Dedicated to anyone who cares to read it but as always, with my Carrie in
mind. This is for you as is everything I create.
While watching Back to Reality I couldn't help but feel incredibly curious about the characters that the crew become. Why is Billy so different from Sebastian if they have the same upbringing? Why is Jake Bullet half- mechanical if he's just a traffic cop? Why the hell are they there in the first place? Critics may say 'it's a hallucination, it doesn't have to make sense' Well I'm curious damnit.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Well nothing valuable. Or interesting. Or worth stealing. Except Carrie. In an non-chauvinistic way (I think..)
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
The universe we live in is based on choices. Every little thing we do changes the universe around us. Sometimes it only makes the difference between indifference and embarrassment when we try to choose the direction a stranger will go when you almost collide when walking down the street. Other times it can be the difference between whether the world is overrun in the future by giant super flies or by pandimensional space ants when we can choose to be merciful before smashing our rolled newspaper into the small flying, disease carrier that won't leave our morning toast alone. Theoretically, each decision that anything makes ever creates an alternate reality in which the alternatives happen. If a particle decides that left is a great idea then every other conceivable direction is tried out in alternate realities. In this way anything that can conceivably happen ever anywhere in an infinite universe will play out in an alternate infinite universe. Making infinity seem like peanuts compared to the absolutely immense amounts of universes there are. Oodles and oodles of them in fact.
In a particular reality in a certain section of space lies an S3 class planet that a certain immense mining freighter is supposed to be orbiting about. Millions of years before a coalition of people from a planet called Earth decided that the universe was something that could be played around with and entire systems of planets could be made suitable for habitation by. basically whatever they felt like putting there. A suitable planetoid was chosen in this certain section of space, capable of supporting an atmosphere and with a gravitational field that man could one day occupy without floating off into the freezing vacuum of space or driven into his boots, a pulpy mush of his own vital fluids, before he could say 'Smeg its hard walking here.' With huge amounts of the right chemicals on board, seeding ships were duly sent out with the sole purpose of compressing billions of years of planetary evolution into a matter of months. This completed more ships were dispatched to do the all important task of making interesting plants and animals so that the humans on the planet could do interesting and occasionally amusing things to them all in the name of being the master race.
As is often the downfall of immensely proud and often male people, they like doing things fast. And sloppily. And think they're doing it right. This is why the despair squid was born.
A gargantuan behemoth of a huge smegger of a fish, the despair squid defends itself by secreting a hallucinogenic inky toxin that causes visions within the victim, making them see something so horrific that they are driven to suicide. Thus it wipes out predators and prey alike, making a supposedly habitable planet desolate within a matter of years. The seeding ship had no chance.
The last of the species of monkeys that had discovered that fire was actually pretty cool, a dead man's personality digitally projected as tachyons to make a physical form, a sanitary robot who had cracked his programming enough to lie and cheat and yet still followed the ideals of the mechanoid bible as copyrighted by Panasonic and an incredibly cool humanoid descended from cats were all victims to this hallucinogenic. Each saw themselves as something they would never want to be, everything their minds unconsciously abhorred with the universe manifested as themselves. Yet in an alternate reality, every possibility is played out.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Jake flipped the holowhip's control to 'stun' as he crouched behind a wall. The flickering streetlight cast a constantly changing light that made seeing difficult, night vision went as soon as it started to form. Switching his vision to heat-seeking mode he peered around the corner.
Yellow steam rose from various vents in the street and into the night air. A rodent scurried across the alley, green and reds swirled within it as it left faint yellowish footprints that disappeared within seconds. And then he found what he was looking for. A yellowish dot weaving amongst the vents about 4 feet up.
Switching to night vision he saw the frightened face of the blonde young man with the metallic 'H' on his forehead before the light flicked on again. Jake drew his badge and stepped around the corner, the holowhip raised threateningly.
'Bullet, Cybernautics. Halt and Desist before I am forced to take action'
The man turned and fled. Jake cursed as he sprinted off in his wake, hating the way his heart ached from the running he had already had to do. From behind him an immaculately neat man in a trenchcoat raced past him, not even breaking a sweat. In retrospect that made sense but at the time all he could do was do what he could to keep up.
The thing about holograms is they made no damn noise. He almost stepped through the man's downed form, barely stopping before treading through Eddie who was wrapped around his legs. Jake nodded to him and watched him shrug as much as it was possible to whilst holding an enemy of democracy by the knees.
The pinkish glow of the holowhip lit up the terrified face of the blonde man, his eyes locked on its sinuous form. Jake nodded to Eddie who hauled the criminal to his feet. The holowhip started to whine as it turned from pink to orange. Eddie had to struggle to keep hold of the trashing hologram.
"Isaac Francis Johnston, you are hereby charged with hologrammatic larceny, obstruction of justice and treason against the state. Your trial begins now."
Jake took a cigarette from a battered silver case in his inside trenchcoat pocket and lit up, taking a satisfying lungfull of carcinogenic smoke. Isaac's eyes flittered between Eddie's exasperated expression and Jake's satisfied look.
"You have been found guilty and by the power invested in me by the People's Department of Cybernautics I sentence you to death."
Isaac started trashing again, almost breaking free of Eddie's grasp. Realising how close he was to escaping, Eddie brought his knee up sharply between his legs. Isaac fell to his knees, his eyes tearing from the pain and shock. Jake motioned Eddie to step back and raised the whip. Isaac raised his tear streaked face. The surface of his hazel eyes shimmered in the half light as he blubbered incoherently. Jake shook his head and snapped the whip down.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
The static buzz of the vid screen dug into Billy's ears and corkscrewed in his head. With a growl he threw the nearest thing he had to hand at the off button. The resounding crack made him smile slightly as the boot connected with the panel and silenced the grating sound.
He was lying on a sofa, of sorts. The leather had split in a few places, spilling fluffy sofa guts onto the floor. The black was more of a grey now, its surface ridden with cracks and areas of wear. One leg was propped up with a pile of old magazines and the springs groaned when the wind changed direction. It housed a small colony of various animals, mostly invertebrates but Billy knew there was a smallish rat at the back because it bit him when he was looking for change once.
The room around him was in complete disarray. Like a horrific plane accident. Debris was everywhere, ready meal containers, bits of electronic equipment, sandwich remains, grit, nails, semtex. Books were piled along with infodiscs next to a bed as chewed up as the sofa. The bed itself was littered with wires and more plastique brands than the Avon lady has cosmetics.
Billy himself was thin, almost malnourished. His wiry hair was long and severe blonde, bordering on white. He wore only a pair of battered jeans, his bare chest covered in the grime of oil and scent of gunpowder. The flat was cold, goosepimples were all over his body. The nights of no sleep had aged him; dark circles hung heavily under his eyes. His hands gripped the sofa, his long and dextrous fingers pressing into the leather as the insomnia of the driven afflicted him and he shook the shiver of the damned cold.
He stood with much grunting and creaking and picked his way between the debris. Reaching under the bed he heaved out a large wooden trunk, WJD emblazoned across the lid in golden lettering. Flipping open the catch he yanked it open and pulled out a shirt. Pulling it over his head he was going to close the lid when he felt something digging into his back. Pulling off the shirt whatever it was fell to the floor, landing face down. Flipping the photograph over with a toe he was greeted by his own grinning face in his CGI uniform standing before the flag of the state and accepting an award from a very tall, smiley old man in an officer's uniform.
It reminded him of Sebastian. His standing there and being so proud as an ageing relic in a revolution long past from the memories of mankind gave him something shiny for crushing the spirits of the revolutionaries. He almost felt sorry for him.
He picked his way carefully over to the barred window he had overlooking the street. The bustle of the masses rose up to greet him, moving about ferociously even at 4 in the morning. He thought back on the infodiscs he had on the Roman Empire, millennia ago thousands of slaves were controlled by the empire. There were only a few revolutions in the centuries they were in power. He used to always wonder why. Why not more? This state was achieved by rebellion; the overthrowing of the 'evil' capitalists was well documented even in the controlled state run education. Why didn't people just realise these people were evil, that there needed to be something new?
The slaves of the Empire had been born into slavery. The children of slaves were slaves. Those captured in war were slaves. They had no rights, no possessions and no protection. The only thing that stopped them all being killed by their owners was etiquette. Those people out the window were born into slavery. They would die under it. Unless they were knew of freedom. They needed to be shown.
He turned away and stumbled to his bed where only wires and semtex would greet him.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
It was another day at university. The lecture rooms were sparsely populated at quarter to nine so he had found his habitual place at the front incredibly simply. Rushing down the steps to get to it before any body else had the chance, he sat down on the wooden chair, grinning with self- satisfaction. Reaching into his bag he pulled out his pencil case. Opening it he took out 2 HB pencils, sharpened to points so precise they were capable of performing keyhole surgery. Beside them were 2 black ballpoints, 2 blue ballpoints, 2 red ballpoints for corrections, 2 green ballpoints, a thick interchangeable biro that let you choose up to 4 colours (black, blue, red and green), a yellow, green and orange highlighter, 2 rubbers and a pencil sharpener that had a little box for catching the shavings with extra blades. He was mildly concerned that he should have brought his other highlighter but then remembered it was because it was pink and then maybe the girls would think he was gay.
He snorted, a quick suppressed laughter through his cavernous nostrils at that thought. He hid his immense grin behind his hand as he silently chuckled.
'Hey Dibley, don't even bother trying to hide those teeth of yours. I can see them from behind your head.'
He hurriedly dropped his hands to rummaging through his bag, pulling out the last session's notes that he previously read through and highlighted the key points of. His face burned with embarrassment as Malcolm up in the middle row called down on him. And after he had lent him those notes on advanced integration.
His face was still redish as the lecturer made his way to the podium and began speaking. Dwayne though wasn't listening. His mind had started drifting again. Closing his eyes, he tried to gain some measure of composure.
Her smile burned him, his soul wrenched as she seemed so happy at what was beyond him, her gaze locked on another. Her eyes, twin pools of excruciating depth set in green twinkled with joy. Her soft lips parted slightly as if to.
He opened his eyes and breathed. The room around him ignored his presence much as always as the lecturer droned on.
What was wrong with him? He tried to tune into what the man was saying, to hear the words within the sounds but it was no use. He tried recalling what it was supposed to be about but no dice. He couldn't concentrate. The words on the page mixed and melded, becoming the squiggles they actually were. Flicking through them he tried to make sense of something.
In the margin on one of the pages he had written the night before was something that made everything snap into focus. Two words that he could see. Words that could make him happy. Words that could make him everything he wanted to be.
He smiled, not caring who was dazzled or horrified by the revelation of his gargantuan overbite and doodled on a fresh sheet of paper.
While watching Back to Reality I couldn't help but feel incredibly curious about the characters that the crew become. Why is Billy so different from Sebastian if they have the same upbringing? Why is Jake Bullet half- mechanical if he's just a traffic cop? Why the hell are they there in the first place? Critics may say 'it's a hallucination, it doesn't have to make sense' Well I'm curious damnit.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Well nothing valuable. Or interesting. Or worth stealing. Except Carrie. In an non-chauvinistic way (I think..)
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
The universe we live in is based on choices. Every little thing we do changes the universe around us. Sometimes it only makes the difference between indifference and embarrassment when we try to choose the direction a stranger will go when you almost collide when walking down the street. Other times it can be the difference between whether the world is overrun in the future by giant super flies or by pandimensional space ants when we can choose to be merciful before smashing our rolled newspaper into the small flying, disease carrier that won't leave our morning toast alone. Theoretically, each decision that anything makes ever creates an alternate reality in which the alternatives happen. If a particle decides that left is a great idea then every other conceivable direction is tried out in alternate realities. In this way anything that can conceivably happen ever anywhere in an infinite universe will play out in an alternate infinite universe. Making infinity seem like peanuts compared to the absolutely immense amounts of universes there are. Oodles and oodles of them in fact.
In a particular reality in a certain section of space lies an S3 class planet that a certain immense mining freighter is supposed to be orbiting about. Millions of years before a coalition of people from a planet called Earth decided that the universe was something that could be played around with and entire systems of planets could be made suitable for habitation by. basically whatever they felt like putting there. A suitable planetoid was chosen in this certain section of space, capable of supporting an atmosphere and with a gravitational field that man could one day occupy without floating off into the freezing vacuum of space or driven into his boots, a pulpy mush of his own vital fluids, before he could say 'Smeg its hard walking here.' With huge amounts of the right chemicals on board, seeding ships were duly sent out with the sole purpose of compressing billions of years of planetary evolution into a matter of months. This completed more ships were dispatched to do the all important task of making interesting plants and animals so that the humans on the planet could do interesting and occasionally amusing things to them all in the name of being the master race.
As is often the downfall of immensely proud and often male people, they like doing things fast. And sloppily. And think they're doing it right. This is why the despair squid was born.
A gargantuan behemoth of a huge smegger of a fish, the despair squid defends itself by secreting a hallucinogenic inky toxin that causes visions within the victim, making them see something so horrific that they are driven to suicide. Thus it wipes out predators and prey alike, making a supposedly habitable planet desolate within a matter of years. The seeding ship had no chance.
The last of the species of monkeys that had discovered that fire was actually pretty cool, a dead man's personality digitally projected as tachyons to make a physical form, a sanitary robot who had cracked his programming enough to lie and cheat and yet still followed the ideals of the mechanoid bible as copyrighted by Panasonic and an incredibly cool humanoid descended from cats were all victims to this hallucinogenic. Each saw themselves as something they would never want to be, everything their minds unconsciously abhorred with the universe manifested as themselves. Yet in an alternate reality, every possibility is played out.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Jake flipped the holowhip's control to 'stun' as he crouched behind a wall. The flickering streetlight cast a constantly changing light that made seeing difficult, night vision went as soon as it started to form. Switching his vision to heat-seeking mode he peered around the corner.
Yellow steam rose from various vents in the street and into the night air. A rodent scurried across the alley, green and reds swirled within it as it left faint yellowish footprints that disappeared within seconds. And then he found what he was looking for. A yellowish dot weaving amongst the vents about 4 feet up.
Switching to night vision he saw the frightened face of the blonde young man with the metallic 'H' on his forehead before the light flicked on again. Jake drew his badge and stepped around the corner, the holowhip raised threateningly.
'Bullet, Cybernautics. Halt and Desist before I am forced to take action'
The man turned and fled. Jake cursed as he sprinted off in his wake, hating the way his heart ached from the running he had already had to do. From behind him an immaculately neat man in a trenchcoat raced past him, not even breaking a sweat. In retrospect that made sense but at the time all he could do was do what he could to keep up.
The thing about holograms is they made no damn noise. He almost stepped through the man's downed form, barely stopping before treading through Eddie who was wrapped around his legs. Jake nodded to him and watched him shrug as much as it was possible to whilst holding an enemy of democracy by the knees.
The pinkish glow of the holowhip lit up the terrified face of the blonde man, his eyes locked on its sinuous form. Jake nodded to Eddie who hauled the criminal to his feet. The holowhip started to whine as it turned from pink to orange. Eddie had to struggle to keep hold of the trashing hologram.
"Isaac Francis Johnston, you are hereby charged with hologrammatic larceny, obstruction of justice and treason against the state. Your trial begins now."
Jake took a cigarette from a battered silver case in his inside trenchcoat pocket and lit up, taking a satisfying lungfull of carcinogenic smoke. Isaac's eyes flittered between Eddie's exasperated expression and Jake's satisfied look.
"You have been found guilty and by the power invested in me by the People's Department of Cybernautics I sentence you to death."
Isaac started trashing again, almost breaking free of Eddie's grasp. Realising how close he was to escaping, Eddie brought his knee up sharply between his legs. Isaac fell to his knees, his eyes tearing from the pain and shock. Jake motioned Eddie to step back and raised the whip. Isaac raised his tear streaked face. The surface of his hazel eyes shimmered in the half light as he blubbered incoherently. Jake shook his head and snapped the whip down.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
The static buzz of the vid screen dug into Billy's ears and corkscrewed in his head. With a growl he threw the nearest thing he had to hand at the off button. The resounding crack made him smile slightly as the boot connected with the panel and silenced the grating sound.
He was lying on a sofa, of sorts. The leather had split in a few places, spilling fluffy sofa guts onto the floor. The black was more of a grey now, its surface ridden with cracks and areas of wear. One leg was propped up with a pile of old magazines and the springs groaned when the wind changed direction. It housed a small colony of various animals, mostly invertebrates but Billy knew there was a smallish rat at the back because it bit him when he was looking for change once.
The room around him was in complete disarray. Like a horrific plane accident. Debris was everywhere, ready meal containers, bits of electronic equipment, sandwich remains, grit, nails, semtex. Books were piled along with infodiscs next to a bed as chewed up as the sofa. The bed itself was littered with wires and more plastique brands than the Avon lady has cosmetics.
Billy himself was thin, almost malnourished. His wiry hair was long and severe blonde, bordering on white. He wore only a pair of battered jeans, his bare chest covered in the grime of oil and scent of gunpowder. The flat was cold, goosepimples were all over his body. The nights of no sleep had aged him; dark circles hung heavily under his eyes. His hands gripped the sofa, his long and dextrous fingers pressing into the leather as the insomnia of the driven afflicted him and he shook the shiver of the damned cold.
He stood with much grunting and creaking and picked his way between the debris. Reaching under the bed he heaved out a large wooden trunk, WJD emblazoned across the lid in golden lettering. Flipping open the catch he yanked it open and pulled out a shirt. Pulling it over his head he was going to close the lid when he felt something digging into his back. Pulling off the shirt whatever it was fell to the floor, landing face down. Flipping the photograph over with a toe he was greeted by his own grinning face in his CGI uniform standing before the flag of the state and accepting an award from a very tall, smiley old man in an officer's uniform.
It reminded him of Sebastian. His standing there and being so proud as an ageing relic in a revolution long past from the memories of mankind gave him something shiny for crushing the spirits of the revolutionaries. He almost felt sorry for him.
He picked his way carefully over to the barred window he had overlooking the street. The bustle of the masses rose up to greet him, moving about ferociously even at 4 in the morning. He thought back on the infodiscs he had on the Roman Empire, millennia ago thousands of slaves were controlled by the empire. There were only a few revolutions in the centuries they were in power. He used to always wonder why. Why not more? This state was achieved by rebellion; the overthrowing of the 'evil' capitalists was well documented even in the controlled state run education. Why didn't people just realise these people were evil, that there needed to be something new?
The slaves of the Empire had been born into slavery. The children of slaves were slaves. Those captured in war were slaves. They had no rights, no possessions and no protection. The only thing that stopped them all being killed by their owners was etiquette. Those people out the window were born into slavery. They would die under it. Unless they were knew of freedom. They needed to be shown.
He turned away and stumbled to his bed where only wires and semtex would greet him.
*_*_*_*_*_*_*
It was another day at university. The lecture rooms were sparsely populated at quarter to nine so he had found his habitual place at the front incredibly simply. Rushing down the steps to get to it before any body else had the chance, he sat down on the wooden chair, grinning with self- satisfaction. Reaching into his bag he pulled out his pencil case. Opening it he took out 2 HB pencils, sharpened to points so precise they were capable of performing keyhole surgery. Beside them were 2 black ballpoints, 2 blue ballpoints, 2 red ballpoints for corrections, 2 green ballpoints, a thick interchangeable biro that let you choose up to 4 colours (black, blue, red and green), a yellow, green and orange highlighter, 2 rubbers and a pencil sharpener that had a little box for catching the shavings with extra blades. He was mildly concerned that he should have brought his other highlighter but then remembered it was because it was pink and then maybe the girls would think he was gay.
He snorted, a quick suppressed laughter through his cavernous nostrils at that thought. He hid his immense grin behind his hand as he silently chuckled.
'Hey Dibley, don't even bother trying to hide those teeth of yours. I can see them from behind your head.'
He hurriedly dropped his hands to rummaging through his bag, pulling out the last session's notes that he previously read through and highlighted the key points of. His face burned with embarrassment as Malcolm up in the middle row called down on him. And after he had lent him those notes on advanced integration.
His face was still redish as the lecturer made his way to the podium and began speaking. Dwayne though wasn't listening. His mind had started drifting again. Closing his eyes, he tried to gain some measure of composure.
Her smile burned him, his soul wrenched as she seemed so happy at what was beyond him, her gaze locked on another. Her eyes, twin pools of excruciating depth set in green twinkled with joy. Her soft lips parted slightly as if to.
He opened his eyes and breathed. The room around him ignored his presence much as always as the lecturer droned on.
What was wrong with him? He tried to tune into what the man was saying, to hear the words within the sounds but it was no use. He tried recalling what it was supposed to be about but no dice. He couldn't concentrate. The words on the page mixed and melded, becoming the squiggles they actually were. Flicking through them he tried to make sense of something.
In the margin on one of the pages he had written the night before was something that made everything snap into focus. Two words that he could see. Words that could make him happy. Words that could make him everything he wanted to be.
He smiled, not caring who was dazzled or horrified by the revelation of his gargantuan overbite and doodled on a fresh sheet of paper.