Daily Archives: May 7, 2017

Heart matters

“Jeez, I can’t stop yawning, Hucka Doobie. Ordered that expresso just in time.”

“Thanks for meeting me here again. You never know how long these rented places will last. I wanted to soak up some ambience while it’s around.”

“Lively place, I’ll give it that.” Baker Bloch was looking out the front window when stating this.

“I think that’s what I’ll call it — we’ll call it. Lively. While it’s here.”

“Have you seen the aley out back?”

“That’s my line. But: no. Now keep up.”

“You go ahead, then.”

“It leads to the center of it all. The place Jasper should be but won’t. *Is* this the replacement for a subsequently destroyed Collagesity? Has our town had its run, Baker Bloch? These are questions we must be asking. Jasper predicted it all.”

“The Jasper collage series, you mean. The one hung in SoSo Mall currently.”

“Of course.” Hucka Doobie then looks out the 4th wall of the establishment. “Oh, I see. The reader.”

“Finish your coffee and we’ll take a look. Have you soaked in enough ambience yet?”

Hucka Doobie looks around. “Futuristic coffeehouse. Established in 3025. Dallier’s Hope. Owners/creators may be from Saturn. Yes, I’ve soaked in enough. I’m done.”

—–

“It’s dark, Hucka Doobie. Maybe we should turn on the daytime lights.”

“And some shaders and other stuff. The full ensemble. Downsize your window!”

“A little better,” Baker Bloch proclaims. “What’s the coordinates now?”

Hucka Doobie checks. “87, 156, 103.”

“If we find the spot that *coordinates* with the one in the Rubi Woods, then maybe that will help us make a determination which path to choose. And maybe then go look at the center of the Jasper series. The Great Either/Or as we might start calling it.”

“Let’s name as much as possible tonight,” requests Hucka Doobie. “We have Lively, Aley, Styx — that’s one of Wheeler’s, and then Tool. Where’s Tool?”

“Yes, Tool,” Baker Bloch cryptically answers, still thinking of the central Jasper collages. He has already disposed of The Great Either/Or.

—–

“Let’s do the walking thing again, Baker Bloch.”

“Let’s”

—–

“I don’t think I had the right walk Hucka Doobie,” Baker exclaims afterwards. “Oh well. Here we are.”

Hucka Doobie takes a seat. “I wonder why they say it’s under construction? Looks perfectly finished to me.”

Baker points toward the back left corner. “Let’s go there. I’ll keep tabs of my coordinates.”

“Sho ’nuff.”

—–

“Okay, Hucka Doobie. This is definitely the spot. 97/97. Right in front of ‘Precarious Geisha,’ just as Wheeler and The Musician told us.”

“Let’s head down,” the bee-man requested.

—–

“Nope, Hucka Doobie. There’s no 97/97/97 any longer. Ground’s been raised to 100 meters. No sign of Pitch Black or its poisonous tower, but that’s not unexpected. But you could turn right here, look north, and stare up at the monstrosity.”

“OD still worships the structure. That’s its impossible black hole. A constant, impossible orbit. Just like in ‘(The) Impossible Planet’.”

“More ‘Dr. Who’ references. But jumbled up from the series. The parallel to the black hole here has been destroyed — assimilated. Yet the city remains.”

“OD remembers. There must be a parallel, alternate town.”

“What I was thinking.”

—–

—–

I accidentally teleported right beside the SoSo sign again for the mall, Hucka Doobie. But… so here we are. Tool.”

“One reality has Collagesity standing put and remaining independent of VHC City. The second has all the *energy* of Collagesity streaming into VHC City instead. The blackbird, Hucka Doobie.”

“Spongeberg (the Destroyer),” states Hucka Doobie.

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Merging tracks

“Ahhh! That face!!”

“We app-re-ci-ate your time in our fair ci-ty,” OD continued in its clipped manner, suddenly detached from the wall and looming larger. The wegee planchette had stopped spinning. “We have ass-im-il-at-ed the bird, zip, the man known as Mar-tin. Sanc-tu-ar-y is with-in reach. You can go ab-out, ping, a-bout your way. Thank you for vis-it-ing and come back again ver-y, zip, fair-ly soon.”

The Musician fled the scene, running upstairs. Wheeler stood her ground. She pulled out a large, futuristic gun from her coat. “Get back on the wall, buster. We’re not finished here.”

—–

Meanwhile… Allen Martin appeared to be dead at the very same spot Renaldo O’Donnell lay early.

But then he stood up. “Just a pose ball,” he muttered. “No murder atall. And my son… all that change and attached grief for nothing, it seems.”

He moves around the corner to the next area, being careful to head *away* from his apartment (unlike Wheeler earlier). A break room?

Maybe the stupid people responsible for this charade. The thought crossed his mind that VHC City is just a giant stage set for some kind of film being made. Horror story?

He then sees something more interesting appearing in the next area: a purple spheriod thingie. No: green; no: blue. He checks the description of the now golden object. Jeez God, he thinks, an “alien egg tree.” This *is* a horror story.

He walks between pipe and chair to take a closer look.

Nothing else really that odd about it except the name. And a dead end in this direction. He’d have to retrace his steps.

But then, a monster bursts forth through the wall in front of him, turns around, then leaves through same. A giant crocodile, it appears!

He may have to go back to the apartment to get his heart medicine before advancing further.

—–

Allen Martin then heard a female voice call his name from the direction of the “break room.” Wheeler.

They met in front of this gate on the far side of the room, the Fate Gate they would later call it. From this point on they would move forward together. Holding hands again, they passed through.

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