A strange occurrence is happening in Port Mansfield, blocking Batty Casey from joining us tonight at the Mansfield Mansion.
We’ll have to go back to Mars instead, disguised as Marz this time.
Someone lives inside the purple Marz house with the hand, probably Katy Kidd again.
Because this is another mother abode, pheh.
“My two proteges together once more, 88 and, 88. Together we make a cross. Peter’s. We can control him again.” Then she cackles. Uncontrollably.
“I keep looking out that window and thinking there’s someone sitting up on that giant live oak limb, staring at us. But it’s just that dark angel in the middle of the pond over there.”
“One hour ’til sunrise,” urges Eight-seven beside her, formerly Eighty-eight.
“Match tonight — better try to get some sleep.” Eighty-six now.
Surely Wheeler will be alright on her own this *one* time, thinks rocking Baker Blinker back in Collagesity at her Gloomy Gus house. The 88’s will be with her.
But someone indeed has followed Wheeler to the wrestling arena in what use to be Morgan-Julia. And is manipulating time and space around her.
“One more piece then I’m done,” mutters Cpt. Americus, trying to polish off his bucket of chicken so he can think properly about another evil plot to hatch.
The stream rages on…
“I’m going to make you partially transparent so don’t panic.”
“Okay, here’s the problem. Or deal. *I* sit on the black stool that represents the 8 ball. 88 01 (let’s say), you are on the orange “2” stool and 88 02 (we’ll say), you’re perched on the yellow “3”. Wheeler then considered something else. “Stool, huh.” She then took a remote picture before returning to the 87 Room.
“Alright, so between you is an XVideos labelled laptop that, to me, obviously is suppose to represent “x” as in *times* something. But 3 *times* 2 (she points to the 3 associated objects in turn) equals 6. Added to my 8 (stool) you get 86. But this is (Room) 87.
If you consider the X might be a cross (+) it goes even one further from the truth, since 80 (points to herself) plus 3 (points to 88 01) plus 2 (points to 88 02) equals 85. Now the XVideos laptop sits on a stool representing the 1 ball in pool, the blue one. To me, this *must* represent Blue Eye, the missing one in either Arkansas or Missouri. So here’s the solution, people. I’m 80, you guys are 3 *times* 2 or 6, and then the stool, the one, when added in at last — *not* multiplied — brings us to the needed 87. You have to count the missing one hidden by the X to make sense of it all.
“So what’s the problem?” I asked just beyond the wall.
“It’s time to take one of you observing 88’s to the room to see what went missing. Maybe both of you. Yeah: both.”
“First, a little wine before we start. Sorry you can’t have any, guys.” (sip)
“Guys? Can you hear me?”
The personnel in the central police station watched the burning of Club 88 and attached Little Jimmy from a distance and talked amongst themselves.
“Now order will be restored,” said Officer Brennon to Officer Barney, turning away from it for a moment. “*Big Brother* will be restored,” offered Officer Warren behind them (off-camera here). True men these were. They waited for Ms. Tanner to weigh in, the most important opinion.
“There is only one Big Brother,” she finally declared as the fire crescendoed, damage done. Casualties inside for sure. “Big brother Ingo Ratts has been eliminated, like big brother Little Big before him.” Brennon, Barney, and Warren didn’t know who Little Big was but nodded in agreement anyway. The point is: everything was reset. INGO banners had reverted to pre-film INGSOC, which stood for the fictional English Socialist Party of George Orwell’s seminal “1984” novel, and whose totalitarian ideology represented what he saw as the worst possible outcome of socialism in his native Britain.
The new center of town was burning while the old one looked on satisfied.
“I *knew* I’d find you here, Eighty-eight.”
“Yeah. You know I can only get so far from you, Apple of My Life.”
“How’s your flu going?” Sarcasm.
Eighty-eight didn’t answer, but instead looked to the door. The door to *her* night club. She was the Star. It all revolved around her. Like planets.
“You gonna stick around and hear me play?” she then asked, not seeing the person enter that she wanted to. Her voice was steady, unfaltering. She knew what she was doing and was in command. Not
Tracy Austin Newtonia Kashkow. The latter wasn’t use to that and didn’t like it. Not one bite she didn’t.
She sat at the drum kit, calmly waiting while the singer and keyboardist remained frozen around her (like planets).
Her lover entered with the sphere.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Just afterwards his car parked outside burst into flames. Like the Sun.
“I think I get it,” exclaimed actress Alice Frame in her rented apartment next to Spunky’s while reading the latest script. “Ingo is controlled by the Sphere, the Sphere is controlled by…”
Where am I? Oh, I teleported to the center of the wrong SIF. One of two instead of two of two. But what’s that ahead of me? A light. Could this be another possible clue uncovered by pure synchronicity once more? I moved forward…
… and eventually came here to the edge of a rather large if redundant pine forest illuminated by the dawn’s early light. “Horns,” I speak aloud, looking at the teleporter design in front of me. “The devil inside: this must be another stepping stone.” I decided to call in Wheeler Wilson since I’d already talked to Bracket.
“Why are we here, Baker Bloch?” she asked after teleporting in.
Baker Bloch? I think. I’m… then I realized she’s right. I remembered who I was. Then I told her why she was here.
“Well, she began again after shaking her head a bit. “I wouldn’t call us exactly *friends*” She then called me a thing I cannot write here for reading. She had me (in a pickle). She then took off one of her shoes and made a phone call on it, something I understandably wasn’t expecting, even though I am *Smart*. The person on the other end? Someone named Eighty-eight. She prefaced the call (and the pulling off of the shoe) by stating she was phoning up her *own* friend.
“Eighty-eight?” she asked the person on the phone, whom I soon realized had that name. “Where are you?” Buzzing on the line. “I have Baker Bloch here. He’s trying to reach The End again.” More buzzing. “14th, I think.” Buzzing. “I know. We weren’t expecting it this soon either. He’s just going around trying to phone up friends, kind of like what I’m doing to you. Perhaps it’s catching.” She smiles at me with this. A sweet smile, surprising me. Hmm. “Meet us in Cassandra City,” she closed. “At the Grey’s House.” Hmm, again.
Eighty-eight soon phoned back (shoe again pulled off; answered), and told Wheeler that she just realized she had an appointment with an astrologer this evening and that they’d have to postpone a trip to Cassandra City for another night. So with that I took my leave of Wheeler and teleported over into the 2nd (and final) SIF sim, the one where Sweet Alice’s aunt has dealings with. I knew who this was now. Your Mama.
Maybe I should put down the flower.