Previously, on Prism Ring:

Our hero, "Floyd", tried to warn a local hero group about an upcoming school shooting.

Unfortunately, it was already too late. One of the students lost a limb before Olivia and Gabe stopped the attack.

Floyd felt guilty, and healed the student, but remained shaken over his failure. His ring, Sadie, chose this moment to tell him she loved him, to pull him out of his downward spiral.

Let's just say it... backfired.

We now join Floyd's nervous breakdown, already in progress.


Once upon a time I read a Scholastic book. it was called Surprising Stories by Saki. I'm not sure why a British guy chose a female Japanese pen name, and only remember one of the stories.

It was about a new exhibit at the London Zoo, called the Mappin Terraces, after the guy who funded them. They were convincing facsimiles of natural environments, constructed at great expense.

In the story, a random young woman says her and her family live lives like those animals. There is an illusion of freedom, of nature, but their daily lives, their futures were completely predictable, and fundamentally pointless.

Needless to say, her aunt finds this opinion a tad…existentially disturbing. Especially when her husband comes in, and acts almost exactly as the girl predicted.

You're probably thinking that this type of satire is still relevant today. You might think "Oh, that's clearly a metaphor for capitalism!", which it wasn't. You might also be interested to learn that the Terraces are still in use, a century on.

But that's not why I'm telling you.

I'm telling you because I built my own Mappin Terrace.

So to speak.

My phone rings.

I look at it. From my bed. It's almost six feet away. On my computer desk.

I'd have to move.

I'd have to get out of bed.

It's not like it would be hard, on a conceptual level. I already have my left leg off the side. That was as far as I got before the nausea set in.

Along with discomfort a little lower down.

My eyes feel scratchy, my eyelids feel heavy. There's light coming in through the window of my bedsit dimly lit, which means…morning? Probably morning.

I let my head flop to the left, so I can see my watch.

Yep. Morning.

…Phone's still ringing.

Waaay over there.

Wait a second.

I purse my lips. Lick my lips. Purse my lips again. And whistle four notes. Then I say, "Speaker". Wait a second or two for the connection. "Yeah?"

A woman says, "Floyd? Are you there?

"I'm here."

"This is Agate, from Local 31. Just…out of interest—"

Oh, boy, here we go.

"If you could just give us your so—"

"No." Not with the existential issues. I really, really don't want to be fictional.

Silence on the line. If I listen real close, I can almost hear her teeth grinding.

"The Feds are sniffing around. I need to give them something."

"Confidential source."

"We're not journalists!"

I roll my eyes at the ceiling. "But you are law enforcement. Kinda. Say you got the info from a confidential informant. Say…um, say there might be leaks."

This time, Agate's silence is thoughtful. "Are there?"

"I…I don't know. I didn't see Luxia and Knockturne coming either."

"Do you have any protection?"

I reach up, bat at the blinds. Wince. Yep. Morning. "My ring has really good sensors."

Sensors I haven't been using. And-

"Sensors that have been fooled before," Agate says.

This time I'm the one being quiet.

Agate sighs. "Kid-"

I'm in my thirties, I don't say.

"Are you sure you're safe?"

I look around my room. Which is not, as far as I know, blown up, or invaded by bad guys with machine guns and big stompy boots. "Sure enough."

"Hm. Well, that's not really why I called. We have a job for you."

"I'm-"

I sit up. My foot lands on a takeout bag. I kick it toward the pile with the others.

"—I'm not exactly up to traveling to San Fran right now."

"We're not asking you to. It's a local job. We don't have any other assets in the city."

Survey says…that's a lie. I blink the itch out of my eyes. Try to, anyway. "What's…what's the job?"

"We have a consultant in Silver City. She's good with computers."

My phone goes Ping! I can see the notification from here, even if I can't read it.

"And?"

"And she was looking at a technothaumic algorithm for us. Some kind of cross-dimensional conceptual link."

"A techno-"

You know how you don't even realize you have a headache until it gets worse, sometimes?

"...Magic and technology."

Agate sounds apologetic. "Yes."

Mouth is dry, again. Head hurts. "As if Facebook wasn't bad enough." Aspirin. Where's my aspirin?

…It's in my desk.

Next to the phone.

All the way across the room.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Why can't the cops do it?"

An awkward silence.

I smile. I don't want to, but I smile. "Ah. That type of algorithm."

"That, and the SCPD isn't really up to dealing with magic. Or Skynet."

Another silence. Less awkward, more thoughtful. On my end, I mean.

They have a guy with super-speed.

I open my mouth. Phone, end call.

And she says, "We'll pay, of course."

I close my mouth.

Well.

If she'll stop bugging me—

"What's the address?"

-/-

I don't rush off right away.

Agate didn't sound particularly urgent. And there comes a point in every man's life when he has to make a choice.

Specifically, how much of a mess do I want to live in?

I pick up garbage, shove it toward other garbage. Throw socks and shirts in the general direction of my laundry basket. Look up and find a pair of legs.

They're attached to a very convincing illusion of a young woman. They are also rather long, like I said in previous entries. And she's wearing loose, summer slacks, and a loose tank top.

She's frowning at me.

She says nothing.

I say nothing. I just keep cleaning.

She keeps glaring.

I keep cleaning.

I go, "Nice job, by the way."

Sadie frowns harder. "Huh?"

"Setting up this job. Almost had me fooled."

"I didn't set up anything."

"Are you telling me you didn't drop a hint that I was living that NEET life?"

"It came up in a chat. It's called 'conversation'. Maybe you should try it sometime."

I pause, open my mouth.

"And no," she says, "telling the delivery guy 'thank you' doesn't count."

I give her a well, there you go look, and keep cleaning.

She generates a simulated huff of air out her nose.

"Why are you doing this?"

"My room's messy."

"I mean the job."

"I need the money."

"You have money."

"No, I have money you put into my bank account from your side hustles. Not real money."

"Look, I know I came on a little strong, but, it seemed like-"

I let Sadie run out of steam, and she makes a face. At herself. I'm not sure what it means. She starts over.

"If this isn't real, if I'm manipulating you, why would it matter?"

"I don't know. But it does."

…And I'm out of stuff to clean. Stuff within arm's length, anyway. I lean a little farther to grab a crumpled-up takeout napkin.

"Local 31 just wanted an excuse to check on me." I squeeze the napkin into a smaller, more aerodynamic shape. "Maybe get me outside a little. Can't let the goose who laid the golden corruption investigation die."

"Do you want me to see how it's going?"

I have to stop and think about that one.

"...Nah. Not my circus."

The crumpled-up paper bounces off the rim of the wastebasket.

"Not my monkeys."

-/-

After I take my first shower since…I don't know when, I look in the mirror, at my beard. To dignify it with the term.

Don't you think he looks tired?

Where's my Schick, anyway?

…Screw it. Stubble is in. And it's not like I'm having tea with the Queen.

I dry off, dress in the most presentable clothes I have that don't smell like they need to be buried underground with a THIS IS NOT A PLACE OF HONOR sign on top. Put on my glasses. Take off my glasses. Clean my glasses. Put on my glasses.

Sadie's staring at me through the drawer I kept the ring in. Waiting for me to pick her up, fly to the destination. I know she's been collecting enough green juice.

I reach for the desk.

I pick up my phone.

I call an Ober. Because "Uber" was apparently too mainstream in this universe.

If Sadie was a real girl, I'd say I could feel her frustration. As it is, I can feel her computerized facsimile of frustration. Especially the part where she wants to yell "Just put me on!"

Which would be counterproductive.

Maybe…

Maybe I'm worrying for nothing.

I lock the door behind me, and head for the sidewalk. Don't go through the house. Don't want to answer questions, get those Looks.

Maybe it's already too late.

Ow. Should've worn a hat. Shades. Something.

Maybe it's all academic.

Maybe she already has those quantum nanomachines in my head, just like I did to Gabe and Olivia.

Maybe none of this is happening.

Maybe it is happening, and she's manipulating me to fall in love with her.

Maybe I'm just a paranoid wreck.

…And maybe it's some combination of all four.

The cab pulls up. I look in the window. Driver's a white guy, 20s, hipster goatee. No beaded bracelets.

He goes "Clapton?"

I nod. "Present."

He smiles. "Right on."

I get into the backseat, belt up. He makes eye contact in the mirror. "Hey, anyone ever mentioned you have the same last name as Eric Clapton?"

"The rock guitarist?"

"Yeah!" His eyes are smiling. "That's the one!"

I look down at my hands, which are still brown. "No relation."

-/-

When we pull up outside the apartment building, there's a long-legged ambiguously brown girl waiting outside. Arms folded across her chest, frown on her face.

The driver looks over his shoulder at me. "Is that your girlfriend?"

"...Not exactly."

"Ah. On a break?"

"You could say that."

I give him five stars - and a tip - and hop out. He drives off immediately. Either to get his next job or to get out of the blast radius.

I go, "Funny. I don't remember actually asking you to come."

Sadie's hologram goes, "That's the whole - hey, don't walk away from me!"

I walk away from her. Front door's locked. I use the old "buzz neighbour with fake package" trick.

Could just use the ring, but I left it at home. Could ask Sadie but…

...I don't want to.

Her hologram follows me up to the second floor.

I feel like I'm sleepwalking. Numb, disconnected. But I still feel tired when I get to the right floor. Little ache in my knees.

I admit, I've been slacking on the cardio.

I count my heartbeats for six seconds, and multiply by ten. Close to a buck. Is that good or bad?

There's a sign on Fishbrook's door.

Just a wellness check.

Just a doorknock.

Sadie's hologram asks, "Why didn't you take your scooter?"

Huh. I can't remember the last time I rode around. I didn't even think of it.

I don't look away from the sign. "You want me behind a wheel? Like this?"

"...What's it say?"

I give her a Look.

"I'm trying to make conversation." She pretends to look at the sign. "There's fine print. It's phrased like…an employment contract? Enforced on entry."

"That can't be legal. I think I'm fine. Could you hack the keypad?"

"Probably. But I won't."

I look at her. I look at the keypad. I look at the doorknob.

Then I reach out and turn it.

The door swings open.

"You know," Sadie says, "this is the part in every cop show where they draw guns."

"I'm not that Americanized." I pause for comedic effect. "Yet."

Besides, I have a supercomputer with a fancy alien holoprojector as backup.

Apartment looks clear. There's a table by the door, and a computer table in the living room. Keys on the side table, in a little white-and-blue china bowl. Any…yep, dust on the house keys, and the table. I hold up the keys.

"Sadie, do these match the lock?"

"...I…can't tell."

"Didn't you scan the lock?"

"Yes, but I can't get good data from the keys. Or from…anything in the apartment."

"Did you finish scanning the sign?"

"Not before you opened the door." She's chewing the inside of her cheek, and looks confused. "I'm pretty sure there was fine print outside the visible spectrum."

Oookay…?

I step into the apartment. And it turns out the keys fit perfectly.

Sadie doesn't follow.

She's just standing in the doorway. Like these's some sort of invisible force field.

"I can't get the projector through." She turns off the disguise, and I just see the alien dingus, hovering.

And the hairs go up on the back of my neck.

"C'mon, quit playing."

"I'm not kidding. I can't get in."

"Seriously? Just-" I reach out, grab her, pull-

And I can't get her past the doorway.

Uh-oh.

"Can you project light through?"

"Let me-" The holo-Sadie starts fragmenting the second it passes the doorway, like a rendering glitch. "Maybe you should-"

"Way ahead of you." I grab the frame, use it to pull myself out of the apartment a little faster.

Well, that's the idea.

I'm actually sliding deeper in, until I can't keep a grip on the frame anymore. It's not even like I'd notice with my eyes closed. It's like noticing that the Earth is spinning, or how it orbits the sun. There isn't something wrapped around my body like that one Japanese painting I really shouldn't be thinking of right now.

It's funny how so many thoughts can run through your head in an instant, while the rest of your brain is going oh crap oh crap oh crap.

I look over my shoulder. I'm sliding toward…the computer? What's that flashing on the screen? Why do I feel like I'm fa