It’s way too easy to stop breathing, or start panting, or just let my oxygen / CO2 level get all wonky as I work through this stuff – wrap up the last inquiry, consider the last half-remembered clue, integrate, analyze … conclude.
Also, it’s easy to forget to breathe (for a minute or so) when I’ve been stuck in Ghost Girl for – well, it seemed like forever, but it was more like several hours. Breathing should be an autonomous function – the body breathes whether conscious or not – but maybe there was more to the transfer than met the eye.
Magic. I hate magic.
Also, it’s easy to distract myself when I don’t like the conclusions I’m coming to. I’m not my dad – I don’t ruthlessly face the facts, take their blows, then wrestle with them until I overcome them and make them useful to me. Though more and more I suspect there were places where my dad didn’t like facing the truth, either.
Rosy light of dawn leaks through the louvers of the windows. Another all-nighter, but it was worth it. I think. Ignorance isn’t really bliss, but knowledge can be damned painful.
What have we got? A big mess.
I’ve always liked the movie Sneakers. I know, from way before I was born, and tech descriptions are laughable (even for the era), but the bigger story about loyalty and truth and camaraderie and balance and secrets and honesty and information and power … man, that stuff is golden. I wrote a paper for the “Literature of the Cinema” online class my dad was having me take when I was 13, comparing and contrasting it to The Maltese Falcon, which sounds insane and probably is, but –
There’s a line in that movie that always haunts me. Robert Redford’s character, Bishop, who fled the US for Canada when he was almost caught doing a computer hack/crack while in college, who had come back the States somehow, started a misfit security firm that does white hat testing (especially around computer systems), and – you can see why I like this movie – anyway, he’s been caught up in this big espionage conspiracy over cryptography and a decryption box that he thinks is US-vs-USSR shenanigans, and he’s riding around the limo of his old buddy Gregor who was a Soviet spy, looking at KGB files for the operatives who played him, supposedly from some US intelligence agency. And he spots this one guy, and the Russian looks at the (in Russian) notations about who the works for, and suggests he either immediately flee the country and disappear, or request asylum, or both.
At which point they get pulled over by a police vehicle, and an FBI agent comes to the window and asks Redford to step out. And the Russian is telling him that would be a huge mistake, but won’t tell him why (for reasons), and when Redford passes him in the limo to step out, the Russian says, “You won’t know who to trust.”
No, there’s a point here.
“You won’t know who to trust.” That line is burned in my brain, because it turns out Redford’s stuck in an even bigger conspiracy, where it’s organized crime that playing the US vs the USSR in this – and it’s actually Redford’s old buddy Ben Kingsley, who did get caught back in college, who’s actually playing the organized crime folk to bring down the entire system of data, property, money, etc. Sort of like Achilles Chin would like to do, I think, but that’s not the point here.
_“You won’t know who to trust.”
What do I know? What do I think I know?
I’ve been thinking this is about me and my family, and Dr Chin and his family (i.e., Alycia). I’ve been thinking Dad gave me these nanobots as protection. I’ve been thinking that Achilles Chin ambushed my dad and Rusty and Amir in Washington, DC, tried to kill them with a dimensional vortex, and Dad and Rusty and Chin and his bodyguard got sucked into the vortex and died. And Amir got injured, blamed me, and moved to the Keys and doesn’t want to speak with me. And Alycia Chin has sworn to get me. And the nanobots are slowly killing me.
And those statements turn out to range from “sort of true but not how I think” to “flat out lies.”’
I can’t trust my own memory.
My own memory. Got that? I’ve forgotten things. Important things. Some at random – maybe. Some seemingly quite intentional.
I can’t even trust my thinking. I am, I should be, a huge brain. And when I’m not paying attention, and when I let myself be, yeah, I’m damned smart. Smarter than I know. Smarter than I remember.
Someone’s been keeping me from being as smart as I can be. It’s not just self-doubt. It’s intrusive thoughts giving me self-doubt, distracting me, guiding my impulses and directions and all that.
“You talk into a mirror, and managed to convince yourself you’re the slow one in the conversation,” said Li’lycia.
(Who actually started the “NOT NOW JASON, YOU’RE BE RIDICULOUS?” meme? Why did it start? Or am I just being paranoid. Or just ridiculous?)
Let me break all that above thinking-and-assumptions down, just to show how a apparently cohesive set of facts on the ground turn out ot be a termite-ridden facade of papier-mache and spit and duct tape and spiders from behind.
I’ve been thinking this is about me and my family, and Dr Chin and his family (i.e., Alycia).
That’s not true.
I mean, it’s true as far as it goes – we all seem locked in this Manichaean black hole death spiral together. But there are other players, ones I never suspected.
The vortex got created (more on that in a moment) at the same time as the Vyortovians crossed over from the Sepiaverse . There’s evidence that they had crossed over in the past, in small numbers, but the vortex / breach coincided with the entire island being brought over (mostly), and swapping places (I think) with Iceland, which if you’ve never heard of and think is a really weird name for a country, well before a really interesting pre-Christmas holiday show this past year, everyone else would have agreed with you.
So right there we have the Vyortovians. And we have a forgetfulness spell. Which makes me think of Andre Norton’s “Witch World” series in which, in the backstory, refugees from a horrible magic war in the lands to the east cast a spell to prevent anyone from even thinking about what lies over those mountains (answer: pools of magic and planet-cracking artifacts and the ghosts of ancient beings that nobody should ever play with again, a post-nuclear landscape except devsastated by high sorcery). And when the protagonist falls into that world, he and, eventually, his children are immune to that spell, and are aware that everyone thinks of north and south and the west coastal land they are on and what lies further west beyond the ocean, but nobody ever thinks about the east. So the kids go there, and …
See, this is what I mean. I have problems focusing on this stuff. Is it just ADHD, or some spectrum disorder, or just poor discipline and weak will (as my dad’s voice keeps telling me, and sometimes his avatar does too), or is it intentional, to keep me from delving too far down these rabbit holes?
(The irony of a digression about mind-altering spells to keep me from thinking about how my mind has been altered … yeah.)
So we have the Vyortovians. And they operate in secret, but apparently the HHL (mentally looking at you, Hecate, appropriately-sounds-like-witch-but-isn’t-PC-to-call-someone-any-more, as Dad used to say) cast this forgetfulness spell, to … what, keep people from worrying about dimensional incursions that might replace their entire state or country or island and that the HHL and other super-teams were powerless to stop such goings-on?
How does that even make sense?
And AEGIS knew – at least they knew about the spell, not about the HHL. And the HHL were trying to warn us off of dicking with Vyortovia when the Vyortovians brought down a Fimbulwinter, complete with Vyortovian / Icelandic yule myths. So, yeah, the HHL hasn’t said much about it since then.
I’ve been thinking Dad gave me these nanobots as protection.
They’re miraculous! They give me a perpetual black shirt and protect me from slips, spills, and bullets! Oh, and they can be mentally manipulated to act as pseudopods – or an armored suit, or fists, or whatever I want to visualize! Oh, and they’re killing me by dissipating my psyche when I use them too much, too hard, too fast, too excited!
Except that’s not completely true, either. The bots do … mental processing for me. I’ve found notes (Dad’s info on this shit is deep, deep, deep encrypted, beyond anything I can retrieve. But he left a few comments and files and partially redacted material here and there, if you spend a a hella time looking for it) indicating that he was trying to save me / protect me –
– see, the statement was right, only about the wrong thing, or not solely about the thing the statement was focused on, physical protection –
– from some sort of condition of “second generation hyper-genius syndrome” (SGHG) where the mind spins up a little too fast, and while the head doesn’t actually 'splode in Scanners fashion, it can lead to aneurysm, stroke, insanity, or world-class mad genius psychosis.
Okay, so I’m glad none of those are actually going on with me. Dad fixed it. Ish. The bots apparently act as an overflow buffer, a memory repository, secondary processing centers that offload some of cognitive burden from my own wetware. It means I’m maybe not as smart as I could be (all that buffering and interfacing and bus channels slow things down), but I’m not dead.
Leo got a chip in his head. That sounds a lot more terrifying, or maybe a bit more simple.
I wonder what Chin did to Alycia to help her. Or maybe he didn’t, and that’s why she’s crazy.
Or is she?
So this is another reason why I felt muffled, slowed down, drunk, drugged, just not altogether with it while I was in Ghost Girl’s head. No offense to Charlotte (who kicked ass), but just like I’m not really a genteel antebellum southern belle or a dead spirit, she’s not a genius. So I didn’t have the processing wetware or the bots to keep my thoughts straight.
Ha. Except they don’t just do that. Of course.
When I really push the bots, that buffering / processing / memory storage gets stretched thin, like Bilbo living so long through the vitality of the One Ring (or, a better object lesson, Gollum before him). And it’s way too easy (this was a prototype, remember) when this stuff is misused or abused, for data to then get lost, buffers to get flushed, caches to get corrupted …
I lose things. Lose memories. Lose thoughts. I lose pieces of myself.
“You really need to put yourself back together, someday,” says Li’lycia.
That’s what’s killing me.
It gets better.
Whiteout, comma, memory, without wit to wonder why. Walk it off, whiners.
There are indications that not all of that memory loss is unintentional. That maybe Dad intentionally snipped some bits out, or stuck them into the bots and they’ve been misfiled, or lost, pointers corrupted, bits overwritten …
How do you know what you don’t remember something? Only through external validation: OMG I don’t remember that but someone took a picture of me ha I look so drunk! That’s literally the only way.
“You won’t know who to trust.”
The memories I know about, that I know were misplaced? They’re memories of Alycia. When we first met – actually met. Interactions. Gifts. Snip. Never happened.
… Lhasa, Tibet. Ramoche Temple. Playing tag… Kuala Lumpur, arguing favorite books and hearing her demand you read Snow Crash immediately - the same memory you didn’t recognize a few minutes ago… La Paz, Bolivia. Exploring the Mercado de Brujas for an afternoon.
He didn’t get rid of them all – but the ones he left were violent, scary, offputting. Except they weren’t, or weren’t enough so, and I always thought it was so weird that I’d be perversely attracted to someone who threatened to fire a vortex blaster at me. Except she’s also someone who sent me books to read. Someone I could talk to.
And Dad took that way.
The look he gave her that time when he spotted her following us. And then gave me.
Was he that paranoid that I might fall for her? Well, yeah, it’s not paranoia, apparently. But … have I fallen for her? How can I say that when I can’t trust my memory, or the associations it’s making.
_“Did you lose all these to the nanobots?” she asks. "Are you losing your earliest memories first, or offloading the ones you don’t like? Or did someone hide them away? She looks up at me, and her eyes are wide and black. “When he said the nanites would keep you out of trouble, what did he really mean, Jason?”
Maybe it was absolutely the right thing for him to do. But he’s made it so I can’t know that.
When did I first meet her?
Was it in the Amazon – the Seven Cities of Cibola, with the tribesmen and the poison darts and the giant gold statue that turned out ot be an alien robot and the monkey with the hat?
Was it on Space Station Alpha-1, the launching of the X-Ray Telescope Q01 that Dr. Chin tried to sabotage?
I’ve told both stories in the past few weeks. I remember doing so. But I didn’t remember either at the time.
And Li’lycia reminded me of a dozen times before that. Even now, they’re slipping away from me again, lacking the emotional associations they should have. Emotions are pointers to memories, or something like that.
I feel like a cartoon character with a shoddy show bible and poor continuity editors and writers that don’t care if they contradict each other about my backstory. Except this isn’t neglect – it’s intent.
Rusty used to say, “Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action.” This is way more than three times.
But if I did have more of a relationship with Alycia than I remember, and then get nanobotically pithed by my dad so that I don’t remember it, don’t respond to it, don’t check the secret email accounts or chat channels or dead drops or whatever …
… what does Alycia think?
Maybe that’s why she’s so angry. Because she thinks I just blew her off.
Of course, maybe they were all fake memories implanted by Dr. Chin, and Dad just erased them. Mostly.
How can I possibly tell, unless I can get her to talk with me?
And by having Alycia talk with me, I don’t mean … Travelycia. Or Li’lycia.
Holy crap, what has my life become?
I programmed a Quill Travel Agent AI with the known biographical and observed information and security camera footage of Alycia Chin. Which was either incredibly self-indulgent or nigh-insane. Or perhaps was a compulsion based on programming that Alycia dropped into my nanobots earlier. Or maybe was a compulsion based on my subconscious trying to contact her, trying to integrate her into someone I could communicate with, to be able to tell myself what was going on.
O HAI LI’LYCIA.
Nearby, nanite nursemaid nurgures numerous artificial N-telligences, nominally nontoxic.
Yeah, there’s the 10 (9?) year old Alycia my subconscious remembers. Or that the nanobots remember in ways I can’t access any more (and if I say that’s killing me, forgive the double entendre). She’s come out and talked with me.
Yes, that’s what my life has become.
But she’s the one who opened my eyes to start looking at all of this. And, I kind of hope that the real Alycia is like I (or the nanobots, or the extended “I,” or WHATEVER) remember her this way, only several years older. Because she’s –
– but, of course, there’s –
Moving right along …
I’ve been thinking that Achilles Chin ambushed my dad and Rusty and Amir in Washington, DC, tried to kill them with a dimensional vortex, and Dad and Rusty and Chin and his bodyguard got sucked into the vortex and died.
That’s the official story. That’s what AEGIS reported to me. That’s the story reported to the press.
That’s why they had that great funeral. And, boy, let me tell you –
– yeah, some other time.
Because it was all a lie.
Agent Waters gave me a video. Dad and Rusty and Chin and his bodyguard (why do I always have to look up his name … Hector Callado) were working together to build … something. And were under fire as they tried to activate it. And then they did, and … well, oh-so-conveniently, whatever effect it created (that “dimensional vortex”?) killed the camera.
Together, in case you didn’t catch that part.
I really don’t think the whole Quill vs. Chin thing (Grown-Up Edition) has been a sham. Nor should it be. The stuff Dr. Chin as done has been – really shitty, even if, yeah, sometime I think some of the social cruft in this world needs to be kicked over. And I don’t think my dad is a good enough actor to keep up that kind of vitriolic commentary over dinner, or that all the struggles, life and death struggles were just shams.
So what threat was so great, what need so urgent, that the two of them would combine their genius and technology and will to act together?
And why did that story get hidden. Even from me?
But, hey, at least I’ve been fighting and struggling and turning all my strength toward finding where Dad is, right?
Yyyeah. Because, like I said, I thought Dad was dead.
But, Jason (you say), he was “just” drawn into another dimension, so why think that your father is dead? Another dimension, right? He could still be alive. Why not look for him? Why not confirm that conclusion? Why not turn all the scientific and brilliant power of the Quill Foundation and the Heir to the Quill Genius Throne ™ toward solving that puzzle?
Why not indeed?
Traces and patterns and hints and sprinklings of hints … viewed from the proper angle, under the right light, actually using the memory-fricking Quill Genius …
And I can see someone has been poking their damned finger into someone-whose-initials-are-JQ’s gray matter.
Well, I know that Dad was fucking around with my brain. But he’s out of the picture.
Who wants to paper over what’s happened here?
Well, Dad’s disappearance was correlated with Vyortovia’s appearance into the world. Who’s been been a busy bee keeping people from wondering about Vyortovia?
Yeah, everyone’s favorite redacted redacted redacted HHL witch. Hecate.
I wish I’d eaten her face off when I was Ghost Girl. And no jury of my metahuman peers would have convicted me.
Why would Hecate have done that?
Well, whatever secrets she (or the HHL) wanted to keep about whatever the hell happened when Dad disappeared … was it just about Vyortovia? – Dad always talked about how much he disliked her, and a bit of that (from what I now see, years later) was just kind of bitchiness and personal dislike, but there seemed to be more to it than that.
Hecate is a hyper-feminist. I mean, jeez, women, men, equal, respect, woke, all that, absolutely no argument from me. But Hecate is, at best, a feminist of the “Men are classic oppressors and eternal enemies of Women” school, at worst of the “No, Womyn must be the One True Gender, Men Delenda Est” sort of thing. I mean, the whole Feminazi thing from Rush Limbaugh and other creeps is some crazy polemic asshattery. But if there’s one person Dad ever encountered, by his description, who fit that term … well, Hecate.
When you gaze into the sexist abyss, eventually the sexist abyss gazes back into you.
And Dad was, of course, gay. And while Politics of Oppression types would see a commonality of cause between gays and women in tearing down majoritarian social structures and seeking freedom of identity against the Man, tribalist feminists of Hecate’s sort would see a gay man as, not a fellow-victim of prejudice, but an extremist of the male principle that is seeking to eliminate women altogether yadda yadda yadda.
So, yeah, I can completely see Hecate gleefully doing some mind-fuckery against my pursuing Dad’s predicament, both to avoid whatever the whole Vyortivian thing was, and to screw over Dad wherever he was.
I am so looking forward to, someday …
Yeah, not worth dwelling on. At the moment.
Just joking, Jason. Jabbering. Jesting. Jettison Justice. Jigsaw. …
And Amir got injured, blamed me, and moved to the Keys and doesn’t want to speak with me.
Amir got injured by the dimensional vortex, saving Brigand, our corgi, ending crippled and disillusioned and refusing to talk with me (and keeping the dog, too).
Except … where the hell is he in that video? Or Brigand? Nowhere I can see.
What’s going on?
Amir was my brother. My best friend. Adopted in, but that never, ever mattered.
He went off with Dad and Rusty. I was left behind, because I needed “socialization” in high school. Was that the real reason? And why didn’t Amir need that? And what happened in DC, and why wasn’t Amir on that video, and why won’t he see me?
I need to see him.
Yeah, next time I take a freaking vacation to freaking Florida. If I could peel aside a day, I could get down there, kick in the doors, figure out what the hell is going on.
Amir has answers. He has to have answers.
Maybe next weekend. I have class tomorrow.
And Alycia Chin has sworn to get me.
So I’ve already talked about Alycia.
Is she out to get me?
Is that some sort of desperate, brave, me-against-the-world gesture by her against someone who she thinks has abandoned her because he’s freaking forgotten stuff he should never have forgotten? (Yeah, I feel like every stereotype of a stupid sitcom obnoxiously neglectful boyfriend, except, unlike all of those who make the same protest, IT’S NOT MY FAULT.) Why didn’t approach me with her ideas of how to get to her dad – and mine? She was just meters away, for months – and stayed undercover, stealing stuff I would have given her had I known.
(Yeah, hoist on a bit of your own petard there, Dad. Hope you’ve enjoyed roasting lizard over a spit in the Sepiaverse, Dad.)
I have been wanting to get hold of her for weeks now, once I had some idea of what she was up to. And … drama. Ghostly invasions. Annoying media personalities. Freaking Fimbulwinter. All the while distracted by my own stupid personal drama.
Stupid, stupid –
You’re be ridiculous, Jason.
Who came up with that? Why? Why would a meme that tears me down be so popular, so in my face all the time?
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.
“You won’t know who to trust.”
And the nanobots are slowly killing me.
That one has always been a partial truth.
Physically I will be fine. I will probably live to 100. Hell, as far as I know, the nanobots will dive into my body and scrub it of cancer cells, arterial plaque, and free radicals.
Mentally, on the other hand …
Like I said, the nanobots are integrated into my cognitive functions, even more than I realized – taking on additional processing needs, memory storage, overflow –
And when they fail, or get jumbled, or get overextended … a bit of me goes away.
Never buy version 1.0 of anything.
I’m going to be the healthiest vegetable on the planet. Assuming my brainstem functions don’t get taken over, too. But, hey, at least my life will be a bit more calm.
So, all those statements about my life, my quick elevator pitch for who I am and what dangers I face.
None of them completely accurate. Most of them lies of one sort or another.
So … what does all this mean?
I thought I knew what my life was about. What it all meant. Issues around fame, and privacy, and parental neglect, and SCIENCE ADVENTURE! Those things are all true. But it’s all like pulling back back in perspective in a film. Suddenly the context is bigger than all that. Hill of beans, as Rick would say.
(Why am I so obsessed by old movies? You’d think I was born in 1960 or 1970, not 2000. Is that another thing my dad did to me, specifically or by some sort of aesthetic encoding? On the other hand, at what point do I stop questioning what I like vs what I’ve been told I should like?)
I have to contact Alycia. I have to. The real Alycia. I need to let her know what happened to me. I need to let her know what happened to our dads. She’s here in Halcyon – per Li’lycia. How do I find her? If she’s not willing (or able?) to reach out … what do I do? Put a cryptic post in the want ads? Jesus.
(Li’lycia thought she’d reach out to me soon. But … well, hell, just as well she didn’t do so while Leo was wearing my body. He did a hell of a job, but I don’t want Alycia running into him. That sounds dangerous for all three of us.)
But if I can reach her – maybe, between the two of us, we can figure out what’s going wrong with my nanobots, before I forget my name. (Or – Leo has offered to help here. Maybe, with his backup technology, I can keep hold of what I currently have. Okay, put that down as a side task. Except … I feel like this is my challenge. That asking someone for help is somehow wrong. Except … how can I trust that feeling, either?)
Why hasn’t Alycia contacted me yet? Is someone manipulating her data feed? Has she reached out and I’ve simply forgotten it?
She’s a terrorist. But … what precisely has she done? Okay, for starters, public threats against me, ranting about being my nemesis. Maybe someone forced her to do that. Maybe she did that to throw people off the scent. Maybe she’s been driven mad by that SGHG thing. Maybe those news reports of her threats are no more true than the ones that said Dad and Rusty were killed by Dr. Chin.
Oh, good, now I’m going to start to rant about Fake News. Kill me now.
She attacked Harry. Okay, that’s uncool. But she didn’t kill him.
She hasn’t, as far as I know, killed anyone. Blown up stuff. Robbed places. Robbed and blown up places.
But she snuck into the Quill Organization, down in the warehouse. A hundred meters from where I actually live.
She didn’t reach out to me then. But she also didn’t crack our security and kill me in my sleep. Or assemble a blockbuster that would have taken the whole building down. She stole some stuff. She left.
Right, she’s trying to rescue her dad. But why is she doing it alone?
_“She doesn’t who to trust,” says Gregor.
_Why doesn’t she trust me? I’m a good guy.
_Jason Quill is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever known in my life.
_Yeah, that’s me: the Manchurian Cartoon Character.
Dad and Rusty (et al.) are in the Sepiaverse. I know it. That knowledge has been enough to overcome (I guess) the whole impulse against trying to find them. And the team has done some stuff to try to do so. Do I need to push harder on that?
Anyway, I compiled the information I had for breaching the barrier to the Sepiaverse. I took the nanobots who held the memory, then sent them off to Alycia. Or where I hoped Alycia was. It was either that – or who knew what she would do. She might attack the Foundation. She might try to kidnap Harry. She might –
This is the woman I’m obsessed with?
And what about Numina? God damnit.
_“Choosing who to be, feeling like you’re a real person.”
“I’ve been treated as something not quite real. It’s – not something I want to do to anyone else.”_
(Bad girl challenge threat long-term relationship real-girl unknown vs. Good girl comforter support booster short-term relationship AI-girl here-now? Veronica or Betty? Ginger or Mary Anne?)
Never did run smooth.
Leo offered to help me with the nanobot stuff, multiple times. He’s a genius. He has ideas. Hell, he has the same problem, solved a different way, by a different mad scientist father. (I don’t compare Dad to Rossum – I’m not that stuck in self-pity – but I’m not feeling particularly warm and fuzzy toward him right now.)
So why haven’t I actually turned to him for help? Part of it is time, sure, Hey, love to ask you for, oh, wait, let’s put that on hold until this kaiju cat is dealt with, now, what were we talking about? I wonder if part of it is pride, a rivalry I’ve felt with him (and from him) since we first met – though I’ve seen time and time again that he’s sincere in wanting to help.
I wonder – if someone has dicked with my head about going after Dad and Rusty, or altered my memories to not remember about Alycia … could someone be steering me away from seeking help?
“You won’t know who to trust.”
Yeah, that’s the thing about mind-fuckery – once your perceptions, your memories, your motivations are called into question, how do you trust anything? Do I start leaving little PostIt notes around like the guy in Memento? Then do I start worrying that someone is altering the little PostIt notes when they disagree with what I remember?
What do I need to do? What do I need to write down on my brain’s PostIt’s before they get shredded?
I have to find Alycia. I can help her with this. She can help me.
I have to find Amit. I need to learn what he’s hiding.
I have to help Numina with her new body.
I have to be present and assist the team – Leo, Charlotte, Adam, Harry. Pneum and Otto, too. I owe them that. I don’t know if I’m the leader they need any more, or ever was, but leader or team mate or whatever, I need to help them.
I need to get to the Sepiaverse. I need to find Dad and Rusty – and whoever else there needs rescuing.
We beat back the Vyortovians, but there’s a lot more there to take care of. I need to do that.
I need to finish that winter holiday book report on Tess of the D’Urbervilles, fer Zastrow’s sake.
I need to not die, or end up drooling into my Cheerios.
I need to get my memories back. l need to fix the memory leak, the corrupted caches, the storage failures.
If I can’t trust myself first, I can’t trust anyone.
The DC Incident Video
Jason and his Dad
Jason and Travelycia
Jason and Memories of Alycia
Jason and an Alycia
Jason and Li’lycia
Jason and Numina
Numina and Travelyicia and Word Games
The GM Summary That Started It All
author: *** Dave H.