It was her 1/2 hour “lunch hour” and she decided to explore the sim, mainly remotely but with some direct teleports. She’d discovered Tigger Peak, currently covered up with false landscaping. And a larger club and bar in the ne corner of the sim — maybe she could get a job there to earn a living instead of working for Al the slave driver. Then, the last parcel she checked (she was going to be late getting back but who cares at this point, she thinks), the Land of the Cows. And she’d found their throne tucked away in the loft of a barn. Seeing no green dots indicating other residents nearby she dared to directly sit in it from her remote viewing spot.
She looked down and counted her white gloved fingers. 10 instead of 8. Good. She was still whole. Like proper milk, 5 percent instead of 2, or at least 4 to make the ratio come out correct. She’d held out her number challenge hand and someone grasped it. She was saved by the FILE, she knew. She had to keep abiding by the golden rule. But nobody said she had to keep working for *Al*. Heck, she could work here, with the cows, be a type of secret, inside agent uncovering their inner workings, including 4 stomachs we assume. But everyone knows that. Deeper secrets; beyond strange body workings. She could see into the soul of the cow, beyond the black and white, and peer deep into red, the ultimate unity. Like alchemy. But… where was the citrinitas? she wondered with this train of thought. The yellowing? The missing 4th? Ah… “Eureka!” she shouted, leaping out of the throne, attracting the attention of at least one other. Someone named Beckett, an expert on historical. An expert on all things missing in the now. Including himself.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 