90 Days Without Newman

“Human English, time-restricted. Good existence to you! Illusory time measurements follow: your sleep cycle lasted for 153 minutes, averaging a sleep efficiency of 834 percent, a drop from the user average of 989 percent. This inefficiency is estimated to be due to: stress, extended use of the United Lobes Sleep-a-Way Hibernation Pod, and the physical harm you suffered that required basic medical aid during your rest. Your soul alignment is: intrepid! Take on the false day with your chin held high as you enjoy an adventure! United Lobes would like to remind those beings of weaker flesh and odorous minds that repeated use of the Sleep-a-Way Hibernation Pod is not for everyone. Consult your mechanic, physician, and/or healer before use.”

The pod had so greeted Tricia Gorbachev, give or take some of the warnings, a total of 62 times. Whatever a “soul alignment” was supposed to be, it was never how Tricia felt.

“Time is a meaningless construct perpetuated by those whose lobes are atrophied or nonexistent! But—for those poor souls who must suffer this illusion—a clock has been programmed: it is Day 51 at 0-0-3-1.”

It was midnight, though that was a meaningless thing here in the place of unending sun that had, recently, become one of unending night. Magoi claimed the barrier responded to the time of day in the real world; it was night in Springfield.

Tricia rose in somewhat of a daze as she looked about. The sleep pods, the mysterious property of the mysterious Magoi Magus, had large, cushy internals that ill-matched the polished black metal bowls that made up most of their external construction. Inside, a large human could comfortably coil or collapse; so tall were they that climbing out necessitated a single step platform bolted onto the side. The single row of four pods had replaced the video game machines to the right of the entrance of the Arcade; those machines, and all the rest that had been setup, were now wedged into the back.

For now, Tricia saw none present but the Fateweavers. The conference table remained littered with tools and weapons of varying complexity and design, from bizarre guns right out of a sci-fi shooter to an organic, humming sword that smelled faintly of honey the first (and last) time Tricia tried to wield it. On one end of the table sat Jimmy who, despite having no business with the rescue of John, worked tirelessly on the research project handed to him by Magoi.

That legendary mage sat at the opposite end, leaning forward and staring into space while his body displayed an imperfect stillness. His mask did not jitter or jaw as it often did when he was thinking or observing others; his hands, folded over the head of his cane, twitched slightly but otherwise showed no signs of life. This was apparently how he did his research, at least while he babysat their sordid group.

“Master Magus, a question,” Tricia struggled to say as she stifled a yawn.

“Your debt is only 28% paid off,” Magoi tersely answered. “Please do not interrupt.”

Tricia grimaced at the mage. His magnanimity proved to be a creature of moods: spending weeks in his presence had shown that he was prone to cantankerous broodings that he would later excuse as “a moment of Arete,” much to everyone’s chagrin. This had been one such “moment”; it had lasted two days now. Rubbing her tired eyes with the plain black of her carbon skinsuit, she decided she’d try again tomorrow.

She looked down at the pod as she climbed out of it and, much to her dismay, her passive suit scanners had detected nothing of the mechanisms or enchantments that made it work. The devices were described as inventions of some delusional human cult in a “Kingdom,” to use the eldest mage’s words; much of the contemporary science of illusion barriers was dismissed as propaganda by the same. For Tricia, the venerable archmage proved that even the greatest scholars couldn’t let go of the fancies of their outmoded ages: exceptionally large permanent illusion barriers anchored by active infinity gems were “Kingdoms”; illusions were their “denizens” or "monsters"; the place they now slept, a persistent barrier without such an anchor, was merely a "chamber"; and the temporary illusion barriers, like the ones that seemed to belch their contents into this persistent one for training purposes, were “barriers” unto themselves. What to make of awakened humans? Mages, one and all, no matter their disciplines or lack thereof. The Abyssal universe? “The Dream.”

Tricia, an intellectual, was above such medieval theory… and she had never doubted as much, at least until she met John.

She looked around the arcade once more, at how unrecognizable it had become from when they first arrived, and quietly took a seat at the table. Her research log had become something of a confession booth; wordlessly, she thought into it.

Incident Journal “Orderly Rescue,” Day 51, Log Entry 1. The design specifications and internal machinations of the sleep pods continue to elude me, and I’m deprived of the raw materials necessary to construct additional scanner drones to aid me. I suspect that Magoi Magus understands my intent and is thwarting my efforts... but on waking today, I am confronted with thoughts of John. More critically, I’m beginning to doubt the motive behind my... actions... here.

Tricia’s fists clenched on her thighs.

Fact pattern: it is sometime after the first midnight after I last saw my husband, John Newman, in real-time. Due to the circumstances previously described, it has been fifty-one days for me. John’s first manifested illusory entity (“summon”), “Fairy,” has reported an inability to make contact with John since entering the time dilation of this barrier. We have thus operated blindly in hopes that he may be alive and recoverable by the approximate release time of 12:38PM, real-time. This has rendered certain psychological effects on myself. I... I knew my husband, John Newman, for approximately six days by the time of our last meeting. I had been married to him for half that time. We have now been apart for fifty-one days by my perception, which leads to the following calculations: I have spent approximately 98.1% of my marriage with no quantifiable contact with my spouse. I have spent more than 90% of the time I’ve known of my husband’s existence in this barrier. I am... distant from him. It became difficult to remember the small details of his face without the aid of a visual hologram, as reported in Log Entry 4 for Day 47; even then, it is almost difficult to recall the sensation of his bare skin against mine.

Jimmy gave a short cough that almost alarmed Tricia. Once she felt sure she hadn’t spoken aloud, she continued.

I am... inexperienced in these matters. I have an unsubstantiated fear that I may... forget my love for him, if I continue this training.

Her Eye cycled another eyelid; it had done so hundreds of times as Tricia’s doubts or pains ruled over her during the training.

I have no basis for this fear. I want to save him, to be with him, and to protect him... and I still do. But I have a growing anxiety that perhaps... that perhaps I have no logical basis for these feelings for him. Jane Hollmey, self-designated as “Rave” for the purposes of this operation, expressed surprise at my marriage to someone I had not, at that time, known for more than 96 hours. She has repeatedly asked me to confirm my conviction to save John. I have expressed it without hesitation... but it calls into question the authenticity and wisdom of my relying on an emotion I have suppressed since my pre-pubescent stages of development.

The doors opened suddenly, letting in a soft howl as some illusion barrier creature perished outside. Tricia expected either Rave or Travolta, who were presently on a training cycle apart from Tricia, to be coming in from their work; instead, her eyes met the inhuman, intense gaze of the sole Almiraj present. His body was covered in small cuts, but he did not seem to mind them; he remained bare-chested despite Magoi’s recommendation of lightweight armor, and his perfect white tuft of chest fur was partially matted in his own blood.. A blade that wasn’t his own was broken in two: the hilt and half the blade was bathed in blue ichor and rested in his right grip, while his left pinched the rest of the blade between fingertips. Despite the obvious wear of combat, that intense gaze was set on Tricia until she returned it. With a sudden self-awareness, Greenpaw looked to the floor as he continued to saunter in.

There is... also John’s summon, “Greenpaw,” who continues to act in a baffling manner around me as compared to the others. All that my studies have shown are that (1) this illusion identifies his species as being that of the “Juuvak,” not the “Almiraj” as Fairy and John both suggested; (2) Greenpaw, and allegedly all of his kind, have an unreliable power of prescience that is measured, at most, in seconds; and (3) Greenpaw is highly attracted to me as some kind of potential mate, much to his shame… and yet, his people are not subtle: where he believes he is being cautious and aloof, he has said more than one very direct, very overt statement to this effect. I am told by Fairy that this is unsubtle manner is shared by his brethren.

Jimmy glanced up with naught but a dismissive huff. “Another broken relic... the Auction can only move so much shattered junk, you know.”

“This foe was rabid and **** for ancestors,” replied Greenpaw in fluent English... of a sort.

Magoi had, after some irritation with the translators Tricia had trouble maintaining, given the lot of the non-English-speaking monsters a pack of phials filled with purple liquid. Tricia had been asleep at the time--something she was sure was not an accident--and so could only analyze the barest remnants of the potions that gave Greenpaw, Alysha, and Kazex a fluent—and British—mastery of the English language. That said, a quasi-human-rabbit mouth was not meant to speak the words; they came with a struggle and a slight 'h' sound after any words ending in 's'. But Greenpaw at least tried to be understood; the same could not be said for the virtual mute, Alysha, and Kazex had little to say that was not perversion or complaint.

Tricia had asked Magoi the origin of those revolutionary potions of language, once. “Oil of the Babelfish mixed with liquified crumpets,” he had replied with a mocking laugh. Tricia was almost certain he was joking; she had thoroughly checked her database and found no record of any such creature.

Realizing he had not been understood, Greenpaw continued, "We showed them the way to their forefathers, and now they walk that path."

“What does that even mean?” Jimmy finally shot back.

“It means it wanted to die well,” Greenpaw replied with a note of frustration. He began to approach the table with his dripping hands. Jimmy nearly leapt from his seat to quickly usher the dripping ally away from sensitive equipment and towards the bathroom.

Tricia did not miss Greenpaw’s almost tick-like glances at her.

“Take the dicks out of your ears and listen, Pink!”

“Ja, ja! Shut it, Tink!”

The doors burst open again, and now the whole rest of their company made an appearance: Travolta, carrying a bag filled with jars, bottles, and other reinforced glassware meant to hold their various monster bits that couldn't otherwise be carried out, was now covered in small cuts that looked almost like lashes from a whip. In front of him, Fairy flew backwards into the Arcade as she gave Rave the middle-finger. Rave was politely replying by slapping the inside of her right arm at the demon. She was likely grimacing, too, though the silver and black breathing apparatus over her nose and mouth muffled both her expression and her voice. Her black tank top matched Travolta's, although she had notably gotten away from whatever they had just fought without a scratch. Peeking up her slightly tattered school skirt was a certain stealthy goblin alchemist who received a swift kick to his giant nose before he could get more than a few seconds worth of a show.

Alysha calmly walked in afterwards... her flat belly on display from between the plates of her refitted suit of armor. Tricia thought back to that particular transaction and wondered if John would really be okay knowing that his half-dark-elf unborn were now "temporarily" the property of Magoi Magus. The old wizard’s interest had aligned with John’s and Alysha’s dual wish to have the embryos removed, though the latter wanted them exterminated. Magoi had explained the terms of his possession thoroughly... but with neither the safety of her lab nor of the Arcade to protect them, she had to count on Magoi to keep his word after all was said and done to return them. Nevermind then convincing John to let me have my own crack at researching their properties. Such a discovery may prove invaluable to winning over the Opekuny council after...

More doubts. More fears. More alternative hopes that poisoned her resolve. Tricia tried to shove them aside as Travolta neared. The members of Collide continue to put trust in me, even with the doubts about my marriage. Travolta Meyer, or “Bal-” [correction] “Travolta,” continues to elude definition or interrogative questioning. The Gorbachev began the process of healing. His wounds sealed almost immediately under the gentle glow of her basic spell; even without drones, these “level-ups” had substantially improved her raw magical talent. Now she only wished she had Jacob to tutor her growth or teach her new spells. Jacob...

"You shoot light out of your gods-damned hands, and you're still running up to punch every husk and slime in the face!” Fairy bellowed as she did a flip in the air. “That's like holding an arrow cocked until you’re already stabbing them with it!"

"We've been at this for weeks!" Rave groaned in her filtered voice. "Why're you bugging me about this--as if you knew anything about it--now of all times? I blew that zombie's whole upper-body away without even trying!"

"Yeah, by punching it... with light."

Rave offered a muffled roar of frustration through the muzzle on her face. "This is just how the light works: it's the strongest when its close to the source. Don't pretend to know more than me about how it works!"

Jimmy whispered to Tricia in a mockery of a certain comic book villain, "You merely adopted the light... I was born in it... molded-”

Rave shot back with a pointed finger, "That joke wasn’t funny the first six times, Jimmy, and it ain’t funny now!"

“... Well I think it’s funny...” No one backed Jimmy up.

"And you, Three-Eyes!” Rave checked her voice once she realized that Tricia wasn’t giving her lip. After clearing her throat, she continued, “... ‘m glad you're awake. Once we're cleaned up, let's get back out there. These fights go way faster with your laser show."

"Affirmative." Tricia continued to seal the last remaining wounds on Travolta's body, and soon the arcade was abuzz with the various activities of the group: Kazex prepared more concoctions for the upcoming battle from those materials deemed too low quality to sell on the auction, Jimmy processed the new sales of valuable loot, and everyone else more or less milled about, checked their gear, or else took a brief rest. Except for when they had wounds to close, the monsters never needed the rest: each was alert and awake at all times, and collectively they never hungered, never thirsted... and never seemed worried about what was to come, save for Fairy.

Tricia watched the oldest of John's summons closely as she floated near the dark elf before bellowing more orders. Fairy continues to encourage everyone's growth... in her own, undeniably rude way. She has a particularly intense desire to see Rave and I train and grow; in doing so, she continues to reveal her knowledge about matters seemingly beyond either demons or fey. I have reviewed my logs and found this intriguing pattern about this knowledge: first, without my intervention, she has regularly referred to my Eyes by their recorded names and accurately described their capabilities. I could excuse this as being knowledge John would possess, except he identified them with ancient Scythian gods or goddesses instead. Second, she once called Rave a "Lightbearer" and predicted one of the ways in which Rave's magic came to evolve; initially I excused this as information she would know through the same means she knew of Collide, except Rave herself was unsure of the labels and continues to resist Fairy’s assurances of how these Lightbearer powers work.

Third, Fairy has managed to tutor the dark elf in controlling her “Glorylust” into a terrifying weapon. They have known each other for long enough to perhaps justify this… but then, why was it never exercised at the outset? Perhaps more telling, why was Alysha, whose pride and knowledge of her own people has been made very clear, clearly surprised by the results of this training?

Fairy clearly noticed Tricia's intentful gaze, but she chose to ignore it as she looked over Kazex's makeshift alchemy bench. Fourth, she knows and fluently speaks every tongue of her peers, even if she didn’t need them to communicate with them and by this knowledge aided me in adjusting the translators before Magoi’s solution to the language barrier. Collectively, the fifth showing of such exceptional knowledge were the various occasions wherein she has opined on the monsters we’ve faced, including their history, origins, and weaknesses, all when these analyses would aid us. Fairy is not a grown scholar of some hellish repute, at least not by her alleged design: by her own confession, she was among the weakest John ever captured. She alleges that she only existed for minutes before she failed to eat John’s soul and could not recall any moments prior to attacking John in an illusion barrier. Through this she admitted to being the origin of that illusion barrier where she attacked John, but that is even more vexing: how did a new illusion monster begin the barrier from inside of it ? Most of these knowledges or understandings can be waived by her fey or demonic nature; both such origins are known to produce linguists and hoarders of knowledge. She is also forbidden from lying, so it cannot be a falsehood. But by all known understandings of illusion barriers-

"Tricia Gorbachev."

The blonde nearly jumped as Greenpaw addressed her from mere inches away. "Y-Yes?" she finally answered after a pause.

"Are you well? Did the slumber take you to see the heavens and the earth resplendent?" His gaze was far too intense; it always was. Tricia couldn't be sure if he was asking how she slept or something far more meaningful, but his proximity suggested the latter. He continued to be mere inches away despite their past conversations about humans and personal space; Tricia, too awkward by half, forgot that she, too, could put space between them.

He smelled of battle... but in some pleasant way that should have warned her of his effect. No filter that didn't suffocate her seemed to keep him out; even her eyes appeared to be vectors of the pheromone attack, and she couldn't be sure it wasn't having a mounting effect. But he was ever mindful to not touch her… only ever nearly. "Presuming that is a request for my status following that rest period in partial-stasis... I would say it was adequate. We should engage another wave of monsters-"

"I attempted to slumber by your ‘pod’ while you slept.”

A chuckle from Rave aired out as she finally undid her mask to brush her teeth in the bathroom. After so many days together, she no longer bothered to close the bathroom door.

“You... did? I mean, that's not-” I should really… back up and away from him before...

“I believe I was successful, for a moment."

Tricia's eyebrows perked up at that. "You were?" She didn't think any of them could voluntarily sleep after so many days without a wink of it. Her curiosity kept her rooted near.

"Yes... I dreamed of us and of our litter." Tricia froze like a deer in the path of giant, rabbit headlights. Greenpaw, unperturbed by this perfectly normal conversation, continued, "I dreamed that you suffered in the weaning, but that our kits grew strong and wise, and that you were a good mother."

"Jeshush, come on a bit lessh strong, Bugsh," Rave hollered through her toothpaste.

“Didn’t you ask me how big this overgrown rodent’s fuckstick was?” Fairy chided.

“Piss off.”

Tricia slowly drained of life and color as the audience continued to chime in. Greenpaw continued to stare only at her. “We were most fertile, Tricia Gorbachev.”

The goblin tsk-tsked from his squat, portable table near the arcade machines. "'Oh, but ol' faithful Kazex, careful, he's a pervert who wants to put goblin babies in you, what a mooonster that strong and virile Kazex is,'" Kazex grumbled in a mocking voice, "'don't let your guard down around that handsome nose or you'll be fat with green ones,' they say, but the tall vermin tries it..."

Jimmy simply continued to toil away at the Auction interface. He knew when he was being unhealthy, and being jealous of a giant rabbit’s game had to be.

Alysha said nothing, as was her want... but her eyes judged louder than all the rest.

"That is... well, a very distinct hypothesis... no, a... dream that bears no probative... th-that is-"

"What do you dream of, Tricia Gorbachev?"

"Well, nothing I can remember.” It was the truth; between her time not sleeping properly and the stasis pods, Tricia never thought it odd.

"Can you all please be silent or else proceed with your training?" Magoi's voice carried through the arcade despite its low tone. It was enough to get Tricia moving towards the door and away from the rabbit.

Greenpaw continued to stare intently at his keeper’s back. "That is the dawn of a somber day, Tricia Gorbachev..."

"Alright," Rave sighed before replacing her mask, "round.... one hundred and something of this."

With a grumble, the monsters followed, Magoi enjoyed the new peace and quiet, and the hours continued to turn into days.