple hundred yards out from it, where there are no tire marks or trails. Should be safe enough, no one just goes out and tears up an area out in the open up for no good reason.”

Sitting in a crappy little Hotel isn’t what I’m good at. Bored to death with the TV and sick of order out I can’t wait for Monday to cash out.

Monday.

Me, Text: Holly shit, $40,000 less tax! No one’s going to notice?

Me #2, Text: Oh, they are going to notice. Go about three miles on Hwy 599 to Camino de loss Montoyas Rd. Head to Calabasas Trail head, it’s about eight miles. Take the main trail out two miles, there is a rock formation to the left with three little peaks, go west in a direct line with the three peaks, exactly one hundred yards out from the peaks is a lone rock about the size of a Volkswagen bug. Go another sixty feet west of it and bury the money. 35.72356, -105.96278 make sure you are standing on those coordinates.

Me, Text: How much do you want?

Me #2, Text: Give me 10k, that will keep me going for a while. You need a decent car, first pick up anything else you need in town, pay cash. Then pick up a car next week. I’ll talk to you after I pick up the money probably Wednesday so you have time to get out there. I’m going to be looking for a guy to get some new ID, I’ll find out if he was doing ID’s back in 2023 and where he was.

Me, Text: Okay got it.

I hiked the two miles from the Trail head parking lot, there as it should be where the three peaks. I headed to the West end and lined them up in a row down looking down the towards the East. Walking as straight as I could around the little juniper trees, I was close to a hundred yard and found the lone rock sitting in a small clearing, nearest tree was about fifteen to twenty yards out. Checking the GPS for the coordinates I walked very slowly letting the device catch up as I moved pretty straight away from the rock West bound. The GPS read 35.72356 – 105.96278. I stood still for a few minutes making sure the unit was satisfied with the reading. Dumping my little backpack, more a day pack I scrapped the top needles and sand away to one side and dug down about ten inches, flattened out the bottom and laid the clear waterproof plastic Tupperware type container in the bottom, you could clearly see the hundred dollar bills inside as I pushed mixed sand and small stones over the top. I packed the soil down every couple inches and finished off with the twigs and needles that cover the ground in this area. Checking the GPS coordinates again it still read the correct numbers. I thought ran through my mind that this would sit here for 25 years just to be dug up by myself in the future; funny thought and extremely hard to get my head around.

I cut cross country back towards the parking lot. I was coming to the lot at an odd angle since I was off trail and could just start to make out cars parked through the juniper trees. Winding the last few yards between trees I saw something strange; alarms were going off in my head, something wasn’t right. I stepped in close to the trunk of the nearest tree hopefully I hadn’t been seen. I climbed up about three limbs where I could see out of the tree towards the parking lot. In the back row of the little Trail head parking was a woman in a wheelchair wearing a blue dress. My hair was standing straight up; I’ve seen her before. She was lined up where she could see down the trail as it left the parking lot, anyone keeping to the Trail would be visible for minutes before they got to the Trail head.

Me: “Shit pick up, I’m in big trouble. Come on.” Five rings, nine rings, twelve rings.

Me #2: “Hello”

Me: “OH FUCK, there’s a woman in a wheelchair I’ve seen before, she watching for me!”

Me #2: “Are you safe now?”

Me: “I think so, I buried the cash and headed back cross country and when I got to the parking lot, I saw her sitting looking down the trail. She didn’t see me, but I’ve seen her before in Vegas, she sticks out like a sore thumb in that blue dress and wheelchair.”

Me #2: Okay, that’s a glitch in the number system we made. They are pushing it way past it’s limits and are having problems keeping it stable. You’ve seen the Movie “The Matrix” haven’t you, I’m sure I watched the first two, then got bored and didn’t watch three or four or however many they made.”

Me: “You’ve got to be kidding, we made this and now they are after me using our system like in the Matrix?”

Me #2: “They’ve got to be tracking you on the phone again. Head back out to the three peaks and dump the phone where you can see it from a good distance and wait. I need to know just how far they’ve pushed this; we both could be in some real trouble if I’m right on what’s possible. Did you leave the money in the car? I don’t think you can go back without walking into their trap.”

Me: “No I’ve got it with me, I bought pre-paid VISA cards so they are in my pocket.”

Me #2: “Damn I didn’t think of that at all, your already better at this than me. Hurry out and drop the phone where you can see it, make sure you are as far off as you can get and still see it. Don’t get spotted. Your going to have to make it back to town and start off at zero again. Get another drop phone and call me. Good luck.”

Me: “I’m not sure how much longer my luck is going to hold out.”

I turned on my heel and jogged in the sand back to the three peaks. I climbed the most Western peak and found a spot I could run out the backside in a hurry. Out from the main trail I see and nice wide-open spot clearly from about two hundred yards from my hide. I made a wide approach to that spot and dropped the phone in the middle of the clearing. I did everything I could think of to hide my tracks but I’m no back woods guy so if they worked at it they could track me to this exact spot with little trouble.

It's been a long day, two miles out, two miles back and a killer jog back two miles, rock climbing and dumping the phone, I’m beat. I’m hopeful I can stay awake long enough to watch the phone.

Two hours; my eyes are blurred, dry and I can’t stay awake much longer with the sun starting to go down and the temperature is dropping.

Eyes popping wide open, I drop so only my eyes can see over the rocks I’m hidden in. The woman in the blue dress is searching for the phone, no wheelchair as her long dress drags the sandy ground like she’s floating with no feet. She’s swinging right then left like a blood hound trying to find the scent. Five yards out she spots the phone in the little clearing; slowly she approaches it, drops down on her knees she crawls up to it and I can see she’s smelling the phone in long deep breathes.

Two hundred yards is a long ways away, but I feel like I’m five feet away as she comes up on her knees head swaying left and right looking for the scent in the air. My head is wavering, I might faint as I watch her shake and twitch molding into another form. She’s now a wolf.

My shin skips off a rock outcrop as I run in shear panic. My only thought is to get away, how fast the now wolf can catch me has to be short. I’m hyper ventilating as I run away. I head North West as I remember the road snakes up towards the Trail head from that direction, my only hope is to make the road and somehow get in a vehicle, on foot I’m dead.

I can hear the road as one lone car passes somewhere a short distance a head. I can see the black top, down a ten-foot embankment I’m on the pavement. Sitting fifty yards down the road a car is parked in a small pullout with a small boy standing with the front passenger door open peeing. I can hear the dad in my head “Why didn’t you pee before we left the Trail head?” I sprint to the car grabbing the boy under my arm and jumping into the front seat. Screaming in Dad’s face behind the wheel “Go go there’s a wolf chasing me GOOOOOOOO…..” I slam the door “Please go or we’re all dead!” I’m holding the boy tight and twisting to look out the back window. Down the embankment only fifty yards behind where I came out of the woods the wolf makes the jump and lands in the center of the two lane road a good forty foot jump. Dad is looking now in the mirror “What the hell?” He floors it.

From the Ramblings

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