Isotope: Part 1
The volatility of this world, I didn’t realize.
News came that North Korea had launched a surprise attack on Seoul, obliterating it. Population 10.5 million. Needless to say the U.S. retaliated with a strategic nuclear strike, but not before the North fired off its single ICBM. They sing songs about it now, sad ones. L.A. is gone.
With the world on edge; supply lines cut, oil isn’t flowing fast enough, and now supermarket shelves lay bare. When the riots began, I remember counting the reports that would echo through the city streets at night. Now the gun shots ring out all day, like fireworks, more so since the Army arrived to calm things down. They haven’t yet.
Through the ensuing madness and the coming to grips and the preparation making it sat on the kitchen table, untouched, but now I seem to have all the time in the world, here on the 15th floor. The packaging is as one would expect: brown cardboard, white label, black ink. A gift from a recently established client in Japan, in whom I had confided a certain curiosity.
Congratulations on being selected to evaluate the Dream Sequencer LT. While still a prototype the device you’ve received is the result of extensive beta testing in Japan, to wide acclaim. In our dreams we may accomplish and experience things otherwise impossible. Surely you've once had a dream of flying high above city streets, and have wished since to experience that same ecstasy. Now you can. The included manual will guide the user through configuring their Sequencer for the ultimate personalized experience. Happy dreaming.
No bigger than a dinner plate, the decanted device lay splayed across the bedside table, its three legs culminating at a carbon fiber crab shell in the center. From that a long black tube emerges, waiting to be reunited with the electrode balaclava. On the manual cover there’s a comely female model wearing a version more stylish than my humble grey one, eyes closed, eyebrows raised in expectation, thin lips curling lithely upward at the edges.
Welcome to the Dream Sequencer experience. Here you will learn how to program your device as well as best practices to follow for maximal enjoyment. This guide is organized into six sections: Perspective, Surroundings, Personas, Abilities, Memories, and Nightmares. Users should familiarize themselves with the full content of this manual before donning the balaclava for the first time to program the device. Once adequately programmed the Sequencer will activate automatically when the user enters R.E.M. sleep.
Thumbing to the end of the book to find it’s 100 pages in length, in small font; no pictures. There’s a flash from the street below, glancing off the glass wall like lightning, followed by a bubbling thunder that seems to mix with screeching tires and fade into the distance. What harm could there be in pulling on that head sock just for a moment, to get a feel for this fancy thought driven interface the Japanese have developed. Manual shmanual. I’m a geek. Put me in front of a computer interface and I’ll have it figured in no time.
If electronics are housed within the garment I can’t tell. It slides like silk, hugging the circumference of my cranium, pulling lightly across cheeks, brushing past whiskers. In the mirror I look like one of those cool Navy Seals or maybe even an old-school ninja. The umbilical cord, with its magnetic snout, latches firmly to the top; the crab shell begins to glow ice blue; the bedroom fades from perception, replaced by an infinite white space.
Rising from the ground are monolithic obsidian screens, forming a 2x3 grid, each apparently representing a programmable aspect of the system. Before I can think; before I can react there’s a sensation at my feet like standing in a sandy stream, with the current etching away any softness that surrounds, but while liquid it’s not water--it’s flesh. The stream flows toward the hovering screens, opening its mouth; human bodies step forth, all looking like me. With each heartbeat there’s a new doppelganger, taking instantly to preordained purposes, as either step in human pyramid or solemn priest and martyr. The martyrs climb and give themselves to the screens, each turning a vague flesh tone in response.
Hours have passed since I started down this cobblestone path, but I’ve yet to tire. Perhaps, I should say, it’s more of a labyrinth as the presiding walls stand taller than I can reach and the elevation seems to change as I progress; my turns forced upon me by turreted right angles. The sky’s an endless light blue, yet the sun remains aloof behind oil painted clouds.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” says a black robed figure standing atop the farthest wall, looking away from me but his voice emanates from all directions.
“Where is here, exactly?”
“Here doesn’t actually exist. You’re dreaming. You’re using that machine, aren’t you.”
“I’m …”
“Shit. Like I should care.”
“Who … are you?”
“You sure you want to know?” the figure says as he turns his head in my direction, pulling the hood back from a grinning cat face--a cat’s face, but his eyes are shut with tear ducts dripping gelatinous streaks across high feline cheek bones.
“Your eyes, are you alright?”
“You don’t remember me do you.”
“You’re …”
“Someone you buried long ago.”
“Thre … Thresh?”
“So you do remember.”
“That was--I was just a kid.”
“It’s like an eternity here, Barn. Can I call you Barn?”
“Um … sure.”
“You’ve reached the end of the labyrinth. In normal circumstances you would have switched scenes by now, but the machine changes things. See? You’ve no road left.” And it was true. He stood atop the dead end wall itself; a breeze sent ripples through his cloak.
“How do I wake up?”
“Damn. Don’t tell me, you haven’t read the manual yet. Isn’t that just like the Barnaby I used to know.”
“I wasn’t planning to sleep--just wanted to see the programming interface!”
“Something they don’t tell you, apparently: first usage is hypnotic. You were lulled into a dream state.”
“How do you know about the device?”
“Dream worlds are connected to each other, Barn. We know what’s coming, been watching the Japanese.”
“We?”
“Yes, we, the collective, subconscious creations of humanity. It’s a fucked up place, Barn, real fucked up. Surely you can imagine. And now with this machine ...”
“The real world is degenerating.”
“That’s a human perception.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s just say we have a completely different view on humanity and its real world.”
“Can you get me back?”
“Can I wake you up, you mean?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Let me show you something.” At the words, cobble stones near his wall begin to rise, forming a crude stair which I ascend. He stops me before I step off the wall’s edge, saving me from a fall that would seemingly have never ended. Then I see the cubic corkscrew of the labyrinth, reaching down; reaching ... down.
News came that North Korea had launched a surprise attack on Seoul, obliterating it. Population 10.5 million. Needless to say the U.S. retaliated with a strategic nuclear strike, but not before the North fired off its single ICBM. They sing songs about it now, sad ones. L.A. is gone.
With the world on edge; supply lines cut, oil isn’t flowing fast enough, and now supermarket shelves lay bare. When the riots began, I remember counting the reports that would echo through the city streets at night. Now the gun shots ring out all day, like fireworks, more so since the Army arrived to calm things down. They haven’t yet.
Through the ensuing madness and the coming to grips and the preparation making it sat on the kitchen table, untouched, but now I seem to have all the time in the world, here on the 15th floor. The packaging is as one would expect: brown cardboard, white label, black ink. A gift from a recently established client in Japan, in whom I had confided a certain curiosity.
Congratulations on being selected to evaluate the Dream Sequencer LT. While still a prototype the device you’ve received is the result of extensive beta testing in Japan, to wide acclaim. In our dreams we may accomplish and experience things otherwise impossible. Surely you've once had a dream of flying high above city streets, and have wished since to experience that same ecstasy. Now you can. The included manual will guide the user through configuring their Sequencer for the ultimate personalized experience. Happy dreaming.
No bigger than a dinner plate, the decanted device lay splayed across the bedside table, its three legs culminating at a carbon fiber crab shell in the center. From that a long black tube emerges, waiting to be reunited with the electrode balaclava. On the manual cover there’s a comely female model wearing a version more stylish than my humble grey one, eyes closed, eyebrows raised in expectation, thin lips curling lithely upward at the edges.
Welcome to the Dream Sequencer experience. Here you will learn how to program your device as well as best practices to follow for maximal enjoyment. This guide is organized into six sections: Perspective, Surroundings, Personas, Abilities, Memories, and Nightmares. Users should familiarize themselves with the full content of this manual before donning the balaclava for the first time to program the device. Once adequately programmed the Sequencer will activate automatically when the user enters R.E.M. sleep.
Thumbing to the end of the book to find it’s 100 pages in length, in small font; no pictures. There’s a flash from the street below, glancing off the glass wall like lightning, followed by a bubbling thunder that seems to mix with screeching tires and fade into the distance. What harm could there be in pulling on that head sock just for a moment, to get a feel for this fancy thought driven interface the Japanese have developed. Manual shmanual. I’m a geek. Put me in front of a computer interface and I’ll have it figured in no time.
If electronics are housed within the garment I can’t tell. It slides like silk, hugging the circumference of my cranium, pulling lightly across cheeks, brushing past whiskers. In the mirror I look like one of those cool Navy Seals or maybe even an old-school ninja. The umbilical cord, with its magnetic snout, latches firmly to the top; the crab shell begins to glow ice blue; the bedroom fades from perception, replaced by an infinite white space.
Rising from the ground are monolithic obsidian screens, forming a 2x3 grid, each apparently representing a programmable aspect of the system. Before I can think; before I can react there’s a sensation at my feet like standing in a sandy stream, with the current etching away any softness that surrounds, but while liquid it’s not water--it’s flesh. The stream flows toward the hovering screens, opening its mouth; human bodies step forth, all looking like me. With each heartbeat there’s a new doppelganger, taking instantly to preordained purposes, as either step in human pyramid or solemn priest and martyr. The martyrs climb and give themselves to the screens, each turning a vague flesh tone in response.
Hours have passed since I started down this cobblestone path, but I’ve yet to tire. Perhaps, I should say, it’s more of a labyrinth as the presiding walls stand taller than I can reach and the elevation seems to change as I progress; my turns forced upon me by turreted right angles. The sky’s an endless light blue, yet the sun remains aloof behind oil painted clouds.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” says a black robed figure standing atop the farthest wall, looking away from me but his voice emanates from all directions.
“Where is here, exactly?”
“Here doesn’t actually exist. You’re dreaming. You’re using that machine, aren’t you.”
“I’m …”
“Shit. Like I should care.”
“Who … are you?”
“You sure you want to know?” the figure says as he turns his head in my direction, pulling the hood back from a grinning cat face--a cat’s face, but his eyes are shut with tear ducts dripping gelatinous streaks across high feline cheek bones.
“Your eyes, are you alright?”
“You don’t remember me do you.”
“You’re …”
“Someone you buried long ago.”
“Thre … Thresh?”
“So you do remember.”
“That was--I was just a kid.”
“It’s like an eternity here, Barn. Can I call you Barn?”
“Um … sure.”
“You’ve reached the end of the labyrinth. In normal circumstances you would have switched scenes by now, but the machine changes things. See? You’ve no road left.” And it was true. He stood atop the dead end wall itself; a breeze sent ripples through his cloak.
“How do I wake up?”
“Damn. Don’t tell me, you haven’t read the manual yet. Isn’t that just like the Barnaby I used to know.”
“I wasn’t planning to sleep--just wanted to see the programming interface!”
“Something they don’t tell you, apparently: first usage is hypnotic. You were lulled into a dream state.”
“How do you know about the device?”
“Dream worlds are connected to each other, Barn. We know what’s coming, been watching the Japanese.”
“We?”
“Yes, we, the collective, subconscious creations of humanity. It’s a fucked up place, Barn, real fucked up. Surely you can imagine. And now with this machine ...”
“The real world is degenerating.”
“That’s a human perception.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s just say we have a completely different view on humanity and its real world.”
“Can you get me back?”
“Can I wake you up, you mean?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Let me show you something.” At the words, cobble stones near his wall begin to rise, forming a crude stair which I ascend. He stops me before I step off the wall’s edge, saving me from a fall that would seemingly have never ended. Then I see the cubic corkscrew of the labyrinth, reaching down; reaching ... down.
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