Author: srh

First task, and what I should have asked Chuck, but forgot.  Learning to travel…? Jump? Teleport?  Fucking transportation magic?

Pop quiz hotshot: What do you call jumping out of your bed in the morning and having your morning coffee in LA a thousand of miles away?

Answer: Fucking impossible.

My first attempt was to try to go from my bed to the desk.  I stood there for a minute, with my eyes closed tight trying to imagine moving through space and time like a ghost.

Doctor Who I am not, and a TARDIS I do not have.

So I took the Jedi approach and waved my hand and tried to feel it out.

Abject failure.

Then I tried the comic book approach and just tried jumping with a little will behind it.

More abject failure and a sore ankle.

Then I swore loudly, ran towards the wall, and soundly broke my nose.

…

Sigh.

…

Once I got the bleeding under control, which was completely lost on me to begin with; since I was dead, and had no need for blood in the first place.  Just like I had food and drink, but no need to crap it out.  Why the hell did I need blood?  That is like having snot run down your face.  Ghosts don’t get colds.

Of course, I guess I wasn’t a ghost.  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense.  I thought I was dead, but on Prime, everyone would see me and I could interact with everyone.  So that made me a zombie or a vampire, right?  Undead.  Except my body was fleshy and real.  Not dying and falling off, and I sure did not have any sort of hankering for flesh.

At least not yet. (Although steak sounded good.  But that is not human flesh, so it doesn’t count.)

I wonder if I could get laid.  Hmmm, getting off topic.

I walked over to desk, pinching the bridge of my nose and hoping it wouldn’t bruise and swell up.  It felt tender, but I had worse.  Much worse considering my last couple days. But it still hurt.

I grabbed a notebook from the drawer, a little black thing that said Moleskine on the back.  It was blank, just soft gray lines on creamy offwhite paper. A looked high and low for a pen, but I couldn’t find shit.   I would have to pick one up.  I also grabbed the little slip of paper from under the blotter with all the odd writing on it and tucked into the flap inside the black cover.

I looked down my front, made sure there was no blood, and headed towards my front door.  With a twist of the wrist, a flick of the other to close the door behind me, I patted my pocket and felt a key.

Everything fits.  I pulled it out anyway and tried in on my door.  Yep, everything fits.  How convenient the universe seemed to be after I had died.  It would be a lot easier if the universe was like this for everyone from the get-go.   I bet there was some insipid rule that governed how the key appeared in the first place.  I wondered if all the lost keys in the world were actually just being re-appropriated.  That would be funny.

I hobbled down the stairs on my sore ankle, and out the shared front door.

Into the brightest motherfucking sunshine I had ever felt.  It was like crazy bright.  Maybe I was actually a vampire.  Any moment I was going to burst into flame.

I looked down the street and saw nothing but apartments and small houses.  I looked down the other way, and saw more of the same.  I was on a main street of some sort, with store fronts dotting the street on both sides for a ways in both directions.  To my left was the coffee shop and market that Chuck had mentioned.  A couple stores down was a used clothing boutique, and past that a jazz club of some sort.  Downtown, or at least what I thought of downtown since it had all the tall buildings was directly down to the west? of me.  South?  Mountains are that way.  Denver was east of the mountains?  That would make that west.

So downtown Denver was west of me.  Yay.  I knew I was going to travel someday.

I headed to the boutique and found a case of some used decent sunglasses.  I picked a 1950’s style of Oakley beatnik shades… something dark, and brooding.  Like what my vampire nature deserved.  (Yeah, I am definitely not a vampire.)

“That will be the 22.50, sir.”  The lady at the checkout said.

I patted my other front pocket and felt a wallet.  No shit.  The universe just thought of everything didn’t it. I pulled the billfold out and found credit cards for a Doug Gates. (No paper trail my ass. I had credit cards.)  It also had a handful of different denominations.   I pulled a couple of twenties out and handed it over.

“Nice day out there.”  The lady followed up with as she took my money.

“Yeah, it is.  Really bright.”

“Hence the sunglasses.” She quipped.

“Hence the sunglasses.” I mimicked kindly.

“New to town?” She asked. Her name tag said Candice. Actually it said, HI, MY NAME IS CANDICE.  The all capitals really sold it.  Not at all like someone screaming right in your face, ‘HI, HOW ARE YOU, DO YOU LIKE THE COLOR BLUE?’

I would have responded, ‘WHY YES, I LOVE THE COLOR BLUE IN ALL ITS VARIANTS AND THE SOUNDS OF A BABY CRYING WHILE SHITTING ITSELF.’  But that would be rude, based on nothing more than a simple name tag that poor Candice had no control over.

“I am new to town. How did you know?” I said.

“You had a lost look on your face when you walked in.  Also, you just look like you are from out of town.”

“How’s that?”

“I don’t know actually.  You just do.”  She smiled.

“Thanks for the glasses.  Do you have the time?”

“If you need a watch, there are some over in that case.” She winked.  “It is 11:30am.”

“Uh, thanks.  This will sound stupid, but what day is it?”

She looked at me funny for a moment, then smiled widely again. “Its Tuesday.”

“I guess a watch would be a good idea.” I admitted.

After I bought the watch and equipped my new purchases, I started strolling down the street.  The restaurants and bistros had people sitting down and eating, folks in suits and dresses, ties and scarves, the world continuing on, just as it had before I died. It was kind of comforting in a way.  Having everything just seem normal.  After the madness of the last couple of my days, it was downright pleasant.

I stopped in a little cafe, picked up a newspaper, some food and drink and sat down.  The date put me at about 8 months since I had passed on, which wasn’t a big surprise.   Things hadn’t changed much.  Price of gasoline was a concern, people were still fighting in the middle east, and there was some sort of bake sale occurring this weekend to support the police alumni association.  Welp, super duper.

All in all, the world was still the world.  I ate my scone and drank my coffee and started writing everything I could think of into the small black notebook with my freshly stolen pen from the clothing store. It wrote very nicely.  Of course, maybe it was the paper in the notebook.  Whatever it was, it felt nice to write my thoughts out in some sort of order I could rearrange and play with later on.

I vomited what I remembered of my internal dialogue from the night before.  I listed my facts, my options, my assets and my liabilities.  I tried to separate everything out on to four different pages, and then I went through and I ranked everything.  Crossed things out here and there as I went.  I triple checked the little scrap of paper for more clues.  Not much to be found.

And the Travel thing was still number one.  Dammit.

I had to call Chuck.  I didn’t want to, the guy was obviously busy.  But I did.  Right there in the coffee shop.  Probably looked like I crazy, mumbling to myself.  I tried to talk with my inside voice, but that wasn’t working 100%.

Ooooh! Plot twist!  All the crazy people on Prime are actually dead people making mental phone calls!  Too bad that wasn’t true, it would make finding friends easier.

“Doug?” Chuck said.  A voice in the back of my head.

“Chuck!  Sorry to bother you, but how do I travel?  You know the spinning, twisting teleport thing you do?”

“Yeah, we kind of skipped over that part of the training.”  Chuck admitted.  “You didn’t ask the aspect locked in your map?”

“Ah, no.” I said.  Shit, I forgot the map. Again.  I bet Tony was pissed.

“Its easy, just focus on where you want to go. Just like making this connection.  But instead of a person, its a place.  You do that, and you will slip right through.  As you get used to it, you can flair it up however you want.”

“And if I haven’t been to the place?”

“Just aim for it.  Most of the time, you will get it right.  And if you don’t, you will be close.  Just try again.”

“Sounds promising.” I said sarcastically.

“You landed your realm in Prime, something that I thought was impossible, so I doubt you will have a problem with it.  Just practice, dude.  Chuck out.”

And he was gone.  I grabbed my notebook and pen, noticed that absolutely no one even noticed my strange behavior and headed back to my place. While I was walking back in the sunshine, I thought about the other cafe that Oman had taken me to.  I remembered the alley and the green sign, and the…

And there I was. I didn’t notice the transition, or the feeling of movement.  One step I was in Denver, the next I was in LA.  It had been seamless.

And there she was, standing in the cafe at the register, punching furiously away at the point of sale terminal.  It was the lunch rush, she was obviously busy.  I pulled my black book out and looked at my notes.  Her name was Imaria. Daughter of Oman, the Angel.  How do you break the ice with a daughter of an Angel?

I walked into the cafe, decent sort of place, a thousand of them in LA I would think, and the hostess looked me over coolly.

“Table for one?” She asked.

“Preferably in her section?” I said meekly as I pointed her out.

“Oh sure.”  She said sarcastically. Then she turned as Imaria walked by. “Hey May, you know this guy?”

Imaria/May turned and looked me over. “Nope!” She called as she sped away.

“You get all creepy, I will have Jorge kick your ass out.” The hostess warned.

“Its not like that at all!” I protested. “She is a good server, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.  And the fact that she is stacked and friendly as hell has nothing to do with it.” The hostess lifted an eyebrow.

“None at all, promise.” I tried to give her my best smile.  I probably failed.

“Fine, that table right there.  Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.  Like ever.”  She turned away to go pluck her eyebrows or something.

I sat down and watched Imaria/May go about her business with her other tables as discreetly as I could.  Perhaps coming and sitting in her section was a bad idea.  I probably should be working on my actual cases, not checking on a cute waitress. But then again, she was cute. So I had that going for me.

She sped by and dropped a menu off. “Be with you in a sec.  Water?”

“Yes, please.”

The menu was standard fare.  Chicken this, hamburger that, pretending-to-be-healthy-salads, pasta, and a smattering of texmex americana.  I decided on the BLT, since I had a scone not even fifteen minutes ago.  Something light that I could dissect and play with to kill some time while I tried to figure out where to start.  I would just have to be charming.

After all, that had worked out for me so well in my past life. I was so charming my last girlfriend had dumped me for some dude she met at a Walmart checkout line.  It wasn’t meant to be anyway, she was Russian.  Nice body, but the worst attitude about personal appearance.  Fit right in at Venice beach.  More cali than the locals, as I would tell people.  But she had at least taken the time to get to know me a bit, so it still hurt when she walked out.

“Hello, my name is May, and I will be your server this afternoon!  Here is your water.  Ready to order?”  She had snuck up on me as I was lost in thought about Russian hoes.  So of course, my smooth plan went right out the proverbial window.  And hit the street.  And rolled.

“Uh… um… recommend anything?”

“Oh, I like the Cobb Salad, but it isn’t really a salad.  More like a kitchen sink with some lettuce at the bottom.  You have to have a big appetite to hammer that one down.   The best light fare is actually the Chile Relleno.   Real lightly fried, so not greasy at all.  Our head cook, Jorge… its his mother’s recipe.  Super tasty.  Pretty healthy too.  Stuffed with chicken, peppers, onions and just a little cheese to bring it all together. Its heaven.”  She sighed.

“Then that is what I will have.” I said.  I made eye contact with her and noticed her eyes were a brilliant green, with flecks of turquoise swimming about.  They were cat’s eyes.  I handed her the menu a little more slowly than what was probably considered natural.

“Do you wear contacts?” I said sheepishly.

“Optometrist are you?” She smiled, tucking the menu under her arm.  “Nope, no contacts. Anything to drink or you good with water?”

“Just water is fine. Thanks.”

“No problem.” And off she went.

Someone else delivered the chile relleno, and when she checked on me, my mouth was full.  So that opportunity was shot.  The next time she came round, she refilled my drink, and asked if I wanted anything else.  I tried to think of something witty or funny.

“Sorry about the eyes thing.  They just caught me off guard.  …Shiny.”

I failed.  BOOM.  SPLAT. CRUNCH.

“Shiny?” She asked.

“Very.” I think my insides wanted to implode and take me with them.  God I am an idiot.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She smirked… and then grinned!  “I like that.  Shiny.  Well you have a good day.”

I think the implosion feeling was getting worse.  I am pretty sure I was going to take my table and the surrounding ones as well in the blast.

“Thank you.”

I paid the check with a huge obnoxious tip and got the hell out of there.

I awoke to an awful loud knocking coming from my front door.

BAM BAM BAM.

I rolled out of bed as best I could.  I had slept like the dead, which is funny, cause I am.  But the bed was amazing.  The best sleep I have ever had.

What do dead guy’s dream of?  I was hoping for sexy time with a harem or something, but all I got was a dream about looking for a job at the Career Fair.  Just wandering forever, feeling lost, wondering if and when I would ever find anything.  Kind of like those dreams you have after getting out of school where you think you are showing up on the last day of a class you never took or forgetting about the test that would let you graduate.  It was that sort of dream.  All sorts of wrong.  Not a nightmare, but sure enough close enough to be called one.

BAM BAM BAM.

“I am coming!” I stumbled a bit as I rounded the doorway out of the bedroom and caught the door frame on my shoulder.  At least the impact cleared my head.  I started talking to myself, “wall there, genius.”

I pulled the door open and there was Chuck, holding a greasy bag and a drink carrier full of what looked like coffee.

“Oh its my personal Jesus,” I mumbled.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Its nine.” He smiled.

“The pounding on my door kind of helped me figure it out.”  I grumbled.

“Not much of a morning person, are you?” Chuck laughed. “I have to give you some major kudos, Doug.  You managed to latch your realm right on to Prime.  I have no idea how you managed, but you managed it.  Honestly, I didn’t think it was possible.”

“You mean outside that door is the real world?”  I said.

“Well its all real, Doug.  But outside that door is the only part of the Verse where souls come and go.  If that is how you want to define ‘real’, I guess you can, but I wouldn’t.  The shadows of the Verse are wild and varied, as they say.  And it is all real… no less real than Prime.”

“I am a miracle worker.” I took a sip of the coffee, it was very good.  I didn’t know what I grabbed out the bag, but it appeared to be made out of eggs and something, so I took a big bite.

“No… I am thinking it is because of your job, to be honest.  The assumptions that I make for most folks just don’t apply here.”

“So what now?” I asked.

“You tell me, Doug.  You called me, remember?” Chuck took his coffee and strolled over to the window.  I followed him and looked down.  The street was bustling all right.

“Do you know where we are at?”

“Denver.”

“Well shit.  I don’t know Denver.”

“Something landed you here.”  Chuck grinned.

“My first case is in Los Angeles.”

“And you are from the east coast.  Fish out of water.”

“I think that happened the moment the elephant made a bad choice.” I said.

“You are funny guy, Doug.”

“Maybe because it is between where I was and where I grew up?” I ventured.

“No.  Stop that right now.  You are on Prime, but you can step out to other parts of the Verse any time.  You aren’t constrained to planes, trains, and automobiles.”

“Good movie.” I muttered.

“Yeah, John Candy is a hoot.”

“You met him?” I said, surprised.

“I have.  Same department.”

“No shit.”

“No shit.  What else, Doug?”

“So on Prime… what do I look like?  Who am I?”

“Does it matter? Come on Doug.  Think about this.  You are dead, they are not.  You can travel and get any item you want or need, they can’t.  You can interact with anyone, anywhere, any time… they can’t.  You following?  You just got the easiest investigations job on Prime.  Your leg work is going to be a whole lot easier.  Think about it that way.  You are Doug Gates, Adjudicator.  On Prime, even if you went to your own mother and said ‘Hi, I am Doug Gates, your son.’  She wouldn’t even register your presence.  There are no connections that any living person on this planet can associate with you.  You are off grid, no paper trail, invisible. You are subjectively and literally a ghost. Make sense?”

“I guess so.”  I muttered again and took a sip of coffee.  It was still pretty good. “Where did you pick up the coffee?”

“Downstairs. You dropped your office right on top of a small market and coffee shop.  They roast their own beans and all.”

“Oh great.  Do I pay rent on Prime now?” I smirked.

“No, your realm is your realm.  It fits wherever you want it, with the exception of Prime.  But as you can tell, I have no idea on that one any more.  The universe adjusts… it fits.  The landlord will probably see the extra door on the second floor and remember that his tenant paid in advance for 10 years or something strange like that.  I bet all your neighbours know of you already, they just don’t recall ever meeting you.”

“You are completely and utterly flying by the seat of your pants, aren’t you, Chuck.”

“Yep! You will too.  Get used to it!  If you have nothing else, I will step out.  The people keep dying and they always need someone to applaud their horrifically funny deaths.”

“And if I need you again?”

“You won’t… really, you just figured the big one out.  I don’t have all the answers.  Those are up to you to figure out now, Mr. Adjudicator.”  He tapped my shoulder gently with his palm and headed out the door.   I heard it close behind me and stood at my new window wondering what the hell I was doing in Denver.

Denver.

Isn’t it supposed to be in the mountains?  With 10 feet of snow everywhere?

This is bullshit. I should move to Hawaii.

…

This coffee though.  Hmmm.   I might need some more.

With a flick of a wrist and nary a word, Oman escaped my life just as quickly as he had arrived.  At least he was kind enough to drop me back outside my door as he bowed gracefully out of my realm.

‘So Doug’, I said to myself as I opened the door into my office.  (Funny how I already thought of it as ‘my’ office.) Time to review what we know. Don’t judge me, I like my internal running monologue.  It is what keeps me grounded. Let’s approach this with the Sherlock Holmes method.  What are the facts?

First, I am dead. But not a big deal, seems there is more to life than your first life.  I can deal with that.  Step at a time.  My Death Transition Consultant, Chuck, is trying to help where and when he can.  But he seems to be at a loss with my situation as much I am.

Second, reality is spread between two extremes, the Authority, which I assume is THE God. With a capital G, underline, bold.  And the other is the Angelus, which I assume is the fallen angels from the creation myths. The two are in a struggle to control the balance of reality, called the Verse, with the fulcrum being the world that we all are born into, called Prime. They vie for the only place that new souls are brought into existence.  At this point, I think I have briefly encountered God’s presence while with Chuck, and I think I met one of the Angelus, Oman.  Oman definitely wasn’t like Chuck or any other souls that I have encountered so far.  Including my late absent mentor, Anthony.  Which brings me to…

Third, my would-be-mentor, a pious and analytical saint of sorts, blows his head off not even five minutes after my stumbling entrance into his realm.  A man that would never kill himself found a reason to do just that.  His aspect, a way to partition of your mind into other objects, continues to live for a short while in my copy of the map.  Which at this point, I am thinking is pretty much a Hitchhiker’s Guide for the Afterlife.  He has tasked me to figure out the last few days of his life before he evaporates into the ether.

Fourth, there are three open cases, two of which concerned the aspect of Tony, because he didn’t know about them. Under his blotter, there was a strange piece of paper, and the best clue as to what happened in the intervening days to drive a saint to self-eradicate.

And lastly, a fallen angel Oman has hired me to figure out why a long dead half breed daughter is alive and well on Prime. And I have nothing more to go on than his hunch.  Which is worth about nothing at this point. Although, surprisingly, I did find out that I can travel to Prime, assuming the rest of the Verse, as soon as I learn how.

What are my options?

And that leaves me…  Sitting on the edge of my desk, drinking a dixie cup of water from the dated water machine sitting next to my inherited couch, not knowing what the fuck to do.  I can’t travel like Chuck and Oman (yet), and the aspect of Anthony is sitting on my desk, probably impatiently waiting to be caught up on the cases. I am stuck here, being a research assistant for a grumpy ghost.

I can try calling Chuck. But he said he would be back tomorrow.  Is it tomorrow yet?  How does one track time in the Verse?  I looked out the windows framing one corner of my office, and the mountains looked the same as they did when I first arrived.  Snow capped, majestic, and kind of fake.

I can explore my realm, although that just appears to be an office, an apartment, and a bunch of questions that need answers.

I can eat, sleep, and shower, and dress up in some other dude’s clothes.

What are my assets?

I have clothes, shelter, food, and water.  I need exactly none of those.  I have case files. I have a gun.  I have a bunch of things that don’t belong to me.  I have the map.  I have an implied ability to do things, but I have no idea how to do them.

What are my liabilities?

I lack information.  Lots of information.  I could ask questions for days. Months.  Maybe years. And as I have told myself about 10 times in the last 10 minutes of this internal monologue, I CAN’T DO SHIT.

I sighed, and set my dixie cup on the desk blotter next to the two case files.  My finger brushed the edge of the map, and I felt an urgent pressing of something that sounded like ‘what’ from Tony before I pulled my finger away.  Let him stew.  I needed to think.  I walked to the windows and lamented on the view.  I miss the city.  I miss the noise of traffic.  I miss weather.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember what it sounded like from my apartment.  The bustle of the noise on the street below, the honking of horns of the highway a mile in the distance, the trundling sound of the delivery trucks dropping off produce at the farmer market down on the corner.  I tried to remember the humidity of the night, the fog of the morning, and the crickets singing their songs.

Then I heard them.  The crickets came in first, then with a pop, the other sounds flooded in behind it. The trucks, the people, the cars, the horns, the unsatisfied noise of humans going to and fro, striving against the trivial nature of existing, yet defining themselves as something more in the process.

Like a glorified stagehand skipping from show to show, job to job, barely making rent… and dying, brutally.  To find himself an investigator of sorts, way out of his depth.

I sighed again, and opened my eyes.  The windows were gone.  At least the windows looking at the mountains.  These windows were different, sliding windows, looking at a fire escape.  One was open, with a lonely plant sitting on the sill, the noise of people below filtering up.  I poked my head out the window, and saw actual real people moving about down below.  I could see cars parked on the street, and young couples walking hand in hand, while older folks sat on their stoops talking about the weather or their hemorrhoids or their ungrateful kids living up in San Fran.

It was perfect.  Not quite home, but close enough.  I looked up and saw night sky, a filtered haze with a few glimmers of light of far off stars trying to shine through.

It felt like Prime. What was real?  Was Prime real?  Was any shadow of Prime any less real than Prime itself?  Jeez, the questions just could spin philosophical far too quick.  I shrugged and let it go.  The real question was… did I just relocate the office?  Or is that a memory out there?  I would have to ask Tony, or Chuck, or something.

I thought about Chuck. Wandering about Prime, sight unseen, picking up new souls as they came to their unfortunate end, moving them to the career fair, trying to help them adjust to the new reality they found themselves in.  Then I heard his voice.

“Hey, Doug.  What’s going on?”

“Oh hey, Chuck.  Sorry, did I just call you?”  I said guiltly.

“You did.  Nice job.  I take it was an accident?” I could hear his grin.

“Yeah, sorry.  Since I have you on the line, how do I tell time in this joint?”

“Anthony must have messed with his realm.  Usually you just look up.  Sun and moon and all that.  Watches still work, the solar system still spins, and time marches on!”

“I think I did something to my realm already.  The mountains are gone, and I am in a city of some sort, feels like home.” I admitted.

“Nice one, Doug.  You are picking things up quick, aren’t you?”

“Am I home?” I asked meekly.

“Probably not, but everything fits in the Verse.  You are probably damn close.  I will stop by tomorrow at 9am, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Later Doug.”

“Later.”  But he was already gone.

…Screw it, I am going to bed.

The name’s Eddie T.  I am a burner by trade. I have been since my graceful fall from the 23rd floor of the Walter and Routte Investment Company back in ’29 on the prime side. I had been a trader, and now I am a burner.  Fair trade in my opinion.  I am not to worried about sharing the details of my deathday… anyone that asks can know.  If they think it will bother me any, it won’t.

A burner is something special in my opinion.  The Colos is a force outside of the Authority and the Angelus, and it leaves a mess.  Most of the people will tell you that the Colos is efficient, fast, and clean.  But me and fellow compatriots know the truth.

It leaves a fucking cesspool of filth.  Like a flock of seagulls.  It flies in, shits all over everything, and then flies out.

Yep, that’s right.  I clean up the shit of a reality eating monster.  But don’t take that the wrong way.  I love it.  You see, not many people get to see what I see.   I get to see the world for what it is.  It is a machine that chews souls up and then spits them out.  The Colos just chews them up and then shits out the stuff that attracts the Briars.

And that crap is scary.  Pun intended. The Briars are the trolls of the Verse.  These gross underthings that can grow, and consume, and spread outwards.   Like dark angels made of evil and destruction. Some of my compatriots think that the Briars are the offspring of the Colos.  But I don’t think that is it.  I think the damn things are refuse… the worst possible refuse there is.  Because my theory is they grow out of the shit.

What do you get when you chew up reality and digest it?  I would think you would get the worst of the worst coming out.  Think about it.  Humans eat food, we digest the stuff our bodies can use and shit out all the stuff that we can’t.  Imagine the filth that comes out of the Colos.

That is what I do.  I burn it.  Hopefully we can get there before any of the Briars do, but sometimes we are a bit late. Then I have to use my gear to fight the damn things.  Its like something out of a storybook, man.  Me and my boys go in there with business end of our burners burning, and our backpacks fully charged.   We use the plasma lances and try to cut those nasty ghouls up… then trap the shit.  We take the floating ether from the Colos’s invisible backend and take it to our containment vessel in our shared realm.

The containment vessel is a big red vault door, sunk in the wall of the building’s basement.  It has huge flashing lights, big alarms, and I am sure is very expensive to run.  The building is pretty simple really.  It looks like an old firehouse.  You know the kind, all brick and mortar, with brass poles penetrating the floor leading to the other floors so you can get from the bunks to the realm gate quickly and efficiently. First you have to gear up of course.

We drop through the floor and put on our coveralls first.  They are grey, with lots of pockets so we can carry anything we might need.  The boots are heavy, black, and have seen their fair share of battle.  On our backs, the plasma containment units are heavy whirring metal behemoths that connect to our lances.  The lances themselves are about the size of a cut of broom handle having sex with a dustpan.  We just point and shoot.

That simple.

Although we have been told to not the cross streams… its hard, because the lances kick something awful.

Now all we need a theme song to play when we are headed to an emergency.

Something catchy…