From: intraphase@gmail.com

Placing his left hand over his stomach and arcing his right palm towards Boulevard Five the professor allows the courier to fall in beside him. Walking along the winding well-trimmed pathway Dr. Vulchario grows curious about the new instrument
delivering data points to his creation. Choosing the circuitous route, “I am
well aware that in the nether isles and in many parts of Sealand I am referenced by…”
“I am sorry to interrupt this interesting discussion. I am called The Dove and you are called
The Vulture. Neither of us can control the actions of others. In some worlds I
am friend and in some worlds I am enemy. When a private realm might be destroyed I become the attaché, yet always I am both a courier and diplomat. If you could live alone,
or in concert with others in the eternal Oceania, then you most likely would do
so: no matter how small or large, how powerful or how insignificant, the vessel.” Crossing Boulevard Five the small rivers of wispy waspish beings scurry away from the
circulating rounds of their knowledge gathering survival quests.
“I’m willing to accept the consequences of my acts if defeated, until then the battle continues.”
“I’ve stated your position accurately. They’re coming for the disk. They are from Oceania.”
“I do not question your facility for observation, I simply state that my opponents are beset by agreeable hallucinations, in the cold glare of the desolate night, they call a native eternity.”
“The one who is beyond all colors, shades, abundance or absence, by virtue of impassioned curiosity shall force the decision. Its prerogatives bound only by a desire to be at peace with itself. You may know great victory; or great defeat, as may your
allies and opponents. In your mutual degradation the unknown and the unknowable
shall triumph. If your opponents have been entombed, and this new badge certifies their entombment; then by scales of the unknown and this very satchel
I carry: you’ve
been laid to eternal rest in an undetectable mono diamond.”
Dr. Vulchario withdraws a comb arranging his yellow hair neatly the courier half a step behind. Removing the snow globe he looks at the clothing his companion has outfitted himself with; not gaining a glimmer of recognition of the era it defines or
announces. A suit jacket of dark black leather over a crisp white shirt with a string tie, dark denim material slacks and a pair of spit shined pointed leather boots. No rings, watch, or other peripheral accouterments does seem odd.
“Excuse me young fellow I have routine maintenance that must be attended to.” The doctor conveys unpretentiously. Strumming a technical melody, against the finger worn indentations on the bottom of the snow globe, Vulchario
barks snappishly, “Be
off with you, away for our rest.”
The generous sprinkling of manhole covers open their half-moons pointing skyward, the bars restricting each sewer fall away to open square pits. The swarming sojourners rise from every rooftop driving down chasing the boulevard bound neophytes without
warning into the dark humming underground posthaste. The subway station entrances at Boulevard Four are deluged by wallowing thick rumbling clouds of deformed specters jostling for a smoother passage out of Library City. A vinegary electrical smell
accompanies the hovering, forbidding countenance of the flying octopus, hatched
into existence in the murkiest bracken pools of Sealand’s tidal basins.
Dr. Vulchario is slowing his pace approaching Boulevard Two his right fingertips are slowly stroking the raised pink rippling scar that runs from his
left ear to his chin, a duplicate of the one on his right cheek. “For the tranquility of Clocktown
and the serene beauty of Parkland I give my brother Igor the widest latitude and fullest reign of freedom to conduct his affairs as he sees fit.”
“A plentiful realm with a domain set aside for each state of being was the original intention of my polished megalopolitan cityscape; but alas for want of
human companionship I instituted a compromise.” Vulchario trails off strumming the disk in
the snow globe shocking the octopus.
Maurice notices Danes, Francis, Dormante and Mercurius halfway up the hill. He taps Father McCredie on the shoulder from behind. McCredie is reading the inscriptions on one of the three golden bells. “Yes, I am ready to leave.” Moses sits on the
three stairs that rise up to the clocks granite deck drawing a circular map of his and Maurice’s position on the timewave device.
Folding the scrap of paper he catches sight of the advertisements printed side.
“Shredder” and “The Kookers” featured with “The Headsman” and “The Hired Guns,” on an arena playbill.
“We’ve got to get moving Maurice. Twenty-four hours have passed outside and Auri’s running
a concert tonight.” Moses rises with an adrenalin surge gathering McCredie and Maurice in the hope of catching up to the others exiting the fairgrounds.
Aurian Tatianni is in the VIP meeting lounge above the Fairfield Arena’s northern scoreboard talking with guests and friends of the four regional bands performing. The second rock group is almost finished with its one hour performance and the night’
s show related activities are moving forward without major delays. “I saw your grandmother perform at the Metropolitan Opera.”
Tatianni turns extending her hand to greet Robert Bitterman, “Glad you could find the time…”
Bitterman is under dressed in faded denim jacket and jeans above work boots; a comic tee shirt of two turds in sneakers, wearing bandanas around their heads reads, “Get Your Shit Together!”
Aurian sizing up the slight waifish mogul winks going for broke, “Do you dye your hair Bob?”
“Touché Miss Auri. I spent the day welding stuff. They didn’t let you check out the old zero?”
“No; but I didn’t really push it either. When I get in, I’ll scope out your circle position using a compass.” Bitterman gave Tati a shy confident smile and she stepped forward giving him a hug.
“I still sing the anthem for all the sporting events and play with my friends
recreationally. The life of a diva opera singer was not for me, my grandmother was miserable as her talents faded.”
Aloysius exiting the S.X. Manta and standing between the three bells gave everyone an excuse
to rally on the deck. Juzya, Augustus, Mr. Eight and Player One were not trapped in the circle and entombed in diamond dust. Mr. Eight takes the lead pointing to a jutting promontory cliff to the southeast that rises above the distant tree line. “When
excess dissonance struck the zero and the surroundings began undulating like sheets of burning glass the ATM from inside The Rover was already here. I ended
up inside and jumped back to The Skytrax.”
With their eyes alerted to recognition, a rough outline of a large bulky human shaped form was easily discernable. The legs hidden by the trees, standing on a mass of large croclodyte reptiles, stacked to form a stairway and
platform. “With the S.X.
Manta here; and the three new motion dynamic engines provided by The Origin settlement; I can recharge The ATM.” Mr. Eight lifted four fingers toward The
Old Chief deferring to him. Lucian tussled both Eight and Aloysius’s hair forcing both boys to
withdraw their hands from their pockets. Miss Faversham took the hands of both Mr. Eight and Augustus her eyes focused on the chief. Templeton did the same to
Mac and Doc drawing them inward. The Old Chief stood squarely behind Aloysius his hands resting
gently on either shoulder, The Player on his left and Juzya and Azrok to his right.
“This is my assessment. The old timestar collapsing into a diamond dome serves a defensive purpose; they have thrown everything they have at it unsuccessfully. Our best bet is to burrow downward and then outward to begin any major assault on
lightmach-24. If we use the disk provided by Augustus to tunnel out above ground; we become vulnerable to massive counter offensives. Underground they have to dig just to find the opening. For us, we can deploy and
seal the route behind us. As an observation post and point to launch attacks from the dome is an asset. There is also the longshot chance that Dr. Vulchario
can finally be drawn out of hiding.”
Igor’s pet octopus held at bay, The Professor and The Vagabond cross Boulevard One weaving diagonally through the overflowing greenery of the dividers, accessing a cramped curling side street, of three to six story fossiliferous Ordovician limestone
apartment buildings. The walls are freckled with the outline of small creatures
memorialized in stone, the higher floors designed with rare woods and elegant stucco stylings. Every building’s highest points or hidden corners are adorned with
magnificent time pieces from every era and corner of the natural world. All of the winding serpentine street’s small yards and courtyards are unreachable by
the sun but still endowed with sun dials of every shape and size ever imagined.
Ivan stops at a
small yard with a brass post, a sextant used as the homeowner’s emblem, held below a six sided hurricane lantern.
“I am aware if the new courier bag is here you are capable of reciting the true name of the disputed item and seizing it forth with. I am farsighted enough to know that silence does not equal acquiescence. Once you have ascertained that Grigori…
Igor: is in good health and here by his own free will; and we are both at peace, and conducting our endeavors in mutual cooperation,
I hope the status of the disputed asset remains unchanged.” The Vagabond nodded to the winded Ivan, while staring at his own open hand, acknowledging Ivan’s portrayal of recent events.
The door is a megalithic heavy dark oak monument; with wide brass appointments, riveted across each seam line, that fasten the burnished brass to
the stout wood. It eases open silently on well-oiled hinges. The great barrier barely approached the
inner wall as the elevator’s bell rang.
Inside blue marble stairs wrap around the outer walls circling the central glass vault protecting the palatial elevator cage and the lustrous alloy lifting platform. The cables, wheels and engines occupy the second through sixth floor. Politely
following Ivan into the opulent viewing carriage
The Vagabond selects a nearside brown leather couch with a circular rotating brass plate base.
Igor sensing his beloved octopus is experiencing pain; hides on the elevators
roof singing accompaniment to the passing compression fields used to extract The Presence from the captured beings who are trapped in vats holding The Essence of their every
conscious existence and lives.
“Well it's not how it should be when the essence is borrowed.
On the corner selling mindsets… Money for tomorrow.
Your mom wants an abortion but you're fifty-five years old.
Your hearts just woke up to see all that's grown cold.
Travail talk-talk-talk nothing's free… But I see you crave on eternally.
Pay up, shot up, sit right down, this is no quarter where jokers battle clowns.
Spotlight shining; got those knowing guns… Middle of the desert no place to
run.
Pie in the sky castle of dreams: where the rain fights fire, and love battles
schemes.
Truth fought freedom while the sinners grew tired.
The prison of hate, to which the knife doth laid waste.
Little miss muffin kept on puffing and outward she would go to the farthest misty star.
Sweeping clean the skyway of all the broken down cars.
To a river that's hidden by a steady shining rock.
Where ghosts swim softly, whispering sweetly through the locks.
Same old story, time after time; you scream at the dawn in rhythms and rhymes.
I make the kills, you eat the meat, like a chosen fool, I lay it at your golden feet.
Don't make me prove it one more time, or I'll drag your dark angels to the other side.
Well it's not how it should be when the essence is borrowed.
On the corner selling mindsets… Money for tomorrow.”
The Old Chief finished detailing the basic strategy; leaves them with a final
word of caution.
“Above all this is a battlefield. You enter at your own peril, with no guarantee of safety from disease death or insanity. Miss Donna Gretchen Faversham has requested the following service.”
The Player holds his free right hand up easing the small circle of allies further apart. Setting down the basketball size black diamond that floated within the failed clocks pit, he arranges six gemstones from his capture pouch until the black vortex
paradome floats two inches off the granite floor. Kneeling he blows air under the sphere until it is floating four feet above the deck.
On a translucent eight sided screen produced by the clear light similar to the dead one above:
2085 Logarithm 44-A
The Vulture / Reconnaissance Loop 0001 /Ivan Vulchario
A thin clear diamond filigree sphere appears above the kitchen table between the twin brothers being diapered. It sparkles and the jewel tone disk within tilts from side to side requesting rescue assistance. Young Gretchen is unaware
her beloved
husband Vladimir Vulchario, is the highest ranked investor, in the worlds and truths created in circle two of The Origin Game. She rolls a fresh diaper into a tube, swatting at the strange object threatening her children. The filigree pops crackling like
a dying lightbulb. The small coin sized bejeweled object tumbles onto the stack
of freshly washed diapers. Gretchen Vulchario receives the self-jettisoned disk
from the broken and dying core of the nearly incapacitated S.X. Rover scuttling
itself in deep
water to avoid capture.
Her children safely dressed and occupied with their milk bottles, the young mother inspects the object scrutinizing it closely. Unsure what to do she measures it against the lid of a mason jar she is using to make a snow globe from. She sizes it
against the inner lid finding it seats itself snugly against the metal lid, gripping its small haven with precise force. She fills the globe and hides it.
The recording completed playing the young native eternal snatches the records
paradome out of the air setting it down to gather the numbered gems from the pit back into their sack. Pierce still amply sedated holds his rucksack full of
amber books aloft
squinting at them realizing his throat is parched from too little water. Walking over to Templeton’s bag he grabs a spring water.

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* Origin: www.darkrealms.ca (1:229/2)