Deal 1121: Desert, just.

Now is a terrible time to discover you don’t like the great outdoors. I know we’re up to something big, and it involves spending a lot of time away from basic comforts of the city. You don’t really appreciate things like running water and reliable electricity until you don’t have them at hand.

And we don’t. The manifesto-writing shack we have here is bear-proof. But the only electricity we have comes from a portable generator. And don’t get me started on the network connection. A cell-phone acting as a hotspot hardly counts as network, after all. But it is barely enough to keep abreast of the rumors back home.

The big black bird that is hanging around is beginning to creep me out. I keep expecting it to croak at me and demand water. Or demand that I roll over and die. Something. It hangs around and stares. Phil doesn’t seem to mind, just goes on about it being inevitable that something would turn up to watch us. But it makes me feel like we’re puppets in the hands of some force greater than us. Not comforting.

And it should be.

If we were puppets, we would not be responsible for the decision we must make. A decision that drove us out into the middle of nowhere to work so that the consequences of an error would only cover ourselves.


There’s Phil. Hard working, hardly the evil genius type.

Then there’s me. Ursus Domsticus. Your common teddy bear.

Ok, not quite so common as all that. Phil isn’t quite aware of what I really am. And I aim to keep it that way.


Deal 1091: Death, then…

I was powerless to resist.

The end was near, indeed, but seen from the other side. One moment, all is right in the world. The next, wham!

I woke up here.

I can still see the living world, but as if through a curtain.

I see the world frozen in time and place. Moments after the worst has happened. The dust hasn’t even settled.

I should hate this, but I find that my ability to hate is strongly reduced. Just as well. Feels a little like my ability to feel much of anything at all is the same.

This note, I don’t know how I’m writing it. I just sharply visualize the keys, and I hear future echoes of the letters swinging through space and striking paper and ribbon.

The moment hangs in time, an example to me despite needing no examples.

I must be dead.