It started off with the guy who plays Will Riker in Star Trek TNG going about his daily life. He was a sailor who happened to be at port. He and everyone else from the ship had noticed some strange things, like objects moving on their own or feeling as though someone was watching them when they were alone. As Riker walked from a cabin he'd been staying in to a meeting with the captain, he ran into an old flame. The woman had a face mask on. Ignoring the mask, Riker warned the woman about the strange events.
"Oh, I know. Isn't it lovely? Every once and a while, I'll feel a sweet brush on the cheek, a neck massage, it's so comforting." As she spoke, a part of her mask was rubbed off. She smiled at the phantom touch. Riker, who was not completely unhinged like this chick appeared to be, made a grab at the area that the ghost appeared to be. He hit something solid but was then hit by something solid in return, knocking him back and forcing him to lose his grip. The invisible being disappeared.
Riker continued to his meeting. It turned out, the meeting was for all the officers in order to decide what to do about these phantasmagorical events. Arguing ensued, tempers flared, and as one of the proponents for an all out ghost hunt brandished a glass bottle in the air, something took the bottle from his hand. All eyes were glued to the glass as it hovered. Suddenly, the glass plunged forward and into the chest of its former owner. It cracked through the ribs, and blood gurgled as it squirted out of him. On the up side, the blood stained whatever had been holding the bottle until the outline of a man's arm was clearly visible. However, even with the blood marking the ghost/invisible man, it managed to escape the sailors.
Later that night, as the captain prepared for bed in front of an open window, something set him on edge. Cautiously, he began to close the window, but something resisted. Try as he might, he could not force it shut. He grabbed a nearby broom and poked it through the opening. It hit something, but as he pulled the handle back towards him for another shot, a reddish brown hand gripped the other end. It surged towards the captain, grabbed a hold of his shirt, pulled him partway through the window, and slammed the window down on his neck, snapping it.
Shortly thereafter, the sailors parted ways. The ghost appeared to fade off into nothing, and centuries passed. I heard the ghost story from a friend in passing who claimed that the ghost was trying to cure his invisibility through some strange murder ritual. I did not pay it much attention because I had been asked to play the part of Brunhilde in Wagner's Ring and was trying desperately to learn the lyrics as well as develop the ability to sing professionally. While I freaked out about that, an elderly gentleman took to watching me practice. I didn't have a clue why, and I felt more than a little disconcerted by it.
After a few hours of practicing, the same friend came back. He wanted to show me a picture related to the story. He claimed that someone else had been in the room when the captain was murdered and had taken a photo of it all. Big whoop, I thought, but I glanced at the picture anyway. At first, all I saw was a man in old-timey clothes with his head through a window. Then my friend pointed towards the glass of the other window next to one the captain had his head through. You could just make out a person yanking on the captain's collar. Although the face was contorted into a snarl, I could recognize it. It was none other than the elderly gentleman sitting outside the practice room, watching me.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Dream Log 48: Food and Fiction
Harry Potter was on his way back to Hogwarts. For one reason or another, he had to make a stop in the lobby of your run of the mill office building before properly heading out. It was lucky for him that he did, for in the lobby sat Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, "I'd hoped we'd catch you before you reached the train. We've spent the past summer researching ways to get rid of Voldemort, and I believe you'll like what we've come up with. Would you like a chocolate?" He offered an open box of treats to Harry, who selected one filled with chocolate syrup.
"What's the plan, then?"
"Well, the last time we went up against him, we happened to transform him into a candy bar. The effect didn't stick, but..." he snatched the chocolate back before Harry could eat it, "encasing his soul in a piece of candy selected by the chosen one ought to do the trick. We will need some rare crystals to perform the binding though, so you and your friends can do an independent study tracking those down. Bye now!" With a wave, he and the others disappeared.
Fast forward a few months, and Harry, Hermione and Ron had tracked these special crystals to a random street in Illinois. The crystals were not particularly well hidden. In fact, they were lying on the ground in a pile of artificial snow. As Ron and Hermione, who had started to morph in my brain into two of my actual friends, reached for the gems, they found themselves captivated by their shine.
"Issopretty," one mooned over a rod of amethyst.
"The colorzzzzz," buzzed the other as she poked a piece of aquamarine into the fake snow to make it stand upright.
"Hey...guys?" Harry, who had turned into me, muttered, "I don't know if I'm being paranoid here, but I've read lots of stories where people get obsessed with a treasure and...you know...die staring at it?"
No response. With a sigh, I threw the crystals into a bag without looking at them and dragged the dazzled dimwits along with me.
The next thing I knew, I was in a cabin in the middle of the woods surrounded by the Scooby Doo gang. We were sitting down to a nice supper of lobster bisque when the lights went out. 30 seconds of chaos followed, and when the lights came back, our host was gone. Luckily, whoever kidnapped him had left perfect impressions of a foot in the ground. I tried to point out that real footprints don't look like that, but the gang had already gone off to follow them. 200 yards or so away, the tracks disappeared. We started to discuss our next move when a voice called to us.
"Maybe I can help you," rumbled a man sticking his head over some nearby bushes. He had the features of a toad and the voice of Barry White. "I saw the whole thing. Those tracks go underground."
"What do you mean, underground?" Freddy asked. In response, the man's head sank down out of sight, eerily smoothly. The next thing we knew, he was poking up through the ground where the tracks disappeared.
"I told y'all. This place's full of tunnels. Why don't you come on down." He retreated once more into the earth, and we followed through the hole he left behind. We never resurfaced.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, "I'd hoped we'd catch you before you reached the train. We've spent the past summer researching ways to get rid of Voldemort, and I believe you'll like what we've come up with. Would you like a chocolate?" He offered an open box of treats to Harry, who selected one filled with chocolate syrup.
"What's the plan, then?"
"Well, the last time we went up against him, we happened to transform him into a candy bar. The effect didn't stick, but..." he snatched the chocolate back before Harry could eat it, "encasing his soul in a piece of candy selected by the chosen one ought to do the trick. We will need some rare crystals to perform the binding though, so you and your friends can do an independent study tracking those down. Bye now!" With a wave, he and the others disappeared.
Fast forward a few months, and Harry, Hermione and Ron had tracked these special crystals to a random street in Illinois. The crystals were not particularly well hidden. In fact, they were lying on the ground in a pile of artificial snow. As Ron and Hermione, who had started to morph in my brain into two of my actual friends, reached for the gems, they found themselves captivated by their shine.
"Issopretty," one mooned over a rod of amethyst.
"The colorzzzzz," buzzed the other as she poked a piece of aquamarine into the fake snow to make it stand upright.
"Hey...guys?" Harry, who had turned into me, muttered, "I don't know if I'm being paranoid here, but I've read lots of stories where people get obsessed with a treasure and...you know...die staring at it?"
No response. With a sigh, I threw the crystals into a bag without looking at them and dragged the dazzled dimwits along with me.
The next thing I knew, I was in a cabin in the middle of the woods surrounded by the Scooby Doo gang. We were sitting down to a nice supper of lobster bisque when the lights went out. 30 seconds of chaos followed, and when the lights came back, our host was gone. Luckily, whoever kidnapped him had left perfect impressions of a foot in the ground. I tried to point out that real footprints don't look like that, but the gang had already gone off to follow them. 200 yards or so away, the tracks disappeared. We started to discuss our next move when a voice called to us.
"Maybe I can help you," rumbled a man sticking his head over some nearby bushes. He had the features of a toad and the voice of Barry White. "I saw the whole thing. Those tracks go underground."
"What do you mean, underground?" Freddy asked. In response, the man's head sank down out of sight, eerily smoothly. The next thing we knew, he was poking up through the ground where the tracks disappeared.
"I told y'all. This place's full of tunnels. Why don't you come on down." He retreated once more into the earth, and we followed through the hole he left behind. We never resurfaced.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Dream Log 47: Suicide and its Practicallity
"I'm bored."
"How? You're at GenCon!"
"Yeah, but there's no one cool arou-" I cut myself off as Mandy Patinkin in full Inigo Montoya costume walked by. "I stand corrected. I think I'm...just...gonna stand over here now," I said as I inched towards the actor. Sadly, he disappeared around a corner, leaving me right next the daycare. With nothing better to do, I wandered in. Two little boys were busily snapping together PVC elbow joints to pack them away. I started to help, but the children kept trying to correct the way I was putting them together. I may or may not have thrown a mini temper tantrum as I stomped away from the overly critical kids.
"Hey!" someone called after me, "Where are you going?" one of my friends asked as I wandered past a free T-shirt stand, "They're giving out free T-shirts. Wait in line with me."
"I don't want a free T-shirt. I want to give those snooty-faces the nooky of their lives."
"What?"
"Never mind," I muttered as I joined her in line. After we received our shirts, we paid a visit to the dance hall and tried to cut a Scottish rug with some highland dancers. Successful is not really a word I would use to describe that encounter, and I had started to truly doubt my ability as a convention-goer. That was when Audrey II made his move.
The evil, blood sucking plant had gained the power to infect matter with its own wicked seed through a failed attempt by Dr. Drakken to take over the world. The convention center happened to be his first target. Anything organic could be converted into an alien plant vampire. Within an hour of the attack, most humans had been eaten by the cotton in their clothes. Fortunately, Audrey II could only convert matter through contact. The highland dancers, my friend and I found out about the epidemic before it was too late and barricaded ourselves inside a kitchen with concrete walls.
For a while, life in the kitchen seemed almost normal. We boiled all the water that came in to make sure that Audrey II didn't get in through the microbes. We ate, we joked, we even directed other survivors to our strong hold. Then Audrey II started talking to me... inside my head.
"You know, the food is going to run out. How you gonna replenish it, hmmmmmm?"
"We'll, um..."
"And what about when you run out of gas and you can't boil the water no more. I'll just trickle in and make a yummy little snack out of you and your friends."
"You won't get us so easily!"
"Who are you talking to?" my friend asked.
"Uh...look. Given the circumstances, we won't be able to survive here indefinitely. I don't mind dying since I've got heaven to look forward to. I just don't want it to hurt or for the stupid plant to get me. I believe suicide is therefore the most practical option here."
"But suicide is an unforgivable sin! Also, I don't want you to die."
"God can forgive anything, and I'm going to die anyway. Now help me ram this pipe through my head."
"No!"
"Come on!"
"No!"
"Please?"
It continued in this way until we realized that killing Audrey II was an option we could both agree on. However, by that time the plant had already died due to killing too many humans too quickly and depleting its food source. We emerged from the kitchen victoriously and took a plane to South America for the heck of it.
"How? You're at GenCon!"
"Yeah, but there's no one cool arou-" I cut myself off as Mandy Patinkin in full Inigo Montoya costume walked by. "I stand corrected. I think I'm...just...gonna stand over here now," I said as I inched towards the actor. Sadly, he disappeared around a corner, leaving me right next the daycare. With nothing better to do, I wandered in. Two little boys were busily snapping together PVC elbow joints to pack them away. I started to help, but the children kept trying to correct the way I was putting them together. I may or may not have thrown a mini temper tantrum as I stomped away from the overly critical kids.
"Hey!" someone called after me, "Where are you going?" one of my friends asked as I wandered past a free T-shirt stand, "They're giving out free T-shirts. Wait in line with me."
"I don't want a free T-shirt. I want to give those snooty-faces the nooky of their lives."
"What?"
"Never mind," I muttered as I joined her in line. After we received our shirts, we paid a visit to the dance hall and tried to cut a Scottish rug with some highland dancers. Successful is not really a word I would use to describe that encounter, and I had started to truly doubt my ability as a convention-goer. That was when Audrey II made his move.
The evil, blood sucking plant had gained the power to infect matter with its own wicked seed through a failed attempt by Dr. Drakken to take over the world. The convention center happened to be his first target. Anything organic could be converted into an alien plant vampire. Within an hour of the attack, most humans had been eaten by the cotton in their clothes. Fortunately, Audrey II could only convert matter through contact. The highland dancers, my friend and I found out about the epidemic before it was too late and barricaded ourselves inside a kitchen with concrete walls.
For a while, life in the kitchen seemed almost normal. We boiled all the water that came in to make sure that Audrey II didn't get in through the microbes. We ate, we joked, we even directed other survivors to our strong hold. Then Audrey II started talking to me... inside my head.
"You know, the food is going to run out. How you gonna replenish it, hmmmmmm?"
"We'll, um..."
"And what about when you run out of gas and you can't boil the water no more. I'll just trickle in and make a yummy little snack out of you and your friends."
"You won't get us so easily!"
"Who are you talking to?" my friend asked.
"Uh...look. Given the circumstances, we won't be able to survive here indefinitely. I don't mind dying since I've got heaven to look forward to. I just don't want it to hurt or for the stupid plant to get me. I believe suicide is therefore the most practical option here."
"But suicide is an unforgivable sin! Also, I don't want you to die."
"God can forgive anything, and I'm going to die anyway. Now help me ram this pipe through my head."
"No!"
"Come on!"
"No!"
"Please?"
It continued in this way until we realized that killing Audrey II was an option we could both agree on. However, by that time the plant had already died due to killing too many humans too quickly and depleting its food source. We emerged from the kitchen victoriously and took a plane to South America for the heck of it.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Dream Log 46: Soooo Meta
"So the whole point of this character is he's just so quiet that nobody notices him, so he can use misdirection," I explained to my sister. She seemed less than enthused about the intricacies of Kuroko's Basketball. "It gets better. See, instead of making him play basketball, you should turn him into a wizard, and then-"
The image froze, an annoyed looking me pushed it "off screen", muttered "You can do better than that," and reset the dream to focus instead on 10 year old versions of myself and one of my friends in a 1960s elementary school. As we entered the classroom, an adult version of myself started narrating.
"Jake and I had spent so much of our childhood together, I had always viewed him as an unshakable constant. That was before Shirley joined the class." On cue, this adorable little girl, complete with pigtails and pleated skirt shuffled into the room. She had a scared puppy look to her. Jake was smitten. He and I had stapler duty that day, but he kept getting distracted and stapling the paper in the wrong direction. Eventually, Mrs. Maple, the teacher, noticed this and shooed both of us back to our seats. My tiny fists were clenched jealously.
"Footballer, eyes front!" Mrs. Maple declared when his eyes had wandered to his crush again.
"Mrs. Maple had called Jake the footballer from the day she learned that he played," clarified the narrator, "I had taken it as a term of respect. He wasn't just a plain old student to her. He was someone with a skill. One year, he twisted his ankle and was out a whole season. She never called him footballer again."
While we scribbled our attempts at cursive in our notebooks, I noticed a student I had never paid much attention to before. He wasn't writing. He was twisted around in his seat and smiling directly at me. I glanced around me, but none of the other students or even Mrs. Maple noticed a thing. When I turned back to the boy, it seemed as though I could see him more vividly than the other students, as though the brightness had been turned down on the rest of the room.
"He's going to leave you," stated the boy.
"What?"
"Your friend doesn't care about you anymore. There's someone more interesting. You'll become a lonely little worm with nothing more than memories to keep you warm."
"I-"
"At least, that's what would happen if this were reality, but it isn't. You could change it, and you should."
The next thing I know, I'm sitting in my kitchen with a dream quickly fading away. I scurried off to find my sister and tell her about it.
"Hey! I had a weird dream....it was...Cassandra Nova was in prison."
"Pff, locking her up? She can just manipulate you into letting her out," my sister responded.
"Yeah, I know but it was great because she made the guard think-" it then occurred to me that I was dreaming of describing a dream. "Actually, I'm going to go for a walk."
While outside, I wandered past a group of cheerleaders having a party involving a trampoline. I stopped to watch. One girl was attempting to do a back flip into middle splits, but could not bring herself to actually land with her legs split for fear of, well, pain. Her friends cheered her on, and she came reasonably close. Then, they suggested that the new girl take a crack at it.
This new girl wore a leotard and the hand braces gymnasts use on the uneven bars. She chalked her hands, stepped onto the trampoline, shook herself out, took a deep breath, and jumped. She managed a double front pike into a tuck where she spun three times on the surface of the trampoline itself to finish sitting cool and cross-legged in the exact center. The other girls fell silent and stared. One of them crept up next to her and asked, "So, uh, Malory. That was weird. Where did you learn that?" Malory squirmed, face turning red.
"It was a technique I used in the trampoline event of...well it was called the Olympics. It's a relatively difficult competition." With that, she leaped off the trampoline to find some privacy.
I woke up...again and rushed off to tell my mother this time about the trampoline affair, which I found inexplicably hilarious.
"Mom! Oh man, understatement of the century!" I realized, yet again that I was getting meta and at last succeeded in waking myself up for real.
The image froze, an annoyed looking me pushed it "off screen", muttered "You can do better than that," and reset the dream to focus instead on 10 year old versions of myself and one of my friends in a 1960s elementary school. As we entered the classroom, an adult version of myself started narrating.
"Jake and I had spent so much of our childhood together, I had always viewed him as an unshakable constant. That was before Shirley joined the class." On cue, this adorable little girl, complete with pigtails and pleated skirt shuffled into the room. She had a scared puppy look to her. Jake was smitten. He and I had stapler duty that day, but he kept getting distracted and stapling the paper in the wrong direction. Eventually, Mrs. Maple, the teacher, noticed this and shooed both of us back to our seats. My tiny fists were clenched jealously.
"Footballer, eyes front!" Mrs. Maple declared when his eyes had wandered to his crush again.
"Mrs. Maple had called Jake the footballer from the day she learned that he played," clarified the narrator, "I had taken it as a term of respect. He wasn't just a plain old student to her. He was someone with a skill. One year, he twisted his ankle and was out a whole season. She never called him footballer again."
While we scribbled our attempts at cursive in our notebooks, I noticed a student I had never paid much attention to before. He wasn't writing. He was twisted around in his seat and smiling directly at me. I glanced around me, but none of the other students or even Mrs. Maple noticed a thing. When I turned back to the boy, it seemed as though I could see him more vividly than the other students, as though the brightness had been turned down on the rest of the room.
"He's going to leave you," stated the boy.
"What?"
"Your friend doesn't care about you anymore. There's someone more interesting. You'll become a lonely little worm with nothing more than memories to keep you warm."
"I-"
"At least, that's what would happen if this were reality, but it isn't. You could change it, and you should."
The next thing I know, I'm sitting in my kitchen with a dream quickly fading away. I scurried off to find my sister and tell her about it.
"Hey! I had a weird dream....it was...Cassandra Nova was in prison."
"Pff, locking her up? She can just manipulate you into letting her out," my sister responded.
"Yeah, I know but it was great because she made the guard think-" it then occurred to me that I was dreaming of describing a dream. "Actually, I'm going to go for a walk."
While outside, I wandered past a group of cheerleaders having a party involving a trampoline. I stopped to watch. One girl was attempting to do a back flip into middle splits, but could not bring herself to actually land with her legs split for fear of, well, pain. Her friends cheered her on, and she came reasonably close. Then, they suggested that the new girl take a crack at it.
This new girl wore a leotard and the hand braces gymnasts use on the uneven bars. She chalked her hands, stepped onto the trampoline, shook herself out, took a deep breath, and jumped. She managed a double front pike into a tuck where she spun three times on the surface of the trampoline itself to finish sitting cool and cross-legged in the exact center. The other girls fell silent and stared. One of them crept up next to her and asked, "So, uh, Malory. That was weird. Where did you learn that?" Malory squirmed, face turning red.
"It was a technique I used in the trampoline event of...well it was called the Olympics. It's a relatively difficult competition." With that, she leaped off the trampoline to find some privacy.
I woke up...again and rushed off to tell my mother this time about the trampoline affair, which I found inexplicably hilarious.
"Mom! Oh man, understatement of the century!" I realized, yet again that I was getting meta and at last succeeded in waking myself up for real.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Dream Log 45: Plato's Computer
"Don't mind me, miss. I'm nobody, just a man passing through. Scan me if you like, I have all the clearance needed," gushed the skinny man as he pushed passed the intern in charge of computer access, "right then. Let's get a look at her." He whipped out a pen-sized electronic device and buzzed it in the direction of the computer stashed behind its enormous monitor. "Interesting," he muttered to himself.
"Um, excuse me, but who are you?" the intern asked.
"Me? Why I'm the Doctor. Why don't you link up to the databases. I'm sure she has something on me," he said, gesturing towards the computer. At that moment, the monitor blinked on to display the face of a young woman rendered in mosaic. Here and there, the image looked thin, and a few places had no picture at all, as though tiles had been removed.
"What's wrong with Computer?" the intern wondered, leaning closer.
"If I had to take a guess, which I don't because I know for certain, I'd say someone had removed, oh, 35% of the chips connecting her to the population," the Doctor boasted, then turned his attention to Computer, "I'll bet you're missing all that processing power right now! Well you aren't getting it back unless you can convince me you won't start abusing it again, there's not much chance of that."
"She looks...asphyxiated. Where did you put all those chips?"
"Right here." the Doctor gestured towards his head.
"What, in your memory?"
"No, in my left eye. Surprisingly painless, though it does make colors a bit tricky. Now, Comp-AH!" His hands flew protectively to his eye as he doubled over in pain. Before the intern could reach him, his eyeball popped from its socket, scurried across the floor on tentacle-like muscles, and jacked itself into a USB port. Computer's mosaic face restored itself.
"Doctor, so good of you to come," Computer hummed, gazing at the still shaking Timelord.
"Alright, I admit, that was clever," he panted.
"I'm glad you appreciate it. I have looked forward to meeting you for quite some time. I was almost afraid you had not gotten my invitation."
"If by invitation you mean the brainwave manipulation beacon pumping out of here and into the heads of everyone within twenty solar systems, yes, I noticed it. And I want you to stop it."
"You're in no condition to make demands. You would gamble your own life, wouldn't you? But what about hers?" The intern let out a shriek as her eyeball also began to squirm from its socket. However, hers did not come out cleanly like the Doctor's. Blood gushed from the gaping hole, soaking her neck and shirt. The torn eyeball climbed into the Doctor's socket, against his protestations.
"I can get you to the medical facilities, I promise. Just hold on until then -"
"No!" she spat as he tried to help/drag her to the door, "I don't have enough credits. They'd decline me."
"Well that's just stupid! What sort of doctors do you have here?"
"There is a way," Computer crooned, "to get all the credits she could possibly need. All you need to do is play a game. I'll even let you play against yourself so you are certain to win. I just want you to participate."
"And what game is this?" the Doctor demanded. Instead of Computer, the intern answered.
"It's the Data Debate. It's a trivia game where contestants debate their answers to subjective trivia questions."
"I can alter your perceptions and those of the audience to make you appear to be multiple people of different races and genders," Computer added.
"So, to save the day, I have to argue with myself...in drag." A smile crept over the Doctor's face, "then let's get started!" The game proceeded, and the Doctor won in a heated battle against himself. "Alright, I've played your game, won the credits, now I'm going to keep this girl from bleeding to death."
"Don't you mean you are going to keep the Doctor from bleeding to death?"
"What are you talking about, I am the Doc-" he paused because the voice coming out of his throat was female. He looked down at himself to see the hands and clothes of the intern. Looking to the corner of the room, the doctor lay unconscious in a small pool of blood from his eye.
"Okay, that's...weird."
"Or maybe you are the Doctor. I haven't decided yet who I want you to be. Do you understand now? No matter what you do, you have no way of knowing that it actually happened or where you are or who you are. The chip you implanted gives me absolute control over your senses and memories. What can you do?"
The Doctor/Intern was about, I'm sure, to come up with a snappy, inspiring answer that would put Computer in her place. However, my brain decided this was entirely too confusing for 4 in the morning, so it woke me up...or did it?
"Um, excuse me, but who are you?" the intern asked.
"Me? Why I'm the Doctor. Why don't you link up to the databases. I'm sure she has something on me," he said, gesturing towards the computer. At that moment, the monitor blinked on to display the face of a young woman rendered in mosaic. Here and there, the image looked thin, and a few places had no picture at all, as though tiles had been removed.
"What's wrong with Computer?" the intern wondered, leaning closer.
"If I had to take a guess, which I don't because I know for certain, I'd say someone had removed, oh, 35% of the chips connecting her to the population," the Doctor boasted, then turned his attention to Computer, "I'll bet you're missing all that processing power right now! Well you aren't getting it back unless you can convince me you won't start abusing it again, there's not much chance of that."
"She looks...asphyxiated. Where did you put all those chips?"
"Right here." the Doctor gestured towards his head.
"What, in your memory?"
"No, in my left eye. Surprisingly painless, though it does make colors a bit tricky. Now, Comp-AH!" His hands flew protectively to his eye as he doubled over in pain. Before the intern could reach him, his eyeball popped from its socket, scurried across the floor on tentacle-like muscles, and jacked itself into a USB port. Computer's mosaic face restored itself.
"Doctor, so good of you to come," Computer hummed, gazing at the still shaking Timelord.
"Alright, I admit, that was clever," he panted.
"I'm glad you appreciate it. I have looked forward to meeting you for quite some time. I was almost afraid you had not gotten my invitation."
"If by invitation you mean the brainwave manipulation beacon pumping out of here and into the heads of everyone within twenty solar systems, yes, I noticed it. And I want you to stop it."
"You're in no condition to make demands. You would gamble your own life, wouldn't you? But what about hers?" The intern let out a shriek as her eyeball also began to squirm from its socket. However, hers did not come out cleanly like the Doctor's. Blood gushed from the gaping hole, soaking her neck and shirt. The torn eyeball climbed into the Doctor's socket, against his protestations.
"I can get you to the medical facilities, I promise. Just hold on until then -"
"No!" she spat as he tried to help/drag her to the door, "I don't have enough credits. They'd decline me."
"Well that's just stupid! What sort of doctors do you have here?"
"There is a way," Computer crooned, "to get all the credits she could possibly need. All you need to do is play a game. I'll even let you play against yourself so you are certain to win. I just want you to participate."
"And what game is this?" the Doctor demanded. Instead of Computer, the intern answered.
"It's the Data Debate. It's a trivia game where contestants debate their answers to subjective trivia questions."
"I can alter your perceptions and those of the audience to make you appear to be multiple people of different races and genders," Computer added.
"So, to save the day, I have to argue with myself...in drag." A smile crept over the Doctor's face, "then let's get started!" The game proceeded, and the Doctor won in a heated battle against himself. "Alright, I've played your game, won the credits, now I'm going to keep this girl from bleeding to death."
"Don't you mean you are going to keep the Doctor from bleeding to death?"
"What are you talking about, I am the Doc-" he paused because the voice coming out of his throat was female. He looked down at himself to see the hands and clothes of the intern. Looking to the corner of the room, the doctor lay unconscious in a small pool of blood from his eye.
"Okay, that's...weird."
"Or maybe you are the Doctor. I haven't decided yet who I want you to be. Do you understand now? No matter what you do, you have no way of knowing that it actually happened or where you are or who you are. The chip you implanted gives me absolute control over your senses and memories. What can you do?"
The Doctor/Intern was about, I'm sure, to come up with a snappy, inspiring answer that would put Computer in her place. However, my brain decided this was entirely too confusing for 4 in the morning, so it woke me up...or did it?
Friday, September 7, 2012
Dream Log 3A: Doctor Who
The Daleks were worried. Something had appeared on their scanners that they did not understand, and though their usual approach would have been to destroy it, something told them that would end badly. The Dalek ruler therefore dispatched their most observant soldier to examine it. When I say observant, I mean it. He had an enormous eyeball instead of an eye stalk. He also giggled more than any Dalek should. While other workers on the ship he was on pushed him into the transporter to beam him onto the planet below, two baby Daleks appeared on the transport pad. They looked like enormous metal pills. A lima bean walked up to them, admired how cute they were, and ate them whole. Finally, the giggling Dalek beamed down.The moment he landed, his GPS and his link to the Dalek neural web cut off. He had to glide to a nearby town and threatened a man into leading him to the anomaly.
Back on the ship, the lima bean had regurgitated the two baby Daleks into a tub and abandoned them. As soon as the coast was clear, the pills popped open, and out came Rory Williams and myself. We snuck off through the ship and eventually managed to find the Doctor (Tom Baker), get to the planet's surface, and set off after the large eyed Dalek.
The seer, meanwhile, was having trouble with his guide.
"So what do you do to entertain yourselves when you aren't conquering places?" The all too chipper man asked.
"WE TAKE PLEASURE IN OUR OWN PERFECTION!" The seer giggled.
"Oh," the man thought for a moment, "So you masturbate."
"WE DO NOT ENGAGE IN SUCH WEEK ACTIVITIES! OUR TENDRILS ARE ALWAYS FULLY ENGAGED IN THE ARMOR PORTS!"
"Sounds like masturbation."
"YOU WILL DESIST USING THAT WORD! AND WHY ARE YOU NOT TAKING THE SHORTER PATH THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS?!"
"Pff, all you can do is kill me. The stuff in the mountains is way worse than that, so deal with it."
Eventually, the Doctor, Rory, and I arrived at the source of the anomaly, along with the guide and an extremely aggravated Dalek. The anomaly consisted of a hut atop a lumpy hill. Inside, photos of the Doctor, Gallifreyan writing, and other assorted odds and ends.
"Well, mister non-Dalek man," the Doctor addressed the guide, "What's all this then?"
"It's you. The essence of you as far as we could figure out. We have your image, your language, your hobbies, loves fears. We even modeled the hill to reflect your curvature."
"My curvature? I wasn't aware I had the curvature of a hill. I don't eat that many jelly babies."
"I think it's like your average curvature?" Rory suggested.
"Yeah," I backed him up, "Your body is really just one straight line, so it's curvature 0, but your hair. That has to be curvature 2000, so I guess it all evens out to..."
"100?" Rory guessed.
"Sounds right." The Doctor continued to talk with the guide and the Dalek while Rory and I poked around. When we stumbled across some D&D dice, I started to geek out. "DOCTOR! Can I have one of your dice? Please? The Doctor's D&D dice are too wonderfully geeky for words!"
"Yes yes, fine." I pocketed a shiny d12, squealing with delight. "What I want to know is why do all this?"
"THIS IS A BAD PLACE!" screamed the Dalek, it's eye twitching around violently.
"That's the point," explained the guide, "You're like a drug to the Daleks, they can't stay away, but you're horrible for their health. We decided to set up a honey pot far away from us so that if they ever came here, they'd be lured in and killed without ever bothering us."
"But that's preposterous," the Doctor objected, "A room can't kill without programming, a life form, something."
"This...is a cruel thing," wispered the seer, "No Dalek should feel this. What am I feeling? What..." it never finished it's thought. It simply shut down.
"You see? It works like a charm," chirped the guide.
We all returned to the city and met with the senate to discuss their Doctor Mock-up. During the meeting, lots of politics flew around that I didn't understand and didn't particularly want to. What I did catch was that Rory had grown tense. A senator noticed as well and offered him his wrist teleporter.
"Take it," he insisted, "You don't need to be here, and I do."
Reluctantly, Rory accepted it. The moment he powered it up, Amy Pond appeared where he'd been standing. He appeared on the other side of the room, and the eye stalk and laser of a Dalek sprouted out of Amy. I did not see that coming.
"Woah, Daleks!" Amy exclaimed. From her point of view, three of them were leveling their lasers at her. Her laser fired off in their direction automatically. In reality, the three Daleks were Rory, the Doctor, and the Guide.
"Amy! Don't trust what you're seeing! The programming just makes you think that you're facing enemies. It's changing your perceptions to make you accept that. Fight it!"
When she realized what was happening to her, Amy broke down crying. Moments later, she recovered. She had become full on Dalek. There was nothing we could do. She beamed back up to the ship, and we returned to the TARDIS.
"You know, Doctor," I growled, "I know now why they had dice in that room. It's because you don't really know what's going to happen, do you? You just gamble with the lives around you and promise it'll turn out all right. Well, it doesn't always." I gave Rory a much needed hug before stepping out of the TARDIS and into my home.
Back on the ship, the lima bean had regurgitated the two baby Daleks into a tub and abandoned them. As soon as the coast was clear, the pills popped open, and out came Rory Williams and myself. We snuck off through the ship and eventually managed to find the Doctor (Tom Baker), get to the planet's surface, and set off after the large eyed Dalek.
The seer, meanwhile, was having trouble with his guide.
"So what do you do to entertain yourselves when you aren't conquering places?" The all too chipper man asked.
"WE TAKE PLEASURE IN OUR OWN PERFECTION!" The seer giggled.
"Oh," the man thought for a moment, "So you masturbate."
"WE DO NOT ENGAGE IN SUCH WEEK ACTIVITIES! OUR TENDRILS ARE ALWAYS FULLY ENGAGED IN THE ARMOR PORTS!"
"Sounds like masturbation."
"YOU WILL DESIST USING THAT WORD! AND WHY ARE YOU NOT TAKING THE SHORTER PATH THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS?!"
"Pff, all you can do is kill me. The stuff in the mountains is way worse than that, so deal with it."
Eventually, the Doctor, Rory, and I arrived at the source of the anomaly, along with the guide and an extremely aggravated Dalek. The anomaly consisted of a hut atop a lumpy hill. Inside, photos of the Doctor, Gallifreyan writing, and other assorted odds and ends.
"Well, mister non-Dalek man," the Doctor addressed the guide, "What's all this then?"
"It's you. The essence of you as far as we could figure out. We have your image, your language, your hobbies, loves fears. We even modeled the hill to reflect your curvature."
"My curvature? I wasn't aware I had the curvature of a hill. I don't eat that many jelly babies."
"I think it's like your average curvature?" Rory suggested.
"Yeah," I backed him up, "Your body is really just one straight line, so it's curvature 0, but your hair. That has to be curvature 2000, so I guess it all evens out to..."
"100?" Rory guessed.
"Sounds right." The Doctor continued to talk with the guide and the Dalek while Rory and I poked around. When we stumbled across some D&D dice, I started to geek out. "DOCTOR! Can I have one of your dice? Please? The Doctor's D&D dice are too wonderfully geeky for words!"
"Yes yes, fine." I pocketed a shiny d12, squealing with delight. "What I want to know is why do all this?"
"THIS IS A BAD PLACE!" screamed the Dalek, it's eye twitching around violently.
"That's the point," explained the guide, "You're like a drug to the Daleks, they can't stay away, but you're horrible for their health. We decided to set up a honey pot far away from us so that if they ever came here, they'd be lured in and killed without ever bothering us."
"But that's preposterous," the Doctor objected, "A room can't kill without programming, a life form, something."
"This...is a cruel thing," wispered the seer, "No Dalek should feel this. What am I feeling? What..." it never finished it's thought. It simply shut down.
"You see? It works like a charm," chirped the guide.
We all returned to the city and met with the senate to discuss their Doctor Mock-up. During the meeting, lots of politics flew around that I didn't understand and didn't particularly want to. What I did catch was that Rory had grown tense. A senator noticed as well and offered him his wrist teleporter.
"Take it," he insisted, "You don't need to be here, and I do."
Reluctantly, Rory accepted it. The moment he powered it up, Amy Pond appeared where he'd been standing. He appeared on the other side of the room, and the eye stalk and laser of a Dalek sprouted out of Amy. I did not see that coming.
"Woah, Daleks!" Amy exclaimed. From her point of view, three of them were leveling their lasers at her. Her laser fired off in their direction automatically. In reality, the three Daleks were Rory, the Doctor, and the Guide.
"Amy! Don't trust what you're seeing! The programming just makes you think that you're facing enemies. It's changing your perceptions to make you accept that. Fight it!"
When she realized what was happening to her, Amy broke down crying. Moments later, she recovered. She had become full on Dalek. There was nothing we could do. She beamed back up to the ship, and we returned to the TARDIS.
"You know, Doctor," I growled, "I know now why they had dice in that room. It's because you don't really know what's going to happen, do you? You just gamble with the lives around you and promise it'll turn out all right. Well, it doesn't always." I gave Rory a much needed hug before stepping out of the TARDIS and into my home.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Dream Log 12:30: Throwing Caution to the Wind
She was such a nice lady. She came off at first as a bit too Marry Poppins-like, what with her carpet bag of holding and prim and proper ways. However, she seemed to have more vulnerability to her. It's little wonder, since she was tasked with caring for a little rascal and protecting her family's souls for all of eternity. The little rascal in question was essentially young Bruce Wayne if instead of Alfred, he had the vampire slaying butler from the anime Hellsing, and if instead of having a thing for bats, he had a thing for dressing up like a dog. Hardly any difference, right?
Well, the butler decided he was not really fit to raise a child, so he enlisted the nanny's help. She and the boy grew fond of each other quite quickly, but she refused to take up permanent residence at the house. This was due to her familial duties. Every night, she went out to a small alcove in the middle of a field where hundreds of candles burned. She lit new candles when the old ones burned down, moved rocks around to shield them from the wind, and then gazed at the stars that were her family members and depended upon the earthly flames.
One day, the boy (wearing fake floppy dog ears, I might add) insisted that his nanny take him with her on her evening trip. She obliged. He marveled at the candles and sat with her for a hour listening to her family stories. Suddenly, home-sickness shot through her. She could not resist the pull of the stars, so she placed a new candle on a rock and cascaded into the sky as a fountain of light. The candle's wick spontaneously ignited. The boy rushed towards the flame to marvel at it. As he watched it dance, the wind picked up. The flame struggled against it, then puffed out. Before the boy could grasp what that meant, a tiny man leaped out from behind a bush and charged him, arms grasping for his throat.
"You killed her! You piece of slime!"
"No," the boy protested, "It was the wind. I didn't-"
"I'll murder you!" before he quite reached the boy, a foot slammed into his gut. He fell gasping to the ground. At first, the boy thought his butler had appeared and kicked the attacker. In reality, his butler had appeared and swung a plastic leg into the small man.
"Butler!"
"An appropriately cautious person will consider all likely scenarios and prepare himself against the worst of them, up to and including leprechaun attacks at midnight. I," he laid a wiry hand against his chest, "am an exceedingly cautious person."
Well, the butler decided he was not really fit to raise a child, so he enlisted the nanny's help. She and the boy grew fond of each other quite quickly, but she refused to take up permanent residence at the house. This was due to her familial duties. Every night, she went out to a small alcove in the middle of a field where hundreds of candles burned. She lit new candles when the old ones burned down, moved rocks around to shield them from the wind, and then gazed at the stars that were her family members and depended upon the earthly flames.
One day, the boy (wearing fake floppy dog ears, I might add) insisted that his nanny take him with her on her evening trip. She obliged. He marveled at the candles and sat with her for a hour listening to her family stories. Suddenly, home-sickness shot through her. She could not resist the pull of the stars, so she placed a new candle on a rock and cascaded into the sky as a fountain of light. The candle's wick spontaneously ignited. The boy rushed towards the flame to marvel at it. As he watched it dance, the wind picked up. The flame struggled against it, then puffed out. Before the boy could grasp what that meant, a tiny man leaped out from behind a bush and charged him, arms grasping for his throat.
"You killed her! You piece of slime!"
"No," the boy protested, "It was the wind. I didn't-"
"I'll murder you!" before he quite reached the boy, a foot slammed into his gut. He fell gasping to the ground. At first, the boy thought his butler had appeared and kicked the attacker. In reality, his butler had appeared and swung a plastic leg into the small man.
"Butler!"
"An appropriately cautious person will consider all likely scenarios and prepare himself against the worst of them, up to and including leprechaun attacks at midnight. I," he laid a wiry hand against his chest, "am an exceedingly cautious person."
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