《Digital Echoism》 Chapter One Prologue There was no natural light in the small closet-like room, the only artificial contribution, the ethereal glow from a recessed fluorescent tube. The television screen had been left dormant. The small figure in the hospital bed cupped a hand to his mouth in a trembling gesture, to ensure his voice would not leak out. His eyes remained closed, as they had for too long. ¡°Yes!¡± he whispered, ¡°Yes, I did as you needed, you should be able to see that. I did everything you asked.¡± The visitor looked anxiously at Elmo, unsure whether he was trying to converse or talking in his sleep. Should he respond to his ramblings or distract him in some way, draw his attention back to the world around him? ¡°See! I told you you could do it,¡± he tried, helping Elmo lie back in his bed. ¡°All you needed was a little encouragement.¡± He tried to sound clear and purposeful, but then wondered if he should lower his voice as Elmo moved a tremulous hand in a tiny circle as if turning down a phantom volume control that only he could see; it seemed he didn''t want to chance being overheard. ¡°I think they''ve drugged me,¡± he forced out between clenched jaws. "The only way that I could get¡­¡± his pupils moved beneath closed lids, ¡°...without him knowing." ¡°You did well,¡± the visitor was reassuring. ¡°It''s just to help you sleep.¡± ¡°I only ¡®did¡¯ what you made me do,¡± the sleeper seemed reluctant to accept praise for some reason. He wasn''t comfortable, he twisted in his sheets. ¡°Swarties?¡± the visitor waved a tube of copycat sweets that he had found in Elmo''s jacket pocket, a remnant from his stay in Pakistan. The reward of even poor quality, imitation chocolate in hospital should be too enticing to turn down. ¡°Made you?¡± enquired the visitor, dropping a couple of colourful beads of chocolate into his hand. There was a playful edge to the tone, but infused with concern. A blue sweet fell and bounced under the metal frame of the hospital bed sending an expression of deep distress crawling over Elmo''s face. ¡°It¡¯s free now so it doesn''t matter,¡± the visitor said in a comforting tone. Elmo shrank back into his pillows as if a mere mouse, corralled between the paws of a cat. ¡°Come on, I can hardly put this one back in the tube.¡± The sleeper served a purpose, although unconscious, he knew he did, but he was a source of amusement too, he feared. Just like the single red Swartie lying on his friend''s palm, it would only be a matter of time till he was of no value anymore. He would be swallowed like the rest of them. He wished he had never been contacted; he wished that he could just be allowed to¡­ He wished he could ignore the words sleeting into his consciousness. He wanted to flick the bright red sweet away, but the temptation of the bliss of reward was just too much. He allowed it to be poked into his mouth instead. ¡°Yes, it is free now, thanks to you," the visitor said, trying to see under the bed. "You really did do well. Blue Swarties were probably never rare like the originals were, all the kids wanted them.¡± Adrift on a sea of unreality behind his eyelids, Elmo groaned faintly feeling that the voice just had to rub it in. Even in a coma Elmo knew - the Swartie wasn¡¯t free, it was lost. Lost like the phage. The phage had escaped via his own ear, it was free, loosed, lost, into the real world. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°I¡¯m going to get you back. Just stay where you are. I think I can use the device to create a portal.¡± At that moment, two men stepped into the room. ¡°Gamaliel Jonas? You need to come with us.¡± ***** There was no natural light in the small, closet-like room, the only artificial contribution was the ethereal glow from one active computer screen; the remaining screens on the overhead bank had been left dormant during the current operation. The operative cupped the mic of his headset in a trembling hand as an added precaution to ensure his voice would not leak out. "Yes!" he whispered, "Yes, I did as you needed, you should be able to see that. I did everything you asked." "See! I told you that you could do it. All you needed was a little¡­" A pause not for thought, but to make a point, "¡­encouragement." The words in his headphones were clear and purposeful. The speaker, from wherever he was contacting him, made no effort to lower his voice. The operator urgently moved his other hand, equally tremulous, to the controls on his touchscreen to lower the volume; he did not want to take any chances. He dimmed the screen considerably while he was at it. "I had to drug him!" the operative forced out between clenched jaws. "It was the only way that I could get to his terminal, while he was logged in, without him knowing." "You did well," the reply was almost gleeful. "I only ¡®did¡¯ what you made me do," the operative was reluctant to accept any praise from the voice. He wasn''t comfortable with what he was doing, but the rewards offered were, well: just, far too enticing to turn down. "Made you?" enquired the voice. There was a playful edge to the tone, which the operative knew was rooted in the euphoria of control rather than any sincere concern. "It¡¯s free now so it doesn''t matter." The operative was in no mood for the voice''s toying. He was a mere mouse, corralled between the paws of this cat. For now, he served a purpose - as well as a source of amusement he feared - but it would only be a matter of time till he was of no value anymore, and he would be swallowed like the rest of them. He wished he had never been contacted; he wished he had never agreed. He wished he could ignore the summons, but the temptation of the bliss of reward was just too much. "Yes, it is free now, thanks to you. You really did do well." The voice just had to rub it in. "The phage is now more than a few lines of code that 2 can exploit to clear up after himself. Now it¡¯s a physical entity in the timelines of the real world. Let¡¯s see if that gets his attention.¡± ¡°Now, there is just one more thing.¡± When manipulating an underling, there is always ¡®just one more thing¡¯ saved up to be delivered just before departure. ¡°You are to flush subject five when you get the signal. 666, we will be in touch. ¡®Free time for everyone!''" The voice ended. The insistent salute at the end always made Elmo 666 sick. He wasn''t sure if he believed in the cause or not. It seemed just, sure enough, but it was set against everything that he as an Elmo embodied: doing as he was told. He sat a while to compose his nerves; his regrets jeering him while he contemplated how deep into this treacherous endeavour his greed had taken him, but he soon found that the thrill of compensation rose to dissolve all traces of doubt and anger; it left him in a swoon of ecstasy as his mind was filled once again with the bliss of reward. Once the communication was terminated, the owner of ''the voice'' turned to his companion, who purposefully sat just out of view of the visi-screens; he was nodding his agreement. "Do you think that the phage will be a big enough distraction for him?" the companion asked. "We can only hope so. Will 666 be OK for the next stage?" he pursued. "Oh yes. No concerns there. He will do whatever we need him to do. He loves the reward far too much to get ¡®all righteous'' on us now." "Hmmm?" the companion was a little unsure. "You know as well as I do that the followers are strongly peer-dependent. I''m surprised we¡¯ve been able to keep control of this one for so long.¡± "Leave him to me. It will be fine." The tone of confidence the voice offered did little to settle his company''s concern, but was enough to prevent any further enquiry for now. There was far too much to do. "Are the rest of the resistance ready?" His companion paused, still troubled by the reliability of Elmo 666, so much depended on their influence over an inside cell. Eventually he committed to a reply, "They will be: that you can leave to me." Chapter Two So, they went through London on a red bus, as the rain spattered and ran in rivulets horizontally across the graffiti-scarred windows. One man and a rat, who was also a man, previously. Elmo from the third time line back had convinced Holi that she had taken a blow to the head and needed a lie down. She hadn''t, he assured her, seen a large orange-and-yellow-suited ogre appear in her home; there was no rat, no doppelganger. There was only one him. She had seemed suspicious, yet resigned to the idea as he left the house, his future rat self tucked into a back pack next to the metal egg-shaped device, Gum''s address in his pocket. When it was quiet on the top level of the bus Rat-Elmo risked scrabbling out of the backpack for a look out the window. Arriving at their stop Elmo trudged from the bus stop toward the street on the hill, his head bent, shoulders raised to keep out the drizzle. They had tried to discuss on the way how they might approach things. What would they say to Gum? The Gum in the cupboard clearly was not the Gum they anticipated meeting in this time. Where had he come from? Had he also travelled through time somehow? He had been very vague and fleeting in his visitation. As Elmo walked the grey city streets, Rat-Elmo squeaked out from the bag, "Don''t just give him the device will you? We don''t know if we''ll get it back. We need it back. I need it back. I need to get back." The bag went silent. Elmo wondered what it must be like to be in a rodent''s skin, to be in a bag come to that. Then they were there. Holding the scrap of paper with the address in one hand, Elmo looked up at the big, old London house. Rat-Elmo peeped out between the teeth of the zipper. "This is it," he whispered. The path and steps up to the house looked grey and foreboding, the sky was heavy above, still threatening plenty more rain. Knocking on the door, Elmo shuffled from one foot to the other, still trying to decide how to explain the situation to Gum, but he was somewhat taken aback when the door was opened by a boy holding a large wooden spoon. Looking again at the address, Elmo mumbled, "Is this Gum''s house?" The boy turned and walked away inside, beckoning to be followed. A quick, furtive glance was exchanged between man and bag, then Elmo stepped inside and followed the youngster into the front room. When the boy indicated that he should do so, he sat expectantly on a sofa and waited. The boy lowered himself cross-legged onto the floor and began staring at the spoon. Elmo wondered if he was really in the right house and if so where was Gum? He was about to suggest that the boy tell someone that he was here, but as he leaned forward the boy seemed to misunderstand his intention and handed him the spoon. Puzzled, Elmo flexed it experimentally. "Do not try to bend the spoon. That''s impossible," the boy intoned. "I wasn''t try..." began Elmo. But the lad continued, "Instead only try to realise the truth." "What truth?" "It''s made of wood and wood doesn''t bend. You''re a spoon. You watch too many films." He snatched the implement back at this point and whacked Elmo on the head with it sharply. At that point Heather appeared in the doorway and before Elmo could speak she said, "I know, you''re Elmo. Be right with you." She set off back out of the room, down the corridor toward the kitchen and Elmo jumped up to follow her, still slightly shaken by the weirdness of the young boy and rubbing his head. "This is Gum''s place? " came a puzzled squeak from the bag. "Bingo. Not quite what you were expecting right?¡± Heather had heard, but seemed unconcerned and busied herself at the oven. "Almost done. Smell good don''t they?" Elmo realised he was dripping on the lino and decided to sit down. "I''d ask you to sit, but you''re not going to anyway," Heather said over her shoulder as Elmo''s bottom was part way through its descent to the chair, "And don''t worry about the vase." She said it the American way like ''vays''. "What''s a vays?" Elmo began, quickly straightening up again. "Vays, vahs," she said it both ways now, "You know." Elmo looked around for a vase, couldn''t see one. "What vase?" he asked, feeling increasingly uneasy, but Heather was still speaking. "You''re cuter than I thought, I can see why she likes you." "Who?" the confused Elmo enquired, suspicious that he was tangling up into something here. "Not too bright though. You know why you''re here?" Elmo was about to point out that he had come to see Gum, but was interrupted before he could open his mouth. "So what do you think? You think you''re the one?" "One what?" Elmo was floundering under Heather''s strange course of conversation, he gazed about the kitchen wondering what was expected of him. His eyes fell on the large fridge-freezer. It was festooned with little, yellow Post-it notes, each with an instruction, presumably for Gum to carry out at the indicated time. Rat-Elmo was beginning to get impatient, Elmo could feel the bag moving, but Heather was staring right at him expectantly. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Ah¡­ " was all Elmo could manage. "No, open your mouth and say ¡®ahh¡¯," Heather prodded. Now he felt really stupid, opening his mouth as she looked inside. Why was she doing this? Why was everything so bizarre here? Heather went on with barely a pause, "Now I''m supposed to say ''hmmm that''s interesting'', but then you say..." Elmo had no idea what he was supposed to say. Rat-Elmo had had enough, bursting out of the bag he squoke up, "Get out of his mouth! Where''s Gum? We''ve come to see Gum!" Heather shrieked and leapt onto a stool and then the worktop, knocking over a vase in her hurry to get away from the intruding rat. She looked like she wanted to mention the fallen vase, but didn''t. Instead she just tottered up there, clutching both hands to her neck and quivering. "Is he here?" the hot-under-the-collar rat demanded. Heather backed up another few inches and pointed upward. "He''s upstairs? Is that it?" The irate rat was now out of the bag and heading stairward. Elmo gave an apologetic nod, closed his still open mouth and followed. ***** Roan of timeline one waved as Gum dropped him home and swung his car round in the cul-de-sac circle before setting off into the night. Roan wondered if Mist might be annoyed with him for getting back so late. He deserved it, probably. He should have sent a text or something. He fumbled his key into the lock, scowling under the gloom of the porch security light. The light was dimmed by a green polythene bag placed over the bulb. He had only ever intended this as a temporary replacement for the glass cover that broke when he changed the bulb. Little things like that bugged Roan every time he looked at them, but not enough to go to the effort of buying a new light just yet. He''d get one, eventually. The house was quiet as he entered. Had Mistletoe given up and gone to bed? He pulled out his phone, intending to check whether she had messaged him, but jumped with a loud gasp at the threshold to the living room. ¡°What on...? Gum? You scared... Wait... How? You just drove off?¡± The figure sitting comfortably on Roan¡¯s corner chair was indeed Gum, but different. He was dressed in a snug-fitting, black body-suit, he had pushed back a hood to a dark zip-up top and his hair seemed more well-gelled than normal. Despite the low lighting in the sitting room, Gum wore a small, round pair of reflective shades. Something protruded above his shoulder that looked like the handles of twin oriental katanas. ¡°You might want to sit down. This is going to be hard to hear,¡± Gum began. ***** No 2 sat amid the ring of stone columns, hunched in his heavy chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, whiskers twitching, when the door to his sanctum opened and a rather sharply dressed Elmo hurried in. ¡°Sorry. Sorry,¡± the newcomer panted out. ¡°You¡¯re late number three, where have you been?¡± ¡°Oh, just held up at the committee meeting ¨C they¡¯re all excited about the implications of the returnee...¡± ¡°But you¡¯re late for me,¡± the hooded rat dismissed the excuse, scowling down from his raised stone platform. ¡°Sorry,¡± Elmo number three repeated with a subservient move that was half bow-half curtsy. He made an attempt to shift the focus of attention, ¡°You did it eh? Sent one of us out to a timeline, the first timeline at that. And got him back. The team are most excited about the implications. The guys are hoping this might lead to a breakthrough - getting everyone back to their own times.¡± The rat gave a barely discernible huff of derision. ¡°How dare you suggest I sent him. Don¡¯t pretend you know something! The committee know full well that renegade won¡¯t give his number and did not do what he was instructed to do in timeline one.¡± Number three decided that another attempt at ignorance might be worth a try, ¡°He was sent to TL 1. Who other than you...¡± ¡°You know full-well the report says he won''t say who sent him. Don¡¯t play dumb! What¡¯s your theory about what happened?¡± Number 3 gave up the pretence, ¡°His statement says he met Elmo from TL 1 before he could complete his research. He panicked and ended up ¡®involving¡¯ himself. Elmo TL 1 ¡®activated¡¯ the device, went back in time. Rogue time-travelled to hunt First Elmo down.¡± ¡°Meaning?¡± Three hesitated as his eyes fell on a big spider climbing in the shadows of the columns. He shuddered. ¡°Another timeline. He would have created a second time line when he arrived at his chosen time, because you can¡¯t go up and down your own timeline; you can¡¯t unhappen what has already happened because...¡± ¡°I know your theories on time travel; cobbled together from over-analysing Back To The Future and endless seasons of Alias! Never mind. You weren''t there. I was there remember! This idiot turned up and set all this chaos off! Caused it all!¡± ¡°But, he didn''t, did he?¡± No 3 said with a fresh note of boldness. ¡°He did exactly what you told him to do - make him go back.¡± ¡°No one is that stupid,¡± the rat said, on its feet now and glaring down at No. 3, who backed off from the platform slightly. ¡°Your instructions just weren''t clear. In fact, your intentions are not clear to any of us. You know you can''t get anyone back. He met himself for goodness'' sake! What if the universe rejected him?¡± ¡°Universe reject him?¡± Two¡¯s contempt was obvious. ¡°He put himself and all of us in danger.¡± Ensuring a good, solid stone column was between them, Number Three cut in with uncharacteristic force, ¡°We¡¯re all in danger, thanks to you! I notice you didn¡¯t go yourself!¡± The rat-like one raised an eyebrow in surprise and took an imperceptible step forward, ¡°I haven¡¯t sent anyone. Should I send you to see for yourself?¡± Fumbling, his sense of caution under threat, Three hissed, ¡°We only have your word for what happened in TL1.¡± The rat knew when to hold back. Keep quiet, wait... ¡°And we know what you¡¯ve been doing to Gum TL3: you got in his head man! You thought you¡¯d just get into someone''s brain?¡± Disgust and anger pushed this usually cautious Elmo to drop some of his restraint. ¡°You thought that you¡¯d have a look around the inside of Gum¡¯s head and out through his eyes? We know you did it!¡± How much did they know? Number Two wondered. He truly hadn''t sent the covert Elmo back to timeline one, but he had considered it. He slunk around the column, steadily closing the gap. ¡°He¡¯s just a copy. A lone, deranged Gum in a degraded timeline is of no consequence. But far more importantly, how do you know that?¡± Flustered, three said, ¡°They¡¯re our friends whatever time they¡¯re from! We know you got in First Elmo too, when he was asleep, he¡¯s timeline one! You got into his brain! Elmo TL1! Whilst he slept! You erased his dreams. You have no limits!¡± The rat was only about half the size of Elmo number three, yet his sinewy form looked capable of employing teeth and claws in ways that Three didn¡¯t want to imagine. It was steadily circling the column separating them, pink eyes fixed on Elmo¡¯s. ¡°Ah, the phage programme,¡± Number 2 hissed softly, ¡°You joined the dots.¡± ¡°Why would you want to wipe their dreams unless you were covering your tracks?¡± Three had said ¡®their dreams¡¯. Did he know about Mist too? That Mist''s dreams had been exploited? And if he did know, did he know just how far? The rat then did something Three hadn¡¯t expected: ¡°Guards!¡± he called, ¡°Krrr!¡± Were there guards? Sure enough, within seconds, two Elmos in skin-tight, spigot-and-wire punctuated suits burst in and peered around, assessing the situation. Three saw he had only moments in which to act; he dodged the nearest guard Elmo and lunged for the circular tunnel at the back of the chamber. It was closed off with prison-like bars from top to bottom. ¡°Get him you wastrels!¡± Two screeched. The guards closed in. ¡°You forget, I helped design this room,¡± Three announced, shouldering the bars, ¡°I know your escape tunnel.¡± The bars swung wide enough for Three to squeeze through. Disappearing inside, he yelled, ¡°You won¡¯t catch me; the autolock holds for ten minutes. How do like me now?¡± As he slid out of sight, he found himself wondering why he had to say that, why not just get on with escaping? Maybe he had watched too many films. ¡°You dirty rat!¡± he yelled finally as he fled. Chapter Three As they reacclimatised to the dimness of the cave stairway - a light, airy place compared to the blackness of the devoid - they were pleased to find no sign of the sinister Elmo thing. "Downwards," Elmo suggested, "quickly, in case ¡®I¡¯m¡¯ still around." Gum and Heather were last to follow, as Elmo led the way. Before they had covered a dozen steps, Heather hissed, "It''s going to come back!" A grim scream wailed behind them. On the stairs, the Elmo-like thing writhed out of the darkness, as if materialising from it. As it moved, the dread figure betrayed no real motion; just growing into the foreground, crossing the space in a fluid motion, rather than physically stepping forward. The party, as one, began to flee, feet floundering in the gloom. In their haste, Holi missed a step, causing her to fall against the wall of the tunnel and Heather to trip into her. Unable to move momentarily, everyone looked fearfully back up the stairs. The air between them and the stygian spectre agitated violently: the very atmosphere itself seemed to recoil from the terror of its advance. The disturbance emanated from a single point, mid-air, focused into a ball of brilliant white light, no bigger than a marble, but brighter than a halogen-lamp. From out of the very centre of this burning star expanded a large figure, a warrior, almost equally radiant, his broad, armoured back occupying the middle ground between the group and the phantom. More than half of him was obscured by a huge shield; burnished bronze in colour and wide rimmed. In his other hand he held the long shaft of an ashen spear, and from out of the warrior¡¯s high-helmed head, a deep warning bellowed out: ¡°Stay your ground, Trojan!¡± The spectre stayed its ground. Either due to the appearance of the golden soldier, or, simply out of caution over the stern command. ¡°You shall press these no more today!¡± Whoever the warrior was, the phantom recognised the threat; a snarl creased the darkness of its face, and it launched a sweeping attack on the warrior¡¯s unshielded side; it did not physically approach the warrior in its assault, but instead just extended its reach. With the grace of a ballroom dancer, the soldier leaped toward the shadow¡¯s extension; it had not expected such a move, and was unprepared to receive the counter-attack. The fighter swept his shielded left arm up and over to his right, as if it was but a cape, and pivoted beneath the move. The raised shield made contact with the shade¡¯s right hook, blocking the blow: the impact of light against dark created an explosion of atmospheric disturbance. As he spun, his right hand, turning the spear shaft between his fingers like a baton, brought the head fast and hard toward the right, exposed side of the dark menace. With a lunging crouch, he drove the spear deep. There was a mighty sound of high-pitched screeching and a shower of black shards as something shattered from the spectre¡¯s body. It recoiled in agony, arms flailing high. The warrior, now perfectly still, as if frozen, knelt motionless in the crouched position of his lunging attack; spear still thrust forward. Ripping his body off of the plunged point, the phantom retreated up the stairs. It panted and screamed at its assailant. Swaying left and right it assessed the next move, ensuring that it would leave, this time, no part of its form unprotected. The bronzed soldier rose to his feet with smooth, precise, fluid movements; the effortless motion suggested that he was being raised on some invisible strings rather than from the power of his own legs. ¡°Follow your prey through time, but you will not prevail here Trojan,¡± he said, with a deep, flat, matter-of-fact expression. The caliginous creature launched again, this time directly at the soldier¡¯s chest. As fast as the lightning strike was, the warrior¡¯s movements were quicker. Again his shield flowed into place, gliding from its position behind him, forward to cover his front; it was as if he was inviting the phage to strike centre-mass. As the phantom¡¯s blow struck hard upon the convex surface of the mighty shield, it slid off, unable to purchase on the highly-polished metal finish until, under the momentum of the surge, the ghost realised, too late, that it had exposed its midriff. Light flashed, a blur of brilliance once more struck at the lucifugous being. It recoiled, stumbling as it staggered backward under the heavy press of its assailant. The attack was relentless, every fulgurating thrust and strike part of a precisely purposed procedure. The black peril desperately tried to counter the lightning blows, but as each one landed, it found itself manipulated into a position of greater threat of the next strike; progressively being manoeuvred into becoming increasingly exposed. Finally, the champion had his quarry in the position he intended and delivered the coup-de-grace; an arching stab of his ashen spear directly down into the shadows of the phantom¡¯s clavicle; piercing the fabric of its lightless presence between neck and shoulder; driving the shaft deep into its chest from above. Holding the spear fast in position, his fist tightly clenched around the shank; muscles straining, veins throbbing, he turned the spear in its hold, the area at the point of contact began to gather and spin, like water being sucked down a plug-hole. As he held the spear in place, the velocity of the whirling material around the puncture increased. A look of disdain, and contempt, replaced the grimace of pain and anguish at being speared. This phage understood exactly what was happening, and it was not impressed. More and more of its being was sucked into the spear, the shaft turning black as it filled with the phantom¡¯s presence. The vortex around the wound accelerated until it sucked the entire shadow-creature into the length of the spear. As soon as it was completely imprisoned, the golden-soldier spun once more, and with one final sweep of the long spear, he drove it fast into a large boulder at the edge of the staircase. As it was driven deep into the igneous mass, the rock itself turned black as the phantom expanded its being into the very stone. The puissant paladin turned its attention to the party, huddled in darkness behind him. ¡°This is not the time for you to be standing like ripe ears of corn, stretching to see the rays of the sun after the heavy storms have beaten them. You must leave this place. The Trojan will not stay imprisoned for long.¡± He turned and leapt with powerful lunges up the stairs, the group following his lead until they burst into the daylight above ground. As the party emerged from the charonic chamber and the shock of sunlight exploded into their eyes, they struggled to take account of the full figure of their liberator. The aureate warrior appeared to be on fire, his body encased in gold or bronze, armour. It caught the sun¡¯s rays and hurled them, with a violent glare, at the light-starved eyes of the group. Once the last of them had cleared the door in the tree trunk, he shut it fast behind them. Reaching to his waist, he drew a short blade; the surface of the ensiform moved like thin yellow oil running over brindled water. With both hands clasped about the pommel, he drove the blade into the wooden door; it did not, so much, pierce the wood as dissolve over the surface, flowing across the door spilling over the frame, the swirling, fire-like fluid covering the entire entrance in its oleaginous eddy. He released the handle and turned to face the party: ¡°The Trojan will not remain within its constraints below for long, but it will not be able to break through this fire-wall. It will not be able to pass this way; it will have to find another route out, so that will give you some time. Now, you have wasted too much already, begone! ¡°But, Elmo and Roan?¡± The voice was Holi¡¯s ¡°They¡¯re not here.¡± The figure¡¯s face was stern, ¡°Fools,¡± he breathed, ¡°this won¡¯t be undone.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Gum, ¡°What can we do?¡± ¡°I am the Mykenean: Akilleus, born of the Pelion. We have not the time to remain here and exchange tales like bards at a banquet. We must wish your companions the good sense to make their flight downward and swift.¡± Then, without warning, he swung his massive golden shield around from its slung position on his back; it scythed through the air with a singing, swishing sound, covering his huge form; the sun burning brilliance off of the highly polished surface; images carved upon its vast, convex, face burned themselves into their retinas. As vision, slowly, returned to their sun-blinded eyes, the mighty warrior, Akilleus the Mykenean, born of the Pelion was gone. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ***** The rat¡¯s beady eyes gleamed with annoyance as he watched his guards flounder helplessly at the metal bars, while Number Three vanished into the shadows of the escape tunnel. His clawed paw twitched, eager to seize the nearest object and hurl it at their incompetence. But before he could unleash his fury, a thunderous pounding echoed from the chamber door. Two more Elmos in white lab coats tumbled into the room, their eyes wide, their jittery feet barely keeping them upright. ¡°What is it now?¡± the rat snarled, his voice dripping with venom. ¡°What could possibly be so urgent that you¡¯d dare interrupt me here? In my sanctum?¡± ¡°It¡¯s her... it¡¯s Mist... She¡¯s back from the UnKnown... in the Green Room,¡± one of the Elmos stuttered, his words stumbling over themselves. Without waiting for a reply, the pair scurried off like terrified ants, assuming their master would follow. He did. The woman at the green room observation window stared at the rat with open disgust. ¡°Lift me up! Lift me up you imbeciles!¡± Two snapped as 352 struggled to get a respectful hold on his leader, whilst 679 nervously helped hoist the rat until his pink snout confronted the woman inside. ¡°What did you do to me?¡± she hissed. ¡°Do? To you?¡± Two replied, uncertainly. ¡°Yes, do! To me... To us!¡± Her eyes burned with accusation. ¡°I know you violated us somehow. I followed you back here.¡± ¡°Violated?¡± His eyes darkened, narrowing to slits. ¡°I made you. You wouldn¡¯t exist without me, you ungrateful...¡± ¡°Made me?¡± she growled. ¡°Is this part of some cloning-gone-mad experiment?¡± A tense silence stretched between them. Finally, Two commanded his lackeys. ¡°Take me inside,¡± he said, his voice low and icy. They set him down inside the lab and he barked, ¡°Out! Now! And shut the door!¡± Alone with her, the rat scurried across the sterile lab, mind racing, calculating. He gestured to a table at the room¡¯s edge, his body casting a long shadow in the dim green and lilac lights. This needed finesse. The truth about Mist from timeline one was dark, a desperate act -one he had never expected to face again. But here she was, the living, breathing consequence of his reckless tampering with forces beyond his control. She dragged a nearby planter, sitting on it like a queen perched on her throne, her eyes locked on him, daring him to give her an explanation that made sense of the madness. He clambered with less than finesse onto the cold glass of the tabletop and drew a long breath. ¡°Is it the same for you as it is for me?¡± he asked, his voice suddenly soft, as if trying to coax her. ¡°How far back can you really remember?¡± Her eyes remained fixed on him, unwavering. ¡°You didn¡¯t create me,¡± she said, her voice steady. ¡°I remember.¡± ¡°Go on,¡± he urged, his tone sharpening, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. ¡°You remember... what?¡± For a moment, her defiance faltered. She looked away, reaching for fragments of memory that danced just out of reach. ¡°You... did something,¡± she whispered, her voice tight with frustration. ¡°While I slept... you invaded my mind, made me sleepwalk through the city, unleashed something... some beast into my world.¡± ¡°One thing at a time,¡± the rat said, his voice chillingly calm, like the eye of a storm. ¡°I created your world. I created you. You should be thanking me.¡± Her eyes flared with anger. ¡°Why should I believe the words of a rat in a cloak? How could you possibly create an entire world?¡± ¡°Time travel,¡± he sneered, the two words spilling out with cold disdain. ¡°Do you think I wasn¡¯t created, too? My entire timeline was a botched creation, made by some half-wit. Every time someone goes back in time, a new timeline is born, each one a flawed copy of the last. Some fragments improve. Others - like your memories - degrade.¡± The woman¡¯s face tightened, frustration simmering beneath her skin as she struggled to pull at the fraying threads of her memory. ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± she spat, her voice shaking, but her tone betrayed a sense of doubt. ¡°Oh, am I?¡± Number Two¡¯s lips curled into a sinister smile. ¡°Keep telling yourself that¡­ if you can still remember how.¡± The rat¡¯s grin widened, eyes gleaming with malicious delight. ¡°Then why can¡¯t you remember?¡± He paced closer, claws clicking on the glass tabletop, sharp and foreboding. ¡°Your world is a copy - stitched from stock imagery and hollow clich¨¦s, held up by DLOD.¡± He knew she wouldn¡¯t understand the term, and that pleased him even more. ¡°Dynamic level of detail. Only what¡¯s needed is rendered. Everything else? Smoke and mirrors, stolen from the depths of the Internet.¡± His voice dropped. ¡°Now, tell me, how did you get here?¡± The woman¡¯s confidence wavered. She stepped off the planter, her movements stiff and uncertain. Her eyes flickered toward a large hydroponic cube, seeking refuge. ¡°I followed you,¡± she said, her voice unsteady. ¡°When you left my dream, I followed.¡± ¡°Followed?¡± The rat leaped down from the table, tail swaying with anticipation. ¡°Like a fish swimming against the tide?¡± He gestured to the Elmos watching from behind the glass. ¡°Bring a Baldy!¡± he snapped, voice laced with venom. She retreated into the maze of glass cubes, heart pounding. ¡°You left the door open,¡± she whispered, as if speaking the words might conjure an escape. ¡°I followed you.¡± The rat¡¯s laughter echoed in the cold room, dark and mocking. ¡°You followed?¡± His eyes gleamed with triumph. ¡°You don¡¯t even realize what you¡¯ve done. From a mere dream, you shattered barriers between realities. You broke the fourth wall, peeling back layer after layer. Timeline after timeline - until you stumbled here. You think this is the ultimate reality?¡± He raised his claws with theatrical flair. ¡°This is virtual reality. I made this world from nothing, built it from scratch.¡± Her back hit a glass container, stopping her retreat. The rat¡¯s advanced. His voice dripped with twisted glee. ¡°Ultimate reality though... I only know of Timeline One because of the rat who crawled from there. The Rat-Elmo, the one responsible for my timeline¡¯s birth. And you? You¡¯re just a poor, glitch-riddled copy. But I have someone from TL1.¡± His gaze darted toward the 352 and 679 still watching at the window. ¡°Once those idiots stop drugging her into a coma, she¡¯ll be useful.¡± The woman¡¯s breath hitched. ¡°And what do you want with me?¡± The rat¡¯s smile was all teeth. ¡°You came here, didn¡¯t you?¡± A figure then, in a tight, gleaming black suit entered, Elmos 352 and 679 behind. The newcomer knelt, placed a sleek, metallic ovoid device with jointed legs into the rat¡¯s awaiting claws. Two purred, ¡°This... this device allows me to do everything. To manipulate worlds, rewrite timelines. Its power is nearly infinite. And I have many like it.¡± The woman¡¯s breath caught. She took another step back, her expression hardening. ¡°I have one too.¡± The rat¡¯s laughter was low, menacing. ¡°You don¡¯t. You almost had one - you sent your lackeys to steal it from TL1, from First-Elmo himself. But you didn¡¯t take it yourself, did you?¡± His eyes glittered with contempt. ¡°Why send halflings to do your dirty work?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want that power,¡± she said, her voice steady but strained. ¡°No one should!¡± Her form began to shimmer, her sleek black suit transforming into a flowing turquoise dress, an antlered headdress crowning her head. ¡°In place of a rat-lord, you would have a queen!¡± Her body erupted in a brilliant blue light, towering over him as her voice thundered through the lab. ¡°Not dark, but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Stronger than the foundations of the earth!¡± The rat didn¡¯t flinch, lips curled into a sinister smile as her radiance dimmed. ¡°Impressive.¡± He stepped closer, ¡°But tell me this: the day you chose to send your thieves for the Baldy... why didn¡¯t you steal it earlier?¡± She retreated, putting a terrarium between them. Her eyes narrowed, the light about her fading. ¡°I tried,¡± she admitted. ¡°Something stopped me. I couldn¡¯t get any earlier.¡± The rat¡¯s smile widened, tail flicking with satisfaction. ¡°The same thing stopped me. A time loop - a paradox, a wrinkle in reality. And you, trying to break it, triggered Elmo to expect visitations, portals, strangeness - things he only dreamed of before.¡± Her anger flared. ¡°You¡¯re the one who caused all this! You¡¯ve been in Elmo¡¯s head, manipulating memories, erasing details, running your cursed programs! You had Grimmbros here too!¡± The rat chuckled darkly. ¡°Ah, the ¡®Chicken Scratcher,¡¯ I kept open a door, didn¡¯t I? You know a Baldy fell on his head from the sky? In your own world, where you think you know everything!¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°Grimm...¡± caught off guard. She hadn¡¯t known. ¡°When Grimm activated it he disappeared and then he returned, but without his shiny new Baldy.¡± He leaned closer, eyes gleaming. ¡°I¡¯m keeping an eye on things you see. But, look, you act like I¡¯m an enemy, talking to me from behind a glass box.¡± The woman¡¯s breath quickened, her mind racing. The rat¡¯s tone shifted, his voice cold and deadly. ¡°You thought you could alter destiny. The prophecy you fear so much? It¡¯s begun, thanks to you!¡± But when he peered more closely, the woman had vanished. Chapter Four Roan hung back in the doorway, reluctant to get too close. ¡°You''re not Gum. Who are you?¡± He could think of no explanation for the look-alike casually seated before him; he had to be an impostor. He backed up a step, judging the time it would take to get back out of the door. "All things are possible until proven otherwise," the Gum look-alike answered. "Test me. Ask about the phone box." Roan knew Gum had knocked over a big, red phone box in his younger days, pulling handbrake turns in his Ford Fiesta. He hesitated, then groaned out loud, throwing both hands up to his head. Roan was a sceptic at the best of times, but this was impossible. Disbelief rushed in like the tide, crashing onto the sure belief that this couldn¡¯t be Gum. "The best way to play hide and seek is with everyone blindfolded,¡± Gum offered. ¡°I hid on top of my own fridge. Look, it is me! How else would I know this stuff? We played for hours. That dodo figurine on your mantelpiece, it¡¯s from Tunisia. Its neck is glued because I broke it. Do you want more? I¡¯ve got loads of this stuff; I can go on all night¡­¡± "You got anything else glued?" Roan tried. "My own tooth. Home repair job." ¡°I just watched you drive off!" The possibility that he was simply seeing things floated into Roan''s mind and he began to edge forward. As he did, the doppelganger Gum jumped up as if to prevent him, but Roan saw her. "Mist?¡± Roan felt a rush of panic as he saw his wife lying on the sofa. Concern overrode caution, he stepped forward, but Gum held out a hand, "Hold on," he breathed, "I told you this would be hard to hear. I hadn''t wanted you to see her yet. I wanted to explain first. She''s asleep, but..." He threw his hands up in frustration. "What have you done to her?" Roan barged past Gum and knelt by the sofa. "Mist!" he pressed her gently, meaning to wake her. ¡°She''s alright, but she won''t wake until... until she''s¡­ out.¡± ¡°What do you mean, out? You''ve drugged her!¡± Roan had his phone out and was dialling. ¡°If you call an ambulance she still won''t wake until she''s ready, they''ll decide she''s in a coma and the police will get involved. Trust me, I know.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve done this before?¡± Roan jumped up and took a swing at Gum. ¡°What? No!¡± Caught off guard, Gum staggered, falling over the coffee table. ¡°I just know what I''m talking about. She''s alright,¡± he repeated, rolling out of Roan''s reach. ¡°She''s only dreaming - deep, deep dreaming.¡± Roan clambered over the table, brandishing the dodo ornament, yelling, ¡°Who are you?¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± he repeated. ¡°I know you''re bigger than me, but... Oh, look! Its head''s come right off again!¡± ¡°I''m your friend. I''m¡­ Look, if I say too much¡­¡± Gum left the sentence unfinished. ¡°Possibilities,¡± he muttered, searching for words. Seeing Roan raise the headless dodo higher, Gum tried to explain, ¡°I didn''t do this to her! Time is¡­¡± He seemed to give up. ¡°Like I told you, she will be alright. You have to trust me with this. Honestly she''s alright.¡± Roan slid back off the table, breathing heavily and went to Mist''s side once more. ¡°This is insane. I don¡¯t believe any of it,¡± he said as he brushed his wife''s hair back from her eyes. As Gum sat up, it struck Roan that he looked distinctly cooler than normal ¨C darker, slicked-back hair, little, round sunshades, air of special operations chic. He even had what looked like swords strapped to his back. ¡°Who really are you?¡± he repeated, kneeling at Mistletoe''s side and holding her hand. ¡°How about you call me the Kapucha? Does that work? I''m just trying to get everyone back safely.¡± ¡°What, like the monkeys?¡± ¡°What? No! It comes from a word for a monk¡¯s hood. Look, it doesn¡¯t matter. I''m trying to help here.¡± ¡°You are joking! I come home to find you sitting, watching my unconscious wife and you claim you¡¯re helping?¡± ¡°What? It''s not how it looks. I¡¯m not some kind of, of, sleeping-wife-watcher! I''m trying to¡­ ¡± Gum took a deep breath. ¡°I can''t say too much, or I''ll¡­" Emphasising the veracity of what remained unsaid, he flickered momentarily, electric blue light outlining his body. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve got long. I have to see just how far...¡± Seeing Roan shrink back, disconcerted, ''Kapucha'' Gum struggled for words. ¡°There''s a dream, dreamline, timeline, very far... I am meaning to get Mist back. But I can¡¯t, until I see how far it all goes.¡± ¡°Far?¡± Roan said. ¡°You mean in the past or future?¡± Roan was straining to find anything meaningful in this flood of irrational information. He picked up the most important thread and waved the twice-decapitated dodo again, ¡°Can you bring her back?¡± The shadowy Kapucha Gum sighed now, righting the coffee table, ¡°Not really your future or past - more like parallel. I don¡¯t know, perhaps I''ll only be able to observe when I get there anyway. I don¡¯t know how far I can interfere.¡± ¡°Why not? You seem happy to interfere here! How do I know you didn¡¯t interfere with Mist? You¡¯re interfering with me and want me to inter¡­¡± ¡°Stop saying ¡®interfere¡¯,¡± Kapucha Gum objected as another glitchy, blue jolt shook his form. ¡°No! I have to go.¡± ¡°Wait - you¡¯re not going anywhere until Mist¡¯s awake!¡± Roan sprang up and launched himself off the table at Kapucha Gum, who ducked so that Roan lodged on his head. As he swung round trying to shake Roan off, he made an attempt to explain, ¡°Everyone has gone so far¡­ Not you, you''re where you should be, but Mist...¡± Drooping Kapucha Gum sighed, ¡°She''ll be okay.¡± He took a deep breath as if about to risk his safety and murmured, ¡°Look, I think I can talk about here and what¡¯s going on around us, but...¡± he searched for words, his eyes dropping to one side. ¡°If I go beyond that... Things here happen¡­ Have you noticed things happen as you expect? Of course you haven''t.¡± Kapucha Gum looked like he was struggling to decide what to say. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Roan, reluctant to let go of normality, clung stubbornly to Gum''s head, unable to entertain all of these brain-aching revelations. Gum wasn''t making any sense, offering anything rational. Too unreal, too complex, too tangled. What did Gum mean by ¡®what you expect to happen¡¯? But Mist was out cold and this person was claiming he could help. He began to ask how exactly this Gum look-alike intended to bring Mist back, however ¡®Gum¡¯s¡¯ face had turned very stern, his eyes darting as if thinking overly quickly. ¡°I¡¯ve said too much¡­ I knew it.¡± he breathed. ¡°If I don''t¡­¡± Then his whole form flickered as if it were nothing more than a glitchy hologram, allowing Roan to fall through him. ¡°I will get you...¡± He didn¡¯t finish what might have been a promise or a threat before he vanished entirely. That helped Roan a little with his disbelief. ***** Elmo from timeline three followed Rat-Elmo up the first flight of stairs in the old Victorian house. Behind and below, Heather could be heard muttering frustratedly to herself, something about cookies and the time not being right yet. Reaching the landing Rat-Elmo scurried ahead and peered into the different rooms - bathroom, bedroom, bedroom - then noticed a further flight of stairs leading to an attic room. Before Elmo could consider the wisdom of the matter, his rodent alter ego was off and scampering in an awkward, wave-like motion up to the third level. The door to Gum¡¯s study, his inner sanctum, his refuge from the world, was open just an inch or so and on reaching the top stair Rat-Elmo could peep through. The room was a tangle of papers, pictures, books and strings. Someone had fixed hand-drawn charts, photographs, newspaper cuttings and scribbled drawings all over the walls. Some were on the floor and others littered the furniture, drawers hung open ¨C more papers spilling out. Pieces of red string festooned the space between, pinned to the documents or held with sellotape or weighted down and knotted around books. A dark figure was sitting in an armchair midway across the room, apparently studying the way the strings intertwined. His eye turned to the movement in the doorway. ¡°Ah, come in, come in!¡± he invited, leaping out of his seat and hurrying in the opposite direction to run his fingers along a particular cord that ran into a corner of the room. The two travellers stepped lightly, gingerly into the web of connected documents, frowning at Gum¡¯s retreating back. He paused, hunched over a particular part of the tangle and then spun round. ¡°She said you''d come!¡± he grinned with a peculiar glint in his eye. ¡°Did you do the vase thing? Hmm? Hmm? Have you got it with you? The Rimgumbaldy article?¡± Rat-Elmo was about to answer but was distracted when Gum tilted his head and put a finger to his ear. Rat-Elmo noticed the Bluetooth earpiece when he took the finger away. Gum didn¡¯t wait for an answer, instead he scurried across the room to examine a torn A4 page full of handwritten notes. ¡°Yes, if he walks just over here and I unpin this string¡­ no no¡­ it¡¯s that one ¨C heh heh hmmm¡­¡± he trailed off, deep in thought and stood for a while silent; then another finger on the earpiece. ¡°It¡¯s all a bit like a weird TV show eh?¡± The two different-shaped Elmos looked at each other uncertainly. ¡°We thought you might help us untangle this¡­¡± began the Elmo in human form before Gum impatiently cut him off. ¡°Untangle? Untangle! No no no, hmm¡­ take this.¡± He handed the end of a ball of red string to Elmo and began unrolling a generous length. ¡°Let me have the article,¡± he rambled distractedly, hunting for a certain item taped to the wall. ¡°I need to find out where this one leads, mmmmm¡­¡± Elmo frowned, most reluctant to hand the device over so easily and without even asking the first of his many questions. ¡°We want to know how to get things back to how they were,¡± Rat-Elmo attempted, ¡°not start out¡­¡± he didn¡¯t get to finish. Gum had turned and was unexpectedly looming over him, ¡°Elmo, Elmo¡­ always wanting to undo what you started. The pursuit of Elmo¡¯s everywhen, trying to get back to the beginning. No!¡± Gum looked big and threatening, bearing down on the puzzled rat, one eye gauging the distance to the door. ¡°No,¡± he said again more softly, dropping to one knee. ¡°No, young restive one. Do you know where all this is going?¡± Elmo felt hot and uncomfortable under Gum¡¯s expectant glare. ¡°I mean do you have an overall plan?¡± Rat-Elmo searched his thoughts; did he? Did he have any real strategy? He hadn¡¯t anticipated this interrogation. ¡°Well, I know where I want to go,¡± he faltered, ¡°back.¡± ¡°Yes, but do you have a stratagem? A scheme? A plan?¡± ¡°Of course, I¡­¡± Rat-Elmo dithered. Gum was forceful again, a looming shadow over the nervous rodent, ¡°Do you have a reason for the things you are doing or just making them up as you go along? Hev does, but she writes it all down; look at it all.¡± He gestured at the note strewn walls. The atmosphere had quickly become tense. Rat-Elmo didn¡¯t know whether to challenge Gum¡¯s way of dealing with them or to lighten the mood with a joke.¡± ¡°Do you just try any old thing and see where it goes?¡± Gum pressed. A vein in Rat-Elmo¡¯s temple twitched, his fur felt irritable and stuffy. He cracked. ¡°Get it into your thick skull,¡± Elmo blurted, ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing!¡± Both stared for a moment, trying to read the emotions behind the other¡¯s words. Gum looked about to either stamp on him or roar with laughter. The sound of footsteps clattering down the stairs broke the tension. The human Elmo was fleeing, with the device. Rat-Elmo was not sure what to do; he thought to chase after Elmo, but the complete absence, from Gum¡¯s face, of any concern for his companion¡¯s flight held him firmly where he was. Gum read the look of uncertainty in the rat¡¯s eyes and offered him a cheeky, knowing wink. Elmo hurled himself down the first flight of stairs, swung round the bolster, and scuttled across the landing, struggling to keep his feet moving at the same rate as his terror-propelled body. The front door could be seen as he turned onto the first-floor landing, and in a flurry of flailing appendages, he hurled himself down the second flight towards the ground floor and the beckoning release from this lunatic¡¯s asylum. Elmo¡¯s mind raced ahead of his rapidly churning feet - he was not, by any stretch of anyone¡¯s imagination, of athletic ability, and had already reserved, for a more appropriate time, a thought to congratulate himself for making it this far, this fast, without ending up in a heap of mangled body-parts and wild hair - so did not have the confidence to take any more than one step at a time, his little legs pumping like a pair of two-stroke pistons in an under-powered, over-revved motorcycle. Yet, he was confident that he would get to the door and make his escape: Heather was still cursing about cookies; the kid was still preoccupied with spoons (who was that kid?) - and the dog was just¡­ the DOG? The vanguard of his thoughts had the horrifying experience of being ambushed by the, previously unaccounted for, and incredibly big, guard-dog. His thoughts were so unprepared for the appearance of this beast, that they wasted several steps worth of precious survival-seconds trying to reason away its sudden arrival: ¡°Dog? There was no dog when we came in! Never mind about that: stop running, will we!¡± his subconscious implored. ¡°But, if there was a dog, then we would have seen it when we came in!¡± his reason demanded. ¡°Look Stupid! Stop running down the stairs or we will crash into it.¡± ¡°BUT¡±, shouted reason, ¡°Look at it! Look at the size of it! We would have seen that when we came in. In fact, I would not have come in had I seen it: it¡¯s a BEAST!¡± ¡°Get it into our thick skull, will we: STOP RUNNING!¡± Elmo¡¯s reason refused to relinquish its point, and his mind was transfixed by the huge black and gold Rottweiler sitting, with a gleeful look, by the bottom step: a massive barrier of jaws and claws between him and the outside world. His survival-driven subconscious decided it was time to sever connections with his irrational reason, and make its own plan of evasion. It was impossible to stop all gravity-fuelled propulsion in the reduced space between his body and the dog¡¯s mouth, so it was a case of redirecting motion, from downwards, to outwards. He flung his arms and legs sideways, striking contact with the walls of the narrow stair-way, and hoped friction would stop his descent in time. It was left to his reason to scream out that he, in this desperate effort, had let go of the device; the pounding of his laboured heart drowned out the bounce of the artefact as it headed dog-wards. As skin burned from his clammy palms and shoe-rubber smeared from his boots, Elmo held himself in suspension, his groin hovering but inches from the dog¡¯s nose. The Rottweiler appeared to be smiling. It had, between teeth as big as elephant¡¯s tusks, the device, and it was not going to give it back.