Wild-Side
16 months ago

The massive creature thrashed and clawed its way through a tangle of vegetation unlike anything it had ever encountered. Its scales were accustomed to razor-like barbs on plants, but nothing in this strange wilderness appeared remotely carnivorous, and none of the vegetation made any kind of threatening move. Jumping over a fallen log, the creature suddenly became wary of an ambush; so when a thick vine appeared at eye level, he struck out with deadly force. The talons on both hands lashed at the hanging vine, eviscerating it in a spray of sticky sap. However, Breslin slowed his pace when the splatter of sap on his scaly flesh failed to burn, melt, or even harm him. No additional vines came to defend the fallen.

Examining the remains of the battered vine, Breslin was perplexed. The briar had the girth of two of his talons but had failed to defend itself in any way. It also didn’t appear to be part of any social pack or pride. Retracting a claw, he dabbed at the freshly severed end of the thick rope. A thick, sticky substance oozed from the green and brown plant, but there was no blood.

Breslin rose to his feet and scanned the forest. Spindly thickets of leafy green vegetation clung to larger, brown plants that towered even higher with more greenery. He had never seen anything like it. While he sensed small wildlife moving in the distance, nothing in the immediate area stirred at all.

Warily, he brushed a large scaled hand through the left tendrils of another plant. It didn’t react, so he moved on. As he walked, he noticed the sound of his footfalls changing. They were becoming less stealthy, his stride shorter and more clumsy. He looked down to see the last scales of his torso giving way to a soft, almost pink material. His arms and legs grew shorter by degrees over just a few minutes, and he suddenly realized that he was taking on the form of one of the creatures he’d killed back in the cave.

(more…)

Our-World
Shelter Cove Marina
Shelter Spring, North Carolina
26 months ago

“He said it was this way,” Gina Hallstrom said, threading her way down the boardwalk. “Supposedly, we’ll know it when we see it.”

Gina wore cut-off denim shorts and a blue string bikini top. Her hair was pulled back beneath a black baseball cap, and her sunglasses rested above the caps bill as she scanned the edge of the dock for the boat they intended to board. She adjusted the strap of the small daypack slung over one shoulder while spinning in a slow circle. Frustrated, she waved to Piper and Allison with a “move your ass” gesture.

“She’s really excited about this boat,” Allison grumbled.

Piper laughed. “I knew that when she was up and out of bed at 7am on a Saturday. I don’t understand why. It’s just a boat.”

The sky was clear, and the sun was already well above the horizon, as it was nearly nine in the morning. The weather forecast predicted highs in the mid-90s, promising an incredible day for boating on the Atlantic. Gina was 19 years old, while Allison and Piper were just a couple of months older, having recently turned 20.

“It’s not about the boat,” Allison clarified, as they both struggled to keep sight of Gina while she turned the corner and headed onto one of the many wide wooden docks lined with pleasure craft of every shape and size. “It’s about a boy.”

Piper rolled her eyes. “Ya think?”

“Slow down,” a voice called from behind them. A big, stone block of a kid was struggling to keep up, heavily burdened with baggage. Overloaded backpacks hung from each shoulder, a massive cooler was pinched between his meaty paws, and a bulging duffle bag thudded against his hip with every hurried step he took. “We all know what Gina’s interested in,” he wheezed. “But I heard about the boat—and I don’t want to miss it.”

Jimmy Kell was the same age as the girls, but that’s where the similarities ended. While each of the ladies was petite and feminine, Jimmy looked as though he’d been carved from a block of granite with a dull chisel. He stood six feet two inches tall and weighed two hundred forty pounds, every ounce of it hard-won in the gym or on the football field. His head was all flat planes and hard angles, resembling one of the Easter Island statues brought to life.

(more…)

Wild-Side

There was a flash of light, and the room-temperature pattern of the bunker receiving platform replaced the barn’s cold version. Wes stood at the control terminal facing the platform, while Lacy quickly took on her traditional role by fetching a thick, wool-like blanket. It remained unclear whether this gesture was meant as an accommodation for my naked arrival or as a sign of respect for my exposure to this world and its elements before reaching the teleportation platform. Regardless, while I appreciated the consideration, it wasn’t necessary. I had long since given up any anxiety over appearing naked in front of these people or anyone else, and thanks to the nanotech, I was impervious to all but the most extreme temperatures.

I noticed Lacy averting her eyes as she approached with the blanket and, this time, noted what might have been a coloring of her cheeks. That had never happened before. It was unusual because the people of Wild-Side had, at least until recently, no experience with sexuality and, as a result, no apprehension about this kind of male-female interaction.

Noticing how Lacy gave me a furtive glance before quickly exiting the room, I decided something had changed. I would either need to ask her about it… or perhaps bring up the subject with Doc Cormac would be better. Chances were, this had something to do with my social experiment. If that were the case, Cormac would be the better choice.

I noticed the smirk on Wes’s face and shot him a questioning glance. He’d seen Lacy’s response and found it unusual too. “It’s not just me, right?” I asked.

He shook his head. “She’s given you the same blanket at least a hundred times. I don’t know what’s different about today.”

Tossing the wrap over the console, I grabbed the jeans from the stack of folded clothes waiting in their usual spot. I slipped them on while keeping my eyes on the door Lacy had used for her hasty retreat. I pulled a black t-shirt over my head and stood on one leg as I slipped a sock onto my left foot. I’d gone through this process so many times that I could get fully dressed in under thirty seconds, all while standing.

“The Doc’s running late,” Wes said. “A meeting with Columbus was running long. Said he’d meet you in the Commons.”

(more…)

Our-World
O’Hare Airport
Chicago Illinois

Special Agent Chris Ingersoll followed the TSA officer through the winding cinderblock corridors until his sense of direction became hopelessly muddled. Institutional placards marked every intersection with confusing acronyms that meant nothing to him. They seemed designed to make the facility unnecessarily challenging to navigate, adding to his suspicion that it was intended to discourage outside visitors. Finally, the officer swiped a card at an expansive glass door that led to a room heavily invested in flat-panel monitors. The screens were arranged to cover every inch of the three windowless walls, and the six rows of closely placed workstations were each equipped with an array of twenty-seven-inch screens.

“Agent Ingersoll,” said a small, disheveled man with short-cropped gray hair as he approached with an outstretched hand. “I’m Timothy Saunders. How can I assist the FBI today?”

Ingersoll took in Saunders’s coffee-spotted tie, threadbare shirt cuffs, and slightly askew glasses, fighting the urge to grind his teeth. Given how anxiously the man pumped his hand and his grip’s moist, clammy feel, at least he was eager to please. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Saunders. I need access to surveillance feeds from last Tuesday afternoon. Could one of your people help me with that?”

“Certainly—certainly,” Saunders said with a rapid nod. He pushed his glasses backward on his nose and gestured toward a workstation on the far side of the room. “As requested, Niles has the footage prepared for your review. I also have the ticket agent standing by in an interview room per your office’s request.”

Ingersoll smiled and gestured for Saunders to lead the way to the computer terminal. He was enthusiastic to finish reviewing the video and move on to the interview as soon as possible, in case Saunders noticed that the call with the FBI field office secretary matched Ingersoll’s voice. He didn’t think the eager little man would piece the deception together on his own, but it was better to keep things moving along quickly.

“Do you need the timestamps?” Ingersoll asked as he leaned over the technician’s shoulder. The tech was operating the complex video control system in front of an array of computer displays. A traditional computer keyboard and mouse were complemented by a large, knob-like device surrounded by specialized buttons. A stubby joystick was also nearby.

“It’s already queued up,” the technician said, gesturing vaguely toward the top centermost of the six displays. One screen showed a full-screen image of a concourse somewhere in the airport, while all the other screens displayed dozens of freeze-frame shots, presumably from all over the complex, arranged in three-inch squares. “I used the suspect photo your office provided,” he continued.

“You found him?” Ingersoll asked, surprise entering his tone.

Saunders interrupted, “I’m surprised you wanted to review this on-site. We make all our footage available in real-time via the fusion center, but you also have access to the cold storage archives.”

(more…)

Our-World
Alison Springs, Maryland

I was in the lab early the next morning, feeling unusually anxious. Stresses of one type or another became second nature when my whole “tripping worlds” adventure began. Not to pat myself on the back, but I’d long since learned to roll with the punches. I’m introverted at my core, which isn’t practical when your mission in life is to undermine plans for world domination implemented by a creature from another plane of reality. One becomes good at being someone else when required. I think of it as playing a role and believe I can be anyone I need to be.

The problem with my trip to Alison Springs University was that I could only be myself. I had a past with Piper, and since Piper was part of ASU, there was too much of a chance someone I knew from our time together would overlap and blow my cover. I had laid enough of a false trail to keep the FBI chasing inconsequential leads in other parts of the world. If I could wrap up my work in Maryland quickly enough, I could stay ahead of the manhunt.

The law had nothing to do with my stress levels shortly before eight o’clock that Monday. It was the fast one I was about to pull by ambushing Piper for a second time in two days. I was pulling a fresh pair of replacement wires through the tangle of intricate sensor leads under the table when I heard multiple voices coming down the hall. A group of people appeared to be talking simultaneously.

“The team has arrived,” Esker said through my earpiece.

“Everyone?” I asked, keeping my voice low so my face remained obscured below the surface of the high-tech medical table. I knew Esker was using the facility’s surveillance system to track the team as they finished reviewing the two storage rooms allocated for the project. They were headed to the medical suite specifically designed for the experiment, located down the hall from the storage rooms on the rarely-used basement level of the recently opened Experimental Sciences building.

“Affirmative. The entire team is present,” Esker paused for dramatic effect. “Including Piper.” He was an artificial intelligence, but if I didn’t know better, there were times I would bet money that the dramas of my life amused him.

“Very funny, but you know I’m more concerned with Omar.”

“Insisting on that won’t make it a reality,” the AI’s dry voice insisted.

I rolled my eyes.

“And last but not least,” a new voice boomed as a group bustled into the room. “Welcome to our state-of-the-art laboratory.” The man had a sonorous baritone, and I recognized it as the tweed-toting Doctor Kramer Fulbright. He was the head of the project and the man I had seen in the news clipping, shaking hands with the financier from the front company representing Kilmer Breslin’s interests.

(more…)

Wild-Side
20 months ago

The Bus easily traveled the rocky terrain of the Badlands. With three oversized wheels on each side of the cargo compartment at the back of the sleek, van-like utility vehicle, it could crawl with nimble agility across the vastly uneven surfaces. The pair of equally large wheels at the front were suspended at the end of long struts, giving the vehicle both a tight turning radius and extra resilience over surfaces like those it currently traversed.

Kilmer Fenn sat on the bench seat in the cargo space and watched with trepidation as the stowed stacks of hard-shelled crates heaved and strained against the tie–down straps binding them to the cabin floor. The left side of the cab tipped at nearly a forty–degree slant as the vehicle traversed another of the endless fields of man-sized boulders standing shoulder to shoulder and littering the expanse.

The figure on the opposite side of the cabin had been caught off guard, causing Kilmer to laugh. Mara struggled to secure herself in the safe embrace of the shoulder restraints. It was anyone’s guess what she was thinking when she took the device off. Like him, she wore a full-body environment suit. It had a form-fitting shell made of thin, plastic-like protective armor. The material was about an inch thicker than his usual daily uniform. This offered incredible protection, considering that, with the helmet on and the internal breathing system engaged, he could survive a grade-four rock slide.

“If you remove your restraints, you better put your helmet on first. We’re a long way from anything other than automated medical care,” Kilmer warned with a grin.

Mara tried to look nonplussed but was more likely fighting not to lose her lunch. “Is it just me, or is the ride getting rougher?” she said after taking a hard swallow.

(more…)

Wild-Side

I opened my eyes when I heard wildlife skittering through the underbrush. The sound brought an instant sense of awareness, which was odd because usually the transition was accompanied by really strange sensory effects. Most often, this felt like a kind of Doppler force that differed between my left ear and my right, along with an unexplainable shift in gravity, no matter how many times I tried to describe it. It’s like going weightless one second and then having my mass triple a half second later. Then the process repeats, but while you’re spinning and trying to sort out that Doppler ear thing simultaneously. The process seems to last ten to twenty seconds, but according to my implants, the transition between Branes takes less than a single second.

As I mentioned, it’s difficult to explain. It doesn’t make much sense, and I don’t think it matters in the end. Maybe it would if I were trying to understand and replicate the transition process, but since my ultimate goal is to stop it altogether and ensure no one can cross the barrier between worlds in the future, I really don’t care to analyze the experience. It’s sufficient to say that it’s unpleasant, and I believe that makes sense because it’s entirely unnatural for a human to shift between planes of reality.

I sat up with a start and felt the squish of damp leaves and vegetation underneath my bare ass. Vaulting to my feet and spinning quickly in a circle, I performed a threat assessment, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. I was standing in a small clearing in dense woodland, and it was dark—middle of the night kind of dark. The sounds of the woods had gone silent, but I sensed this was more in response to my sudden movement. I saw no immediate danger, at least not in the woodland surrounding my small clearing. Ten feet away, the forest became a black curtain. I blinked to activate the light-enhancing optics in my contacts, but nothing happened.

I glanced at the holographic display on my wrist. It should engage when I look at it or when I raise my arm to my eyes. In both cases, the display remained dark. This makes some sense since the display doesn’t truly project across my wrist; it is just superimposed there in three-dimensional space. Whatever impacted my vision enhancements also disabled my heads-up display.

Staggering a step, I scanned the tree line more carefully. I heard and felt my barefeet squish through the leaf litter and the mud beneath. I understood two things instantly. First, I was standing in one of the many dead zones that pockmarked the wilds of Wild-Side. Technology didn’t work out here. Second, I’d arrived with the typical telltale sensory scramble that came with the Crossing due to my fatigue. I’d crashed hard after leaving The Borderline and been in such a deep sleep that it affected my Transition. It was an observation Doctor Cormac would be interested in since he’d long theorized that a particular sleep state was the key to my transitioning to his Brane. I didn’t know if this would support his theory or set the idea back, but I knew he would want to know.

I wiped muddy hands on my thighs and sighed. Completely naked. Every crossing had this in common. It didn’t matter what I wore when I fell asleep—every time I woke up on Wild-Side, I was entirely without clothing. There were multiple theories about why this was the case, but until one of them could be proven, it didn’t matter to me.

I mention this because it wasn’t just inconvenient. Whenever I woke up on Wild-Side following the Transition, I found myself in a different location… I mean, geographically speaking. For example, I was standing in the wilderness with absolutely no idea where I was. Luckily for me, the vast majority of Wild-Side is temperate. Specific weather systems vary depending on which part of the continent I land on, but generally speaking, I see daytime highs in the low nineties and nighttime lows down to fifty degrees. We’re talking Fahrenheit for all those not raised in the good old US of A.

(more…)

Our-World
Unknown location Kansas

Chris Ingersoll kicked the 9mm shell casing with the toe of his shoe, dislodging it from the cracked, dry mud. “Forensics missed this one,” he said, “but it won’t matter. Like the rest, we won’t find any prints.”

His partner, Al Vincente, whistled and waved for one of the FBI crime scene technicians. He pointed at the ground, and they both saw the approaching technician nod. “Any word on what was stolen yet?” Al asked as he tracked the oncoming agent over the open expanse.

Ingersoll shook his head. “Still waiting for a callback. Two of their big brains are proving hard to find.” He was referring to a pair of missing research leads, both of whom had been unaccounted for since the attack on the facility. “Either, one of them took off with the experimental hardware to keep it safe, or our guy got away with it. We’re still not sure.”

“You think our guy kidnapped the research leads?” Vincente struggled to hide the skepticism in his tone.

The question made Ingersoll pause, concluding with a shrug. “That wouldn’t fit with his MO, but who can say? He’s never taken anyone before. He’s never killed anyone on the technical team before, either. Still, there’s a first time for everything.”

“More likely they ran,” Vincente said quietly. “I sure as hell would.”

Ingersoll grunted in agreement and glanced across the dozens of flags marking the locations where evidence was still being collected throughout the compound’s visible acres. At least a dozen additional technicians were working at the underground facility to gather similar forensic evidence.

At six and a half feet tall, Ingersoll had broad shoulders and blonde hair buzzed short in a military style, although he’d never served in the military. He’d joined the FBI straight out of the University of Michigan. At the age of forty-two, he specialized in hunting fugitives.

“The on-site tech just confirmed,” Vincente said as he watched the technician begin photographing the shell casing and start the collection process. “The surveillance system is a complete wash.”

“Trashed?”

Vincente gestured toward the cinderblock building housing the elevator. “No, it’s completely functional; it’s just blank. The time codes even show it was working all night. The recordings only display black screens with no audio.”

(more…)

Wild-Side

If I’m honest, in the early days, I was exceedingly annoyed with the widespread unwillingness the population of Wild-Side had to physically combat the malevolent force attacking the fringes of their society. In the first month following my arrival, the creatures we’d come to refer to as the Elend grew bolder. Farms closer to the five main cities had seen the hulking, savage creatures with increasing regularity. Farmers were soon noticed to be missing.

No matter what came, none of the Seeley would fight. No one would join me in the hunt. Worse, most looked at me as if I were as dangerous as the massive reptilian creatures. I’d been willing to fight and even kill the vicious monsters from the start, but it brought me little favor from the Seeley. Some even claimed the very first sightings of the Elend coincided suspiciously with my appearance on Wild-Side.

We eventually determined that my arrival was related to that of the Elend. We were linked, but not in a way that made sense to me.

The Seeley didn’t trust or like me as a person, but thankfully, they let me use their technology.

It was almost two hours past sunset, and I continued to slip noiselessly through the overgrowth of the forest. According to the small countdown timer in the corner of my heads-up display, I had just over thirty-six hours left on Wild-Side. It was one of my longer trips, and I was making the most of it. I’d explored this quadrant of the forest for the last two days and was confident the tracks I was following were fresh. Judging by the spacing of the stride and the shape of the more distinctive prints I’d seen in the mud, I was stalking what my team had recently started referring to as a Jay. Most of that breed was half again taller than a man, about twice as wide at the chest, had wicked triangular-shaped teeth that can bite through almost anything, and…did I mention they have wings?

Yeah. Freaking wings.

They can’t fly, though. At least, that’s what everyone kept telling me. I remain unconvinced. What’s the point of wings if you can’t fly, right? Still, the Doc and his people are far more intelligent than me, so I assumed they knew what they were talking about. It was something about weight and mass, lift ratios, and coefficients: they could be right. There are flightless birds in the world, so why not these things?

Still, the Elend are the closest I’ve seen to real-life dragons, though with human intelligence and what I can only describe as the instincts of serial killers. They couldn’t talk, at least in any language I understood. But they could communicate. I had never seen them in a group of more than two or three, but they absolutely communicated. I won’t describe them as social creatures, but they can organize at least so far as it’s convenient to try and kill me.

I’ve had more than one close call.

(more…)

Our-World
Unknown location Kansas

The Cessna flew at just over fourteen thousand feet in a turbulent, moonless sky. The time and timing were no coincidence. I’d planned the night’s operation around the new moon, but the weather system was entirely unexpected. An unpredicted storm front was moving in quickly from the west, playing havoc with the small aircraft. Everything about the night’s operation was planned and coordinated using every bit of intelligence I could beg, borrow, or steal. In this case, mostly steal. Everything except for the storm… and while it came out of nowhere and baffled meteorologists, I knew with certainty what it foretold.

More on that later.

Double Vision Gary was at the controls of the small four-seater plane. The rest of the seats had been removed since Double Vision’s day job was hauling machine parts anywhere in the greater tri-state area. If you’re wondering what kind of business there is flying tractor parts all over the state, there isn’t. Double Vision was a smuggler. Think Han Solo minus the Wookie, and replace the Millennium Falcon with a worn-out and past-its-prime patched-up aircraft that should have been sold for scrap back when I was in diapers.

Not surprisingly, Double Vision’s flexible moral compass made him perfect for my late-night rollercoaster ride through the clouds. For a price, he didn’t ask questions, and he followed instructions no matter how unorthodox they might seem to any sane—or sober—pilot.

Did I mention Double Vision was a bit of a drinker? As I watched him fight the control stick, there was a devil-may-care grin on his face, and the rummy gleam in his eye suggested he was enjoying this ride a little too much.

Lightning flashed across the window to the left, and I had to blink the blindness away. There was less than a second of delay before the accompanying thunderclap impacted the aircraft with a force I felt like a slap to the head.

“Hoo-wee!” Double Vision cackled. “It’s getting thick out there, hoss. It might be time to rethink this plan of yours.”

The oncoming storm was troubling. The fact that Double Vision didn’t so much as blink when the lightning strobed across the cabin ratcheted up my concern. Either he had cast-iron nerves, or he was literally feeling no pain. “Too much prep to turn back now,” I said. “Tonight’s the night. How long to the target?”

(more…)