Bugged

"I just got up normally, you know. Fine morning. I was standing with my car. She is a fine lady. The engine was warm though. I thought I might have forgotten to take the keys out. So, I looked in and no keys. But I notice something else. An extra 100 or so miles on the clock. Fuck I say to myself. Fucking Fuckerson. I keep note of all those little numbers. It is fun. Might have made a mistake, Landsman I say.Never driven in my sleep. Never driven much actually. Bessie used to drive. She loved it, god bless her tired soul. I pick up the newspaper and it is all creased and folded. Now, I ain't got no neighbours. I figure, it might be some of them pesky kids. Sometimes, I wanna shoot one of those. Never had any. I shrug and I enter the kitchen.The light is on. It should not be. There is some leftover capicollo in the fridge. There is a half eaten bacon sandwich on the table. So, I go to the cops. They give the amount of fuck an old man gets in this country of liberated fucks. So, I get back. As far as I know, no one else has access to my file. Then I watch some TV and I go to sleep."

He took a gulp of air and water. Thanked himself and continued.

"I usually wake up around 3 am. I feel uneasy. Gradually, I realize there's someone else in my bed. It is a woman. Bessie. She smells of sweat and stale perfume. I don't even know what stale perfume is. She is also wearing one of those leather things that they use for those perverts. You know, those BDSM things. Those. I usually struggle to get up at this point. I recoil, gasp and curse. She puts on her flirty voice and asks if I want one of those wet nightmares."

Bessie has been dead for 8 years.

"Some sort of foul oddment, a tweak in the code of being. A- A, an exception! Is she for real? Is she my Bessie? Either way, I have got problems."

"I understand completely Mr. Landsman but don't you think it is a little odd that you are telling all this to a giant bug that is having tea in your kitchen with you?"

There was a giant bug in Mr. Landsman's kitchen, sitting at his table, sipping chai and eyeing that half-eaten sandwich.

"I hadn't thought of it that way before. Dear me. This is worrying. I should get my gun."

He went to the living room.

"What are you guys doing here?"

There was a family of 3 sitting on a couch in his living room, watching TV.

The dad wore a floral dress with purple polka dots. He had a caribou for a head.

The mom wore a business suit and a hat. She had a bulb for a head.

Their kid was a bowl of punch.

"Oh, fuck this. I will just kill all of you. Fucking with my mind like this, you got no right."

The door to the cupboard was slightly open. Apart from being a handy place to keep a gun and a vat of generic expressions, it was a cosy place. So, he kept his wife's dead body there.

"Just to remind myself that you are dead. Everything is wrong here. I have no idea why that clock is trying to defy time and those babies have no business being up there on the ceiling. What is going on here? WHAT is happening to me?"

The bug was back. OR maybe he never left. He spoke.

"You know it Landsman. You have known it since you woke up. There is no use denying it. Bessie is dead. You killed her. You kept her body so that you could stay. It was your ticket to sanity. But it wasn't enough. Your mind has eaten itself. The chip has corroded. You looked into the abyss and now, their is abscess in your mind. Fuck, who writes these lines? Jeez."

"So, what are trying to say? I am not insane. I won't be called crazy. I heard where they took Albie. I won't go there. I won't. I will kill everyone."

"Oh no, no. I am your friend, Landsy. I am on your side. I am your bug. I am you now. We are in this together. When, they come for me, they come for you. BLAST THOSE FUCKERS! Till then, let us watch some TV and drink this coffee. I love the smell of coffee like blood in the hours after the morning. I think they should fire this writer. What do you think?"

Landsman was old and a sad conservatory for fluids. Just last week, he had soiled himself. In the mall. However, his mind was still sharp.

"I think you are the problem. I think you are the glitch. I think you are making me do this."

"Me? ME?! Harmless, Mr. Bug. You are the one who is corrupted, Landsy. You killed Bessie. I ain't no external agency or no act of god. I am your disease. There is nothing you can do."

"You are wrong. All my life, I have felt this urge. THIS voice telling me what to do. I always did it. Go to the bathroom, Watch TV, Read books, Work, Engage in activity, Build Charisma points, Gather Knowledge points, Make love, Shit, Eat. All the time, some one up there pulled the strings. Like a game. But no more. One click of this gun and it is over. Everything I loved is dead. I refuse to be saved."

*click* They deleted him the next day.

Pay For Your Own Time

29th April

"So, what you are trying to say is that, you actually were there when it happened? Is that what you are saying Mr. Grant?"

Mr. Grant was lying on the couch. It was Saturday afternoon. He always showed up then, to talk about his problems.

"Yes. I sense derision, Mark. And I get it, it is difficult to accept something like this. I don't even want you trust me. Just listen. I pay for my time, don't I?"

It had been the same story for 3 weeks. Mr. Grant would show up and talk for an hour. He would then leave. His story would never really change much. It would just go on for a bit. Mr. Grant was starting now and Mark was getting ready to be paid for feigning interest.

"I am holed up in my room on the ship. It sways ever so slightly. I am sick. I am looking at the calendar. I have eaten something bad or maybe I was never made for the sea. I hear the sounds and the smells waft in. It is the Lusitania. Doomed to a watery grave. The fabled South Hampton to New York route. It is the 7th of May, 1915. And then I wake up. I have never known what time it was but my guess would be noon. Any thoughts today?"

Mark had thoughts though they did not concern Mr. Grant's story. They were about mortgages, the secretary's blouse, his fiance, a sandwich at the cafe and his mother's recent death.

So, he said, "Hey Mr. Grant as long as you pay for your own time I have no problem. You have a good one. See you next Saturday."

Mr. Grant thanked him and left. Mark continued work.

Next Saturday noon, the couch was empty. Mr. Grant did not show up. Mark had time to kill. He went out for a drink.

The bar had no one except the bartender. The mortgage and his dead mother were weighing heavily on his mind. He was tired of seeking happiness in lies to his fiance and self-medication. So, he drank. An hour later, he was sufficiently drunk to drown out the world but not enough to lost interest in it. A photo did catch his attention.
He easily identified Mr. Grant in the photo. He asked the bartender about the photo.

"Yeah, that was my great grandpa. He died in that ship thing that happened in the great war. The Lusitania. German bastards sank it."

He rushed back to his office. The couch was definitely empty. He checked his drawers. The money was there.

Mr. Grant had, after all, paid for his own time. It was a good thing that Mark was drunk.


--

1st of May 1915, the RMS Lusitania left New York heading for South Hampton carrying 1,965 passengers and crew ( the majority being American citizens). 7th of May she had been making good time on her run, and while off the coast of Ireland, a German U-boat spotted her, lined her up in their sights and fired a torpedo. The torpedo wasn't spotted til it was almost upon the ship.

The torpedo hit the Lusitania making a large hole in her starboard side. Water began rushing into the 1st and 2nd boiler rooms. The ship was then rocked by a 2nd explosion.

The Lusitania took a mere 20 minutes to sink taking 1,201 people with her -- only 764 survived.

"They Eat Metal" Part III

Run To The Hills

The Tiles were originally farmlands. They were divided into squarish blocks. The uranium plant leeched of the fertility and converted it to a white sand desert. Horse had enough fuel to circumnavigate the planet. He had looked for scrap metal that he could sell but there was not one piece in sight.

The trouble started once he stepped off the Tiles. Horse first noticed that he was being followed when he stopped for a drink of water. There was not much of an attempt to hide. The first one to appear was shot immediately. It just stood to the side of the path. Horse did not pay it any attention. Soon, he realized that quite a bunch of them had started following him. 

Horse quickened his pace. He could see the tavern.

Then it happened. A scream tore the noisome silence. Horse ran.

He could feel them race after him. Through the corners of his eyes he could see them running in parallel tracks, hiding among houses and seeking him on the open road. The hill loomed ahead. Horse drew a blaster and fired a few shots. Each one hit its target. It was a long and tough run and Horse was never built for running.

All the spiders had the same pitch black eyes. There was no time for sympathy. Horse got ready to do what he did best.
The only trick he knew. Kill.

Horse lifted the girl in his right hand and started firing with his left. Slowly, he started running backwards. All shot down. Yet, there were more. His blaster seemed to be running out. He hurled a flash bang. That stopped them.

Horse, turned and ran, for his life. He reached the top of the hill just as he thought his lungs would burst and his legs would catch fire. Scott, his bike, was primed to go. He popped in a feed into the engine compartment, checked the navsat and sat on the bike. He strapped the kid in, jumped on the bike and took off.  

As he was gliding over the Tiles, he heard it first. The sound was unmistakable.

A sound of metal being eaten.

He looked over his shoulder to see the girl eating the interim stabilizer. Disbelief changed to horror as the girl opened her mouth wide and latched on to his arm. The pain was unbearable. The bike rolled in mid air. The bike flew into the plant. He had landed on the Tiles. The girl had fallen next to him. She was staring hungrily at his gun. The girl crawled towards the gun. It was him or her. A single tear appeared on his cheek. He shot her. The gun gave a mournful ping. He was almost out of ammunition.

Horse examined his arm where the girl had bitten him. He was a cyborg. All dragoons were. As he looked at the corpse of the little girl, he remembered the barman’s words. He realized where all the metal inside the plant had gone. With mounting horror, Horse saw another girl in one of the barn windows. A boy near the plant door. He could hear little feet murmuring.

The girl had playmates. Currently, the guests were arriving and he was dinner.

"They Eat Metal" Part II

Out On The Tiles

Horse walked on and on.
He always liked tracking when he was a Dragoon. He left before he got used to the killing. He thought himself better than that. He was not a coward.
He had, famously, stared down a Never-been and, rumored to have, sliced a Rakkaruk belly from the inside. He was there when Silent Bay was taken and the last Child of Pestilence was slain. Green’s rebellion changed him. The System lost its charm and the Dragoons lost their power. Now, he was on his own.

Some say, that is how he was born.
The Tiles covered more than half of the planet. Eerie noises, unsightly apparitions and grim memory ghouls accompanied him wherever he went. This time however he sensed he had some human company. Horse took advantage of the intermittent gas curtains and hid behind a large rock on the path. He waited and then jumped out with his blaster drawn. A little girl stood before him. She was black like the barman and that was enough for Horse to assume that she must have been his daughter.
Horse turned around. The girl walked up beside him and held on to his coat. Staring out at the desolate landscape, in front of him, Horse saw a Lone Planeteer travel aid. It was cranky and seemed on verge of dying. Horse checked its batteries and found none. Suddenly, the screen blinked to life.
“Welcome to *brrk* Fall. This is Elk. Deacon Colesmith *bzzt* sheriff. The chief occupation here is *krzzk* elk herding. The uranium farms are mostly located on the Tiles *krrkztt* Thank you. Mind you, it is the season of death in these parts. You watch your back.”
He did not know which season it was. With one thing and mostly another, he hadn't been to these parts. Somewhere behind him, humanely inaudible over the turbulent winds there was a faint scuttling sound. Quick as a whip, he whirled, blasters drawn and fired. There was a sharp, metallic thunk, followed by a gurgling noise. As the airs cleared, he could see his target. 
A spider. 
Obsidian eyes that were bereft of any emotion. There was a gaping hole where ‘its’ absent heart should have been. He recognized a predator when he saw one. The girl tugged on his coat. Fear was a reflex for her.
Horse walked to the plant. It was pretty deserted. The door was open. Darkness prevailed inside and he could smell fungus and danger. It was a long way between here and his ride.
Horse stepped inside. The door did not close of its own accord. There were no creepy shadows lurking. There was not a soul in sight.
That should have been his first clue.