The Gaming Outpost

Chapter the First

Waking up, you open your eyes, and get to your feet. The rose-tinted concrete sidewalk under your feet parallels the blue line that borders the black asphalt road upon which three roller-balled mini-cars wheel silently. They seem to be electric cars, but perhaps not. The fluorescent green-yellow stop signs at the corner certainly catch your eyes as does the billboard for Kaintuck Broiled Chicken sold by the Major.

Of course, its flashy colors are competing with the bright red plaids of the men’s kilts and the white wigs of the women, and the jewelled necklaces of the children so that your eyes ache a bit from the profusion of color.

You lean your hand against a plastic telephone pole, and cover the laminated on poster for Beethoven Rap…with relief you stumble into Johnny’s Omie, and order the first thing on the menu, a two egg omelette with fried pureed parsnips and yak milk cheese as you try to absorb the weirdnesses of this new universe.

It doesn’t help when you see a newspaper on your tiny affixed to the wall table proclaiming in large type a disturbing message.

“Cubs Win Third Straight Superbowl.”

Three steps over to the counter for your ‘Javi’, and the stryofoam cup goes unthinkingly to your mouth. The scorch around your gums, and in a streak down your tongue and into your throat has you bite back a snarl. Looking with fury at the white pigtailed girl behind the counter who jabs at finger a sign high on the ridge between eaters and cookers you read.

“Javi is served 110 degrees copernican. It is hot. Enjoy as much as you want at your own risk.”

The look of bored unconcern on her pudgy face lets you know that lawsuits are no fear of hers.

How did you get here you wonder as you wobble back to your teeny-tiny seat even as the disgusting egg dish lands on your table. Struggling to eat some, but the burn abrasions from the coffee make it painful, you recall.

You were sitting at the laptop at work. New computers. Management finally sprang for something more modern than five years old.

Scriff Inside! The computer announced in its start-up sequence which was supposed to be something important. It was some new breakthrough which had juiced the speed of computers.

And then John, your co-worker came by with your cup of coffee seeing as it was his day to fetch the brew. He handed it to you. But not quite. The cup had slid from your hands, and you paused trying to reconstruct the memory.

Oh yes. It had fallen on your keyboard.

Then things got confused. John was shouting. Smoke. A great flash of white light.

And the weirdest dream. Orange tangerine grass and a giant clam the size of a car rolling over you. The sound of breaking twigs.

Uneasy, you pull up your shirt. There were no broken ribs, no crushed right arm. In fact, except for the burned mouth and the incipient panic attack, you felt pretty good.

But two questions occurred to you. How did you get here? And the check landed on your plate delivered by a gruff waitress. Just how were you going to pay for this?