00440201
“My treehouse! Not… real. Sinking. Sin-king. “No. No no no no…
“… NOOooooooooo!”
Aeriel woke up in a cold sweat on the very spot she just fell into the void in her dream, voices all around and not in a good way. This would not do. She needed to make contact with the Mother(ship) hovering far above to make all this more, well, solid. Time for her weekly bi-meeting anyway. Two birds with one stone, a bird in the bush, so on.
—–
“You will not stay long enough to make it worthwhile,” the almost torso-less but still lab coat wearing Mother said bluntly of the treehouse she had constructed, along with… her sister? And where was?… oh no. Oh NO. The dream was *real*. The *sister* who remained in the fantastical world had fallen into the void; they’d drawn straws over who would stay there before the Earth trip. She’d forgotten which is which, and that, in the end, it all goes round and round, dreams merging with reality and visa versa. Just like Oz.
(to be continued)
00440202
All was right with the Earth…
… until Day 27 when its cube was transferred into the Sun where it didn’t belong. Atall. Trees began to wilt, skin began to welk; our protagonist ran indoors and locked the doors and shut all the windows from the evil black shine, desperate for survival.
I theorize the malignant event has something to do with this pond, seen from the north at 0:14 in the same video…
… and then from the other direction in a more aerial view precisely 1 minute later.
And in-between — 30 seconds from each of these images — a blood spurt producing STAB…
… which happens to be connected with SLAB in another “minute earlier” video synchronicity (see top screen capture).
Where have we seen the second one from the left before? Oh yeah, in section one of this here photo-novel where our protagonist Dr. Kelp dug it up from under a green bush with a spade gathered from a red bush and gave it to the aliens in the triangle ships so that they could leave our planet of Earth after understanding its shape was a cube and not a sphere as previously assumed, flight calculations altered accordingly. Which brings us back to the top of this here post. What can *we* assume about its round and round nature? Let’s try to put ourselves in the shoes of the visiting aliens, hmm?
And what about the sister who fell into the void with all those voices? What happened to her? So let’s get back to that pond.
(to be continued)
00440203 (mystery flesh pit)
https://www.reddit.com/r/Voicesofthevoid/comments/1en5q2b/wha_the_hell_is_this/?rdt=43388
Question: what the hell is this?
Best answer (right answer): that’s where the voices of the void come from
And here is where Our Second Lyfe begins outstripping this more modern game in importance. Because this hole… actually comes from that. A whole super city in the upper right central part of the Maebaleia continent of that virtual world is being built around the phenomenon. Lab coat wearing Dr. Kelp and her companion A. Pond look on.
(to be continued)
00440204
He and Slop sat there for the longest time. He kept the truck running in the cool Autumn morning, almost completely rusted over from the Blue Feather Sea salt and brine. The heat was set to medium high. The radio was tuned to the local KLXC station and its blend of medium rock and high jazz. Even the worn seat of his truck was set to same (medium high) so he could sit up and see the road better in his older age. Slouching more, he recognized. Uncle Barnacles, so named for his crusty attitude, also perhaps brought on by his own proximity to the same salty, upper central Maebaeleia continent body of water named before, had his back turned on the “creature” on purpose. He had a crate to deliver, per his new job, but he didn’t want to go over there, get any closer. “Slop,” he said to his riding companion, a droopy hound with almost as complex of personality, “I can feel it. Even if I can’t see it. You hear that hum? That’s it. Some say, Slop, it’s *comforting*. Imagine that,” he spat out with bile. Slop slopped an agreeing bark in his face, pelting it lightly with saliva, which Uncle Barnacles was use to. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
2 hours later, he’d managed to turn the truck around and face it on the upper lot of the same parking deck, but on the opposite side of where he could get a direct look. He was trying to get use to the idea of being here, of working for the people who decided to create this whole megalopolis centered around it. Or working on it, super city creation in progress. “1st crate and I’ve already got cold feet,” he complained to Slop again. “Might as well turn in my badge and get paid for my 1/2 day’s work. Maybe, hmm, maybe I’ll just leave the crate here, in the parking deck, and tell them where it’s at. Whaddaya say, Slop?” Another light splatter of spit. The crate was unloaded and they were outta here, returned to the sea of which they were so much a part of now.
“Another one lost,” human resources director and more A. Pond lamented later back at the office, staring at the still moist security badge. “Well, if the locals are spooked by the thing then we’ll just have to hire more outside workers, preferably ones desperate for a job. Her thoughts turned southward, beyond the continent’s old Neutral Zone. Slums of Hatton, as she derogatorily called it in her Northern way, might do for a start.
(to be continued)
00440205 (weakness)
They got the green light for the project even thought the base plans were still a bit up in the air.
Fern Stalin, playing the role of Dr. Kelp at least in section 02 of this here photo-novel, cussed because she couldn’t get inside to take a better look-see. Restricted. In fact about all the interiors of the Krypton sim seem to be that way, except for the naval hospital. So she decided to break a leg.
“Ow ow ow,” she acted for the night doctor. Idontknow I believe, which is perhaps Turkish. “Fix it fix it *Fix it*!”
They tried to take an x-ray but she squirmed around in so much fake pain that they couldn’t get a clear image. “Dr. Kelp — *please*, Idontknow pleaded, having to enter the scene again after retreating to his office to let the techs take over. “If you could just hold steady for a moment. I know it hurts.”
“You don’t *know* the pain,” she barked through a grimace. “No, just get me a wheelchair. I’ll come back later when a different doctor is on the clock. I don’t like your attitude.” She grimaced again, yelped in pretend pain a bit once more.
“Dr. Kelp, if you’d just–”
“Do it!” she commanded at the top of her lungs. The techs working on floors 1 and 3 turned their eyes upward and downward respectively, wondering about the noise. Dr. Idontknow thought he had no choice.
“Get her a wheelchair,” he said to his 2nd floor techies who were staring straight on. Let her circle around the hospital a couple of times with that leg, he thinks. She’ll be back soon enough.
“I’ll need a pass to get back in,” she said as they slid her into the seat.
“Well, actually–,”
“Do it!”
And so they gave her a pass even though she didn’t actually need one to return. They were trying to quiet her down in any way possible, her plan all along. Once she got in the wheelchair, she took the elevator down to the first floor…
… and was out of there, putting its little electric motor on full throttle on the way back to the room with the up-in-the-air military personnel about 200 yards away. Her plan to get to those plans worked (!). She was so pleased with herself. Dr. Idontknow, pheh, she thought. 3rd shift indeed.
“What???” more competent Dr. Who screamed in the morning when he arrived upon learning about the missing patient and wheelchair. “Yes sir?” answered 2nd shift Dr. What standing not far behind him, having to come in early for a personnel meeting. Dr. Idontknow also decided to stick around from 3rd to attempt an explanation for the situation. And then non-shift Dr. Why showed up out of left field to join the discussion, surprising everyone. And then the whole thing ended with all of them actually not caring, go figure.
Fern, base plans stolen before the military personnel’s eyes with more trickery, was home free.
What a convoluted joke! But it worked.
Now to build this aerial thing, she thought back in her own hanger.
00440206
“Have you two ever thought about getting married yourself? I mean, in real life?”
—–
“You don’t understand, honey. I’m — already — here.”
“No matter how many times—”
“Here. Let me lift you up so that you can see better over these vines.”
“Th-there’s a man standing up there, Keith. On *our* roof. Staring directly at me — us.”
“Yeah. I know.”
He turns.
00440207
I was almost halfway through my tour of the vineyard when I spotted it crazily dangling above an attached plant.
Then less than a minute later the plane crashed, BOOOM!
I rushed to the scene…
… only to find an empty cockpit bent up like an old tin can. But where was the pilot? I scanned the grounds from my position for signs of a parachute. None spotted.
Then I went back to the main house and found this tile thingy and knew one was somehow related to the other. Channeling, I realized later. Because I wasn’t the only one who’d made the association. More on that soon.
Despite the oddities, I decided to finished exploring the vineyard to complete my video. “How about that plane crash, huh?” I asked a passing worker in an upper field.
“Happens all the time,” he responded in a Hispanic accent without stopping, surprising me. Initially. Then I followed this up with, “And the vine!” as he was walking away, halting him in his tracks.
He reversed course, venom in his eyes. “What — do you know — about *Viney*?”
00440208
Still no sign of the parachute even from this rooftop position, *sigh*. And what about that Viney obsessed fellow, huh? Turns out it wasn’t hate in his eyes as he approached me again, just fiery, passionate interest. Investigator of the paranormal. Just like…
00440209 (down from the rooftop)
Something to do with the plane, something to do with the vine, she thought parallel to the other investigator, the one who works more during the day. This one prefers night, when the NPCs are all asleep and silent and away from their normal routines. Silent night. Like the Hispanic worker also with an interest in “Viney”. Is that the actual name for the thing? Can it *talk*? Questions like these haunt her nights more than actual sightings of oddities fer sure.
This day was different. Special indeed; 25. “What are you doing at my house?” the man who looked like Santa calmly asked but ready for action if needed. As always.
“I-investigating, sir,” she managed through the shakiness. Came right up on her without a sound! Stealthy, she quickly determined. Cat-like.
“Investigating *what*?” Still calm. He spread his arms, indicating the whole manor. “We make wine. No mysteries here.” But there was a slyness to his voice.
“Th-there’s rumors… sir… of a monster about here,” she came up with off the top of her head.
“Monster?” Eyebrows raised again in disbelief, but with that wry smile. He stood his ground, waiting for more. Nonthreatening, but Stacey (Stacey?) knew he could pounce in a flash anyway. The tiles, she realized. She could make something up about the tiles. He probably saw her shine her light on them from this distance. So she said this, connecting them with patterns. Patterns of monsters.
“Ahh, that old thing,” he seemed to dismiss. “You’re not the *only* one. And won’t be the last one. But I’m surprised you didn’t mention the flying machine that collided with the field at precisely 3 o’clock,” he said in his cunning way. “Or the other thing.”
“Flying machine?” she offered, ignoring the second for the moment. “The plane you mean?”
“Yes, I’ve heard it called that. By the others.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, as if thinking back to prior conversations with them. “Tin can too.” He shuffles his feet, reorienting himself. “Do you know what that means?”
Tin can — airplane, she thought. But all that came to mind is that old David Bowie song about space and its own set of oddities. Which was actually correct.
“Nothing?” he asked, eyebrows raised and arms spread at once.
“Nothing,” she admitted.
(to be continued)
00440210
“Since you’re so curious, um…”
“Stacey,” I said.
“Since you’re so curious… Stacey,” he began again, adding my name, “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking I had no other choice. I was trespassing on his land after all. And he was so much, er, bigger than me. And even more, I think, remembering the stealthiness.
“Up in the fields,” he continued. “Won’t take a minute to reach. An object, invisible to my touch but not to a certain set of others. I know you know about the plane, the *vine* — I saw you in the lower field flashing your light at the thing.” Your confounded, bright light, he thought but kept to himself. And your blasted crunchy boots. Nights are for silence!
“I’m with you, sir.”
“Great. Give me one second.” And he went into a nearby lavatory to stuff his ears full of cotton before proceeding.
(to be continued)
00440211
It started with flamingos…
… it ended with flamingos.
And in-between, Fern found a new home for Lichen and herself while they investigate the developing super city of upper right central Maebaleia, the one northeast north and northwest all of its old capital of X-City. 100 lindens a week — quite reasonable. And a pool! Ah the joys of summer in fall, never mind the bit of rain this morning.
Chopper sounds in the distance. Approaching. Fern’s been waiting.
00440212
“I am glad the snow has melted overnight so that we can see better what is going on up here in the upper fields. So the… object appeared several days back between rows 7 and 8 there so I’ve been waiting for something to show up. This time, the flying machine with the whirly top.”
“A helicopter,” I offered, crouching by his side behind nearby row 5, looking down on it and hopefully out of sight. We’d been waiting all night, but since I changed from woman to man at dusk I wasn’t so threatened by him. Tough stretches in the night, though. The guy was frisky! “Sometimes called a chopper,” I added.
“Chopper?” He seemed surprised at the variant name.
“Yeah, you know. Chop chop chop chop chop,” I illustrated. “Like the sound it makes. Chop chop chop chop chop,” I repeated.
“I have a dog named Chomp,” he said in his intuitive, associative way. “I wonder if it’s related?”
“Chomp could be derived from Chop I suppose,” I said, playing along.
“Yes,” he said, raising his head to the approaching chopper. “Yes I think it is. I’m *remembering*.”
The helicopter landed just outside the field and a man jumped out…
… and ran toward the metallic silver object…
… making it disappear when he reached it.
“Ahh, the smart dressed pale man,” he said just above the noise of the still spinning blades, trying to control his anger. Thank Gods for the wads of cotton! “There’s three of them. This one, the sloppily dressed pale man with the wild look about his face — another monster, I sense — and then the dark man who dresses neutrally between the two. Can you hear me over the noise?”
I nodded; he continued.
“Any of them could show up in several modes of transport. There’s helicopter — chopper — today. There’s 4 wheeled machines other days, 2 wheeled machines other days, but… never one of your planes. The plane is separate. This doesn’t seem connected to that. This is an upper field event and that is in one of the lower fields, along with Viney. Although both often appear at 3 o’clock, PM here obviously.”
I checked my watch not on my arm. 3:01. Task apparently accomplished, the smart dressed pale man, as he put it, got back into the helicopter and took off northward, I noticed. Toward the swamplands.
“Well,” he said, standing up from his crouching position, chopper noise abating (relief!). “Show’s over. The object does not return for days, sometimes weeks or even months. This inevitably attracts the machines when it does. And the men. Do you understand what happened?”
“Kind of,” I said, knowing I actually understood little.
“They’re building something. I know it. Something beyond mere ground and aerial machines. Something different. He turned his head toward me. My, er, half-cat senses tell me this,” he tried to explain the sensation, showing me his slitted eyes. “Half alien, actually.”
“Um hmm.”
“You look tired. I’ll let you get back to your kind.”
“Thank you.” Not captive, phew!
“One more thing before you leave if you don’t mind. I’ll even let you take a replica home with you. I’ll be needing your future knowledge in the future, I’m picking up. With your permission of course.”
“Who are you?” I asked, meeting a lot of strange characters online but this one taking the cake. So realistic, so believable. Indeed I needed a rest after all this weirdness.
“Call me Gerald,” he said, finally revealing his own name. We started back down the hill toward his house for that “one more thing.”
(to be continued)
00440213 (head’n south)
She started talking about Musket as a frigg’n genius and a red flag was raised for the first real time in the 2+ hour long video. She began to round herself out where I could see the other side, the dark one we all have; made her human beyond mere whitewashed brainiac — fair deal. She then talked about the merger of technology and anatomy and told Musket to “go for it” with his related, controversial projects because it was going to happen anyway. This reminded me of all the Cyberpunk 2077 body modifications, like eye replacements (thanks a lot Blue Moon!). Musket is a genius but really only as a businessman and self-promoter, sort of like the Big Orange one he also hails, self reflecting self. Couldn’t this be a frigg’n warning from a game envisioning a dystopian future? Girlfriend Grimes is there. Grimes is the key. Musician.
But what is the warning? one might ask. What’s wrong with *worshiping technology*?
Let’s drop the cubes on the square to end.
00440214 (Kabusie secrets)
Mr. Middle.
And then, just beyond…
“Cary?”
No, that must not have been Cary, I think, now looking at his sparkly back as I circled around. He didn’t answer me. *Surely* he would remember who I was. Didn’t even look up to meet my eyes. But… maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe he didn’t hear me. “*Cary*,” I tried more levelly and with more volume. He turned.
“See here’s where it gets *really* interesting, Lichen,” said observing Fern at their new home near the pit. “Because it’s about to happen again.”
“Mm, mhm, mhmmm,” says Lichen, since her mouth is full of popcorn but she’s still so eager to speak.
“What’s that, dearest?”
*Swallow*. “Ier ssaied, whferef’s Mfr. Middlfe?” Swallow again.
“He’s not in this one. Just watch.”
I was walking up to him again. How was this *possible*?
“Madison?”
(to be continued)
00440215 (Tin)
“Of course I knew Cary, of course I knew Madison,” she says more to her audience beyond the 4th wall than the actual person in the room with her. “One was the former sidekick of world famous musician Jonny Silverhhand of Sunamai, now fronting his own almost as famous band. One was the future mayor of the whole of frigg’n Nightsity itself. But how do they fuse… here in Kabusie?” She turns back to the window, staring at it as if she can see through the blinds — not blinded. “What secrets are you holding in your narrow alleys, your… canals and notwhat? Channels, something.” She blows out cigarette smoke toward it, as if trying to obscure the secrets even more.
“Well. I’m glad we cleared *that* up,” I said, watching the smoke dissipate into the blinds and the light between them.
“Yees. But you’re here for your assignment of course. Wondering when we’d ever get around to it.”
“Well…”
00440216 (north)
“Look Lichen. It’s like our black and white lists that started the last photo-novel, 43 in a series (!).
“Lichen?
“Lichen!”
Sunklands 