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107: A Band Of Six     108: Skinfection Rising     109: Three Dark Dots

Post: 02.26.2004
Date: 05.24.2196
Time: Evening

A Band Of Six

It's been over three months since we set out together, the six of us, walking. JACK laughed at me a couple of weeks ago when I told her we were drifting westward. She thought I was being overly poetic. But glitch, that's what we're doing. Our path is anything but straight. Not surprising because, you see, we don't know where we're going! Black Vale Six... Driftfane's Sin... Glitch you, Calamity, next time give me a map. Kiiziiziixii is the only one with any degree of knowledge about the Black Vales, and she claims that they were absorbed by the Free States over a decade ago. She's also believes that Black Vale Six has been wiped out--possibly by a fragment of the comet.

On a journey to a destroyed location, sent by a mad rivot bot, for reasons I don't know. This is my life.

Three months. A lot has happened during that time. We've traveled further north and further west. Kiiziiziixii has done a lot of our navigation for us, helping us to avoid the dangers of the earth and its inhabitants. We've avoided contact with civilization whenever possible. In addition to protecting us from the sun's radiation and the acid rain, the cloaks we all wear help us hide our true selves--a necessity when traveling with wirewitches. Nobody would take notice of a modie and a girl with blue hair, but throw in an incomplete coven, and suddenly everybody gets suspicious. It happened once, when we had to pass through a small settlement. The fight broke out so fast, without provocation, I can hardly remember the details, except for all the blood. In the end, Kiiziiziixii had to maim a few too many people, I was forced to use the sever-whip on a gang of hyper-optic-children, and PIIX had to kill three of our attackers. After that we decided that only the modie and the blue-haired girl could buy supplies.

We're a band of six, drifting westward. Slowly.

Slowly, because of me.

Pregnancy has swelled my belly. My skinsuits are high quality, and they stretch, expanding right along with me. I discarded the red one though. Was too tight to begin with--glitch Phoenix for noticing, for not doing anything about it--and with my still-inflating belly, it wasn't wearable. The blue spark inside me grows with each passing minute, each wandering day. The added weight is noticeable now, pressing. At night, I lay on my bedroll, veiled stars winking above, and place my hands on my stomach, wondering at the life within me and at who might've put it there. Can feel it, stretching me, sometimes moving--an alien part of me, that at times doesn't seem so alien. In the mornings, I'm still nauseous, throwing up at least once a week. I'm usually left coughing at the ground, staring at the partially-digested mush that was the previous night's meal. Food substitute tastes even worse coming up, but at least it isn't chunky spraying out. JACK's quick though, waking when she senses that I'm staggering away to vomit, following me, holding my hair back from my face until my retching is complete, rubbing my back all the while. Don't know why she does it, but I'm beginning to love her for it.

I've gained weight. Feels like twenty pounds. It's all at my waist. And breasts.

     (yeah, noticed 2-85 staring didja?)

I'm bloated, ballooned up, and disgusting. I cringe every time I look in Kiiziiziixii's pocket mirror to fix my hair. The wirewitches are unreadable, accepting of such things as the nature of life, and Kiiziiziixii just laughs when I make some disparaging comment about my appearance, then gives me some new exercise I should do to keep my body fit. They all tell me I look fine--healthy and strong even--but I don't really believe them. They think I'm fat. I can't disagree.

A few weeks ago, the life shifted inside me. It was unexpected, but utterly wondrous. I moved from the path we were on and sat down on a rock, hands moving to my belly, desperate to detect additional signs of life.

"Is your baby moving?" Kiiziiziixii asked, stopping beside me.

I nodded, feeling another tremor inside me. My heart thudded deeply in my chest, and my mind told me that my child could feel it that dull beat, perhaps even more than I could. "It's the first time I've felt it."

"Will you let me?" 2-85 asked.

I thought he wanted to touch my belly, so I assented, but he put his ear to me instead. I was left with my hands hovering over his head, resisting the urge to touch his hairstalk, to stroke my hands down it, not knowing where the urge came from. The curiosity as to what it would feel like was inexplicable. I've touched JACK's, but his might be...

"Its heart beats strongly," 2-85 said after a moment.

"She's a strong woman," JACK said. "Her child will reflect that."

Kiiziiziixii grunted. "I agree, she's strong, but she's just a girl."

Her words couldn't have been truer.

     I am just a girl.

     (scared and vulnerable and weak and...indwelled)

          (only...not as weak as before so be careful)

My feet ache continually now, the constant walking scattering havoc all around my calves and thighs. I slow the band of six down, forcing them to wait while I let my legs and feet recover, massaging my toes, heels, and tendons. Over the past month, it's been getting gradually worse, with my back beginning to speak more often--a result of my belly's unhindered swelling: a shifting of weight, a new center of gravity, a new balancing act.

All of it--the quest, the pregnancy, the weight gain, the pain, the static--have turned me into one glitch of an irritable angel at times. Even more frequently in the past couple of weeks. JACK has been patient, but I get the feeling that the others are just patronizing me most of the time, giving in to me just so I'll shut the glitch up and stop bothering them. Even Kiiziiziixii has made herself scarce on several occasions.

And 2-85...he's unreadable most of the time. Just stands there while I get angry, not giving me the satisfaction of a counter-reaction. He's taken his share of tirades from me--not that he didn't deserve them though. He did. Still, there's a part of me that wants him to react, to emote right back at me. There's also a part of me that wants him to not be 2-85, but Q'and'q, Guardian-8 of his Haven. I remember his close-cropped hair, his breather unit. Then that part of me realizes that if he hadn't been made wirewitch, he'd probably be dead and out of my life forever, caught in the island's death scream. I'm confused by this line of thinking, unsure whether I'd rather have him in my life as an abominable wirewitch, or out of my life and possibly dead, but having retained his humanity.

Some choice are best left up to deities. Guess I don't get a say.

Besides, three weeks ago, during one of my rest breaks, he offered to help me with the pain.

"What're you gonna do?" I asked, hopeful, but also cautious. This was the warlock who backed me against a wall and gave me my second witchkiss.

     (but witchkiss

                         became realkiss remember?)

Oh yes...

"I have skill with my hands, syl." He looked me right in the eyes and held me captive. "I can ease the pain. Your muscles are tense and strained. Let me relax them."

Thoughts of his hands touching me like that sent a wave of feeling through me that carried equal parts of revulsion and warmth with it. Like so many times over the past months, thinking about how I felt toward 2-85 brought my amputated feelings of Phoenix to the forefront. My con artist rejected me and I couldn't shake the naked truth that I wanted to see him again. Glitch me, what was I thinking!

"I want to help you," 2-85 said. "This is something I can do for you."

I looked around at the others, but they'd continued on down the path. Even as I surrendered, letting 2-85 step behind me to dig his fingers into my spine, I felt my fury rising. What the glitch are they thinking? Giving us...privacy? Cosmic glitch! I will not be manipulated like this!

I asked JACK about it later, and she played innocent. I told her to cut the glitch and to never leave me alone with 2-85 again. She wouldn't promise anything, and I could see a thin smile playing around the corners of her mouth. I swear, I almost pulled the sever-whip on her. Probably would have, but 2-85's ministrations on my back, neck, and feet had me more relaxed than I wanted to admit. I was a little too weak in the knees. A little too content. Glitch the effect he has on me.

And so, every day, at least once a day, often more, 2-85 has moved his metaskin hands across my tired muscles and taken pain from me.

     He touches.

     I sigh.

     We talk.

Talking. Between us, it doesn't come easy, but when it does, I find myself distracted from my pain, the static, and even from his insistent fingers digging at my neck. I ask him him questions about wirewitches and about the world, filling in gaps in my memory, gaining knowledge I never had. I don't discover anything that remind me of life before the fall of cyberspace, but I feel better, hearing his gravelling voice droning on about rumors of wars and takeovers and plagues. Of course, most of what he tells me was happening before cyberspace went offline. Now, things aren't as certain. The primary lines of communication are down and have refused to come back up. Getting current data is more difficult now.

Cyberspace, the sentient beast--or something that at least gave the impression of cognizance-was still slumbering, unable to be woken by the poking and prodding of the Cyberspace Council. Nobody seems to know what happened; everybody's powerless. One instant, cyberspace was bright and active, and in the next instant, darkness fell. As a wirewitch who had never accessed cyberspace as a wirewitch, 2-85 knew nothing of what JACK told me she was experiencing--the continual ache of matrix deprivation, the longing to go back online. The phantom limb of cyberspace was strong, and she reaches for it often, out of habit, only to find empty space. 2-85 doesn't know what it's like, but he remembers his experiences in cyberspace before the fall, so he tells me of those. I gape at his descriptions of that virtual world, wondering if I'll have a chance to experience it for myself. What he tells me brings to mind the chaos of the Universally Cosmic Circus of Amazing Wonder. My mind warns me that, if cyberspace is anything like that, the world will be a better place if it remains offline. Our topics roam; we talk about other things.

But not about what happened between us back on the island, in the Haven. I'll do that when I'm ready. When he's ready.

Our drift westward continues.

When I sleep tonight, it is with an unfamiliar, but welcome, sense of calm.

Shattered, when I wake up and realize that the marking on my back has infected the rest of my body.

Post: 02.28.2004
Date: 05.25.2196
Time: Morning

Skinfection Rising

GETITOFF!!GETITOFF!!GETITOFF!!GETITOFF!!GETITOFF!!GETITOFF!!

glitchthisisbad

     it itches

     it burns

     it stings

     it bites

     it crawls

GOD, HELP ME GET IT OFF!!!!!

Staggering a jagged path, I careen sideways, feet beyond my control. I run into the cluster of wilted trees, just trying to get away from the sting. From the others. The static saws a groove through my brain while I claw at my skin, fingernails scraping across the stained flesh.

Poisoned sickskin stretched across my back shoulders arms feet calves thighs buttocks.

I woke, arm asleep where my head had rested on my bicep all night, drop of drool dripping from mouth's corner. Eyes focused on my bare forearm, not immediately seeing what was there. Zero comprehension for several seconds. Then, glitch, it clicked.

The static blasted itself into existence, pulling me from drowsiness to complete agony. I almost vomited onto my bedroll as I came to my knees, dizzy and confused. Staring at my arm and at the plague that had taken it, a scream stuck in my throat became a strangled moan of tremolo panic. Wirewitch motion nearby, but I bolted.

Now running, blinded by these liquid eyes, I want to peel my skin off. Burn it. I glance off a tree and go spinning. Wind knocked out of me, pain in my shoulder, I bend over and concentrate on taking cyclical breaths. In. In. Out. In. In. Out. Eyes clenched, I'm hyperventilating, even as I hear somebody approaching. Peering through slits, I see it's JACK. She's alone.

"Stay away from me!" I yell, backing away. Mind rages: Don't look at me! Then: Can't let her see what's been done to me!

"Come back!" she insists, voice carrying unique, high-pitched wirewitch frequencies of concern. "Don't run from me!"

Fingernails draw blood, but they don't peel the dark skin away. Moving deeper into the trees, I'm sliding the zip tabs down, puling the skinsuit top off, tossing it away, then reaching to remove the skinsuit bottom. It comes off, one leg at at time.

I have to see the extent of the damage. How far the infection has spread.

Morning air is cold on my skin. Shivering now, standing in white undergarments, arms and legs spread wide.

JACK passes into view. "syl! What the--?" Seeing me, she utters a single swear word. Then another. And another. Doesn't even know she's saying it, but trails off, till her lips are moving without sound.

Dark markings cover my my body. No longer confined to just my back, black-tinted designs have spread like a disease across my skin. I scan my body. Can see wisps of my back marking reaching over my shoulders, turning down to mar my biceps and then my forearms, until they end in sharp tangles on the backs and palms of my hands. The back marking has also spread downward, dipping beneath my undergarment, presumably across my buttocks, then peeking out down the backs of my thighs, twisting down my ankles and ending at points on my heels. The marking also crosses at my hips, wavy tentacles turning down into the front of my undergarment and out below, around my kneecaps and shins, then to the tops of my feet, thin tendrils terminating on each of my toes. The only parts of myself that aren't defiled with the marking are my chest and stomach.

I'm struggling for breath again, the cold horror of my appearance has my lungs in its fist. I'm nauseated, and this time, it's not the pregnancy.

God...

          the images I see...

          hide them from me...

I see creatures in the markings. I see eyeless sockets, broken mouths, spindly legs, quivering antenna, thin claws, and needle teeth. Blink. Blink. Blink. And the creatures seem to move, pulling themselves across my skin with tentacle and talon. The scream held captive in my throat finally breaks free. With claws of my own, I attempt to kill these dim beasts which walk my husk. I find they bleed red blood like I do.

JACK's suddenly at my back, arms around me. She's got my wrists in her hands, pulling my hands away from where they dig at my meat. I'm no match for her technosite-enhanced strength, so I burst into tears. JACK enfolds me, taking my arms with hers. I can't move in this position. Tears drop onto her forearms, where they slide along metaskin pathways.

"Calm down," JACK says in my ear. "It will be okay. You can't hurt yourself like that anymore. I won't let you."

"What's happening to me?!" I sob. I'm sucking away JACK's warmth. Gooseflesh spreads.

"I don't know."

"I'm scared, JACK. Really scared."

"Don't be. I'm here with you."

"I don't understand how this could happen! It was different when it was just my back--I could handle that because I couldn't see it. Now..."

JACK's hairstalks brush my shoulders. "Do not let yourself panic about this."

"Little late for that." I laugh in spite of my fear, my tears.

"I know it was a shock, waking up to discover what's happened to your body, but you need to calm down."

"But I don't know what's happening, and I can't control it! I'm scared of what I'm becoming."

"You're not becoming anything! You are who you are. Even mysterious designs appearing on your skin can't alter that. Don't let fear control you."

"I--I can't help it. I don't like these marks on my skin. They're not natural."

JACK squeezes me tighter. "You don't know that. Not for certain. You should be the first to admit that."

I sag in her arms. "I know. Glitch."

"Perhaps this is the way of things with certain humans. I have not heard of anything like this, but I don't know everything there is to know. It is possible that these markings are completely natural. Perhaps they carry some meaning with them."

Calamity Carl's words come back to me through a pause in the static:

     "The map is you."

No, glitch it, his words were meaningless! He just wanted to taunt me, tempt me with his secrets!

"Whatever the case, I'll be by your side," JACK whispers.

Will you, JACK? Will you really? Or is the pull of the wirewitch in you too strong? Will it win out in the end against this human friendship you've entangled yourself in?

"I'm going to let you go now," JACK says. "If you can stand on your own and won't hurt yourself again."

I nod my head, and JACK releases me. Moments of regret as her warmth abandons me and the chill of the air settles onto me. I grab my skinsuit pieces, shaking them out. Skin still itches where the new markings have manifested. With the skinsuit back on, only my forearms, hands, calves, and feet are exposed. With the majority of the marking out of sight, I feel a little better. I close my eyes and try to think of something that will relax my breathing. Phoenix. Glitch, anything but him. Nothing relaxing about him.

"Better?" JACK asks.

"A little. I think I'll be even better after I've had a chance to deal with this for awhile." I look around. A chill creeps around my spine, and I can't shake the impression that there's tiny insects wriggling underneath my skinsuit.

"If you're wondering why the others didn't come, it's because I told them not to."

"Thanks." The thought that either of the warlocks--2-85 especially--might have seen me strip off my clothes was disturbing. Neither of them deserves that. On some cosmic cue, the static fades back to nothingness.

"You'll have to tell them though--show them," JACK says.

"I know." Taking a deep breath, I manage to get my revulsion, my nausea, under control. I run fingers over my forearm, feeling for the edge of the marking there. There isn't one. The skin is as smooth as it ever was, just blemished now. Opening my fist, the mark in the center of my palm is a clumpy circle-shaped image, spewing torqued rays out onto my fingertips. It's ugly. It disgusts me. I frightens me. "Maybe Kiiziiziixii knows something."

"What makes you say that?"

"When we first met, she seemed to recognize the mark on my back. I haven't asked her about it yet, but I think it's time for me to find out what she knows." Even as I say the words, the more prominent thought in my mind is one that stabs a knife in my heart: Phoenix will never want me like this.

"I think that--" JACK stops, having moved around in front of me. She's locked those stormy eyes on mine. Her hairstalks are frozen.

"What is it?" I ask, not liking the look on her face one bit--how she seems to be looking at my face, but not directly in my eyes.

She grabs my hands, one in each of hers, but the static flares, warning me that with how she's has her fingers wrapped around my wrist...she's taking precautions.

"Don't panic, but let's go get that mirror of Kiiziiziixii's. You need to see what's on your face."

Post: 03.1.2004
Date: 05.25.2196
Time: Morning

Three Dark Dots

     (in a technosite embrace)

JACK's still holding me as we come out of the trees. The wirewitches and Kiiziiziixii are lined up waiting for us. Kiiziiziixii is pacing, hand on her hip. 7-07 and PIIX are leaning near, hairstalk tips touching, communicating in low vocalizations. 2-85 stands apart from the others, much more tense. His posture betrays an emotion within him, as do his hairstalks, twitching. Even though I'm still shaking, I feel a little more secure to know that he's alert--because of me. He reacting.

"Kiiziiziixii, get your mirror for syl," JACK says.

"Don't order me around, witch," Kiiziiziixii says, but is already reaching for her backpack. "You can ask me."

"It's for her, not me," JACK says.

"What's wrong with her?" PIIX asks.

"Nothing," JACK says. "She's fine."

"She didn't run because there was nothing wrong with her," PIIX retorts.

7-07 motions with a hand. "Her arms. Her legs. Look."

Now the rest of them are staring. I'm self-conscious, wishing I could fold myself up into a different universe and disappear. Their eyes on me, I feel a sudden wave of shame. No reason to feel that way! What the glitch did I do wrong?

     (you've been a bad little girl angel take your medicine)

I sigh, bowing my head. Can't look back at any of them. "My marking. It's expanded."

"How far?" 2-85 asks.

"Far."

Kiiziiziixii, who was paused, shakes herself and hands me the mirror, eyes narrowing as she gets a look at my face. "syl--"

"No!" JACK snaps. "Let her see for herself."

Kiiziiziixii glares at JACK, but nods, backing off.

The reflected sky in the mirror shakes. JACK notices and grabs my arm. "syl," she says, turning me toward her. "It's nothing to worry about."

"You're not helping," I tell her. And she isn't. Hands are shaking even more now.

2-85's hand comes down on my shoulder, hairstalk at my heel. A curious comfort at the contact. "Don't be afraid."

I breathe deep, then bring the mirror up. There they are. Right there, just beneath my left eye, they rest, interrupting the unsoiled skin of my face. Three dark dots. They're big enough to be noticeable instantaneously, starting just at the edge of my nose then following the lower curve of my lid. Perfectly circular and evenly spaced. The third dot is centered horizontally on my eye. I let out my breath, taking some solace that the patterns drawn on the rest of my body haven't made their way to my face. These are just dots. And only three. Could've been a lot worse.

"What do you think?" JACK asks. "They're the same as the rest of your markings."

I shake my head, still concentrating. The rest of my face is clean, although I now see that my hair is tangled and mussed. Must've been dreaming, flailing around. Don't remember dreaming, just waking up. Three dots. Why three? Why under my eye?

"Yes, I think they are," I say. "I don't know what that means, but I'm a little more scared now."

"Why is that?" JACK asks.

"syl's right," 2-85 says. "There is meaning in the dots."

Glitch it, warlock, why did you have to say that?! I'd glare at him, but there's too much fear in me to focus on being frustrated with him. "The patterns on the rest of my body may indicate something. Maybe they can be read. Maybe they mean something. I don't like them, but when it comes down to it, I don't know how to interpret them. That's not true with the marks under my eye--they mean something; they represent a number."

"What significance does the number three have for you?" 2-85 asks.

"I don't know," I say, but even as I do, a hollow thought

     (connects the dots take your medicine you remember don't you)

     enters my hollow mind. The thought rests there, on plain display for me, daring me to accept it, daring me to deny it.

I drop the mirror, and my fluttering hand pulls from JACK's grip, flies to my mouth, stifling a sharp sucking of breath. I know my eyes are wide in shock, realization. Thinking back, over my waking life. Thinking of threes. Thinking of my short history.

Three.
Three.
Three.

No. No. NO!

Oh God help me, I know what the dark dots mean.

But nobody can ever know.

this page and its contents copyright (c) by ethan a. cooper