Flipswitch Chronicles New Page

GALVATIONS.WORDPRESS

Flipswitch Chronicles: Chapter 6, -in progress-

“Quietly, boy. And watch your step. Don't trip on the cords.” The Physicist told the Engineer.

“I know what I'm doing.” the boy known as Engineer, or Eng for short, said.

Crack.

“Sorry,” whispered the Physicist as he carefully released the electrical cords from under his feet. “Tight spot in here isn't it.”

“You should've let me lead. I'm smaller.”

“That's no excuse. I'll get through fine. Just make sure the equipment are safe.” He ducked his head here and there, crammed himself through nook and crannies, and finally a gap out into a cave. The cave hadn't always been a cave, and what they just went through was what used to be an office in a factory. The building had caved in after a storm appeared, and left a mark in rubble. Now what was left of the rubble was untouched save for sensors randomly placed in case of trespassers, like the two that had just found their way in. They climbed up the broken walls worth three floors before they reached the nursery, which was least affected by the so-called storm. Its four walls were still standing and the large window across one wall was only cracked at best. They were looking out at the rest of the building, now reduced to a few hundred feet of rubble. It was obvious from where they were looking, that something had nested itself into the space between the broken concrete.

“Stare into this mass of beauty.”

The Engineer snickered at the Physicist's choice of words, but adored the strange lights and colours in the spaces all the same. “This is it then, a rift?”

“Yes... This is it.” The Physicist fell silent.

The Engineer kept his eyes on the rift for a few more minutes until his eyes started watering and his patience severed. He tore his eyes away from the rubble and looked at the Physicist. “What the hell is it?”

Flipswitch Chronicles: Chapter 5, Draft 2

It was a stiff, long ride to the east coast. Brakes, the Biologist's horse expressed his exhaustion by grounding his hooves about a mile away from destination, refusing to budge any further. “Tempremental! Honestly! You're a horse, move it!” the Biologist shouted at Brakes in futile effort. She huffed, drove herself deeper into her seat, and with her right hand, grabbed a lever by the side of her seat. She pushed it down one notch till it clicked, which was followed by a deep rumble below her feet. The wheels of the cart started moving, pushing Brakes forward. The horse neighed, but followed the motion as if in obedience.

When she reached the mark on the map, she found Phil standing still, arms folded with a look of exasperation on his face. Bi laughed as she dismounted the carriage, carefully picking up her skirts in the right places. “I'm aware of my untimely arrival Phil, are you just going to stand there with that – what do you call that look-?”

Phil remained on spot, face unchanged. Now Bi wasn't quite sure Phil was as annoyed as he should be, and that was worrying. “I'm speaking to you, what's gotten in to you? I'm not apologizing, if that's what you're waiting for.”

“It's not that you're late Bi, I've well expected that.”

“Then what is it? Is it that time of month?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Look at it, woman. This isn't what we're looking for.”

Bi was shocked, she was too absorbed in what Phil's face was called to notice what it is that didn't capture her attention in the first place. The rift they had come for was not in sight. “Are we at the wrong place?” she reasoned.

“No. Take a closer look from above that hill.” Phil pointed to his left, at a small mound of sand and grass.

Bi shuffled up and before long, she could look down and gasp. “Why in Galvations' armies are we at a common wormhole?” She questioned Phil, appalled at this notion. It was shortly followed by a realization of, “Oh that bleeding Traveller!! He switched the symbols? When did he do that?”

“I think he had several maps ready.”

WHACK. Out of nowhere, Bi's fist met Phil's cheek. In a split second she had managed to swoop down the mound to meet Phil. She shook her fist in pain from the blow – there wasn't much to go between Phil's skin and bones. It had hurt them both. “Why did I do that?”

“You're asking me that?! OW—” Phil held his cheek in his hand, rubbing it though it probably made the pain worst. “You stood too close, obviously. I had to hit myself when I was alone just now. Ow..”

“Right. Particles. What are they called? Nadgen?” Bi speculated while still nursing her knuckles.

“Nagdens' particles. Damned a handful here because of the wormhole. You got filter masks?” Phil asked calmly. Bi was going to hide the fact that she thought Phil handled being punched in the face very well. She'd expected a blow-back.

“Yeah, in the gray trunk.”

Phil came back from Bi's carriage carrying two heavy-duty gas masks and handed one to Bi. They fastened it below their eyes and then both made their way up again to look. It was a large swirling vortex in the ground, made of the colour of sand, grass and sky. Wormholes were a naturally causing phenomenon in their land, dating back to forever. They could only try to wonder when the first one was spotted, but would come back with that answer, 'since forever'. It was slightly unsettling every time Phil thought about it. It was one of those feelings that came with a sense of emptiness in the back of his mind. Unsettling, but those feelings were always overcome by thoughts that actually filled his mind. For example, what were they to do now that they were facing it, instead of a rift? Study it? Surely they'd have tonnes of book about them. “You think we should collect samples?”

Bi gave Phil a ridiculed glare that didn't show behind the mask, but chose not to argue. “I suppose you think we'd find something new that hundreds others missed.”

“We're here, aren't we?”

Bi sighed. She swept aside a bustle in her skirt to reveal a pouch of glass bottles. She lifted one in the air and uncorked the bottle. A soft gold glow appeared in the bottle, showing Nagdens' particles at high concentration. She corked it and placed it back into her pouch and used another bottle for more particles. With the other bottles, she collected samples from the surrounding; air, dirt, possible life forms, then labeled the bottles with its identity and source position relative to the wormhole. “It doesn't sit with me right, collecting samples. This is Travs doing.”

“You don't have to say it out, you know. Makes it worst.”

When she was done with the ground, she stood up, not three feet away from the whipping of the vortex wings. “Might as well categorize this one then.” She rolled up her left sleeve to reveal a device strapped onto her arm, one which shot a retractable sample collector into the vortex. After a count to five, she pulled back on the device and it came whirring back into her arm. She plucked out a glass sphere which contained the sample and studied it. “Vacuum. Lightyears away I bet. No use jumping into this one except for a sure-way suicide. Let's get out of here now and find ourselves a damn rift.”

Flipswitch Chronicles: Chapter 4, Draft 2

Human nature as an independent form, Teleology decrypted, Philosophy of Nature, Between Plato and Socrates, Darwin’s theory of Nevolution, Patrcrohillluses…

“ Phil! I get the feeling you’ve got some non-academical books mixed in these piles,” the Biologist shouted over her shoulder as she read off the titles on the massive stacks of books in the Philosopher’s library. “Why couldn’t you at least shelve these?”

“It’s my library, Bi, I’ll put my books however I want. And none of them are non-academical! You’d be surprise to learn insightful theories and studies where you don’t want to look.” The Philosopher said as he weaved through the pillars of books. He was carrying some folders which had loose parchment sticking out at the corners, and placed them on a table at the center of the room. “It’s going to take eons to sift through the information you’ll need in those books. I’ve reports and journals here that will be a good start. Your end of the bargain, now?”

“Oh all right. Here,” said the Biologist. She clicked open her purse and took out a small black case. Pushing down a small lever by the side, six glass tubes rose, apparently containing the products of some of her experiments. “It’s a lot easier to manipulate biological entities.”

“Good. I’ve word from the Traveller that we can use the one off the east coast,” the Philosopher said as he took the case from her, studying the contents of the tubes in the light.

“Which translates as ‘I stole a map.’ Right? Honestly I don’t understand why we have to bother lying to each other.”

“I don’t know why either. I just have a strong urge, like it’s the right thing to do. Don’t you feel that way?”

“No. I’m so pure I don’t need to wear gloves when doing my procedures.”

“You make it up by being extremely annoying. We’ll set off tomorrow to retrieve preliminary data, and then return for the necessary tools.”

The Biologist rolled her eyes and went back reading off the last of the book titles just for the sake of completion. She pocketed a book she was not supposed to, and then walked over to the table to go through the journals in the folder. Scanning the pages, she effortlessly picked up information she needed from various pages, pieced it together and wrote relentlessly in her heavy leather-bound notebook. As she did that, she would mark the references she felt needed for extra reading. It continued for hours, after the Philosopher had left the room to attend to his own side of business. Once she slammed her notebook shut, she went over to the pillars of stacked books and retrieved some books that she had picked out from the references, without much care that the pillars were being demolished one by one. It was already dark out when she finished packing the books, so she left the study lights on and left the Philosopher’s mansion, heading for an all-nighter at a bar she recently discovered.


The next day, the Biologist was woken up by the whirring clinking sounds that the Bartender’s equipments made every morning, followed by some prodding on her cheeks by a long thin object, held by the Bartender himself.

“Bi…. Bi!!” The Bartender called out to the groggy Biologist. “Your skirts are in the way. Move over, I need to sweep up.”

The Biologist lifted her head from the table and rubbed her eyes. When she got it to open, she noticed the mess strewn across the small table in front of her; books and parchments of her handwriting. Noticing the Bartender’s intensive glare, she picked up her bustle skirt and lifted her legs off the floor. When the Bartender had finished, she stomped her feet back to the ground and started looking through her work. “What in Galvations is this supposed to be?” she questioned as she tried to read off the last lines she wrote. “I must have fallen asleep before writing this. I can’t even read it.”

“You’re working on some interesting things there. Mind sharing?” the Bartender said with his back to the Biologist as he pulled some strings that fell from the ceiling.

“Yes I do, top secret, Bart. It can only get people in trouble should talks start.”

“You make me out to be a mouth-off! You know me better.”

“Yes I do, but still, it’s not worth the potential chaos.”

The Bartender smiled. It unnerved the Biologist, but she allowed him further questions.

“I saw something on your notes. 'The Traveller'?”

“What about him?”

“He's a person then?”

“Yes, he's claiming to be a messiah, the way he came to us. At first he kept telling us how he came from an experienced family, some guild, like it meant anything to us.”

“Really now, a guild, you say?” The Bartender seemed sincerely interested. Bi nodded in response. She noted how far the Bartender would act to care for something, and it amused her.

“Here, have some special brew,” the Bartender offered a glass of dark liquid that ran from his mixing equipment strapped on his right arm.

“Thank you,” said the Biologist. She scooped up the books and parchments into her bag, pushed her hive of hair on her head back into a reasonable pile and walked over to the long table up front. She unceremoniously gulped down the glass of brew and breathed out a loud sigh. “That did it.”

The Bartender studied the wreck before him and said to her, “Don’t you have somewhere to be? It’s already hours past dawn.”

“Oh. Yes. Why Phil won’t be pleased at all to be kept waiting; It’s going to be a wonderful day.” The Biologist chucked. “Thanks again, Barkeep. I do like what you did to this place. The ambiance is just so breathable,” she commented for the umpteenth time as she picked up her bag and walked over to the door.

“For ease of explanation, I credit it to magic.” The Bartender said before bidding her farewell.

“See you, I hope.” Though I doubt, she added in her thoughts. She felt sad for a moment, until she crossed the threshold. It was back to work now on their brilliant mission.

Flipswitch Chronicles: Chapter 3, Draft 2

"I don't understand why I get to be pushed around," the Engineer said, panting in the Traveller's wake.

"The answer lies in the question itself," the Traveller answered.

The Engineer stopped in his tracks, coming to the realization.

"Come, my dear, we are near our first stop." The Traveler said as he trudged the loose sands, kicking off pebbles from his path.

Quarter of a mile up was a faultline that cut the land like a horizon. The Traveller smiled. It wasn't visible from where they were standing, but it will be more apparent when they are close. The Traveller quickened his pace, excited to approach the faultline which held host to the key to their survival.

They could almost see the ripples of distorted light, much like a hot-road mirage, but different. This was something that they could feel. Something under their skin was dancing to the gravity pull it exuded. Goosebumps intact, the Traveller made his last few steps before looking up to the large rip in the air, right above the crack in the ground. He immediately realized that it had grown from the time he found it two months ago. It was almost twice larger, now spanning a train cart length. 50 feet of dancing light which did not correspond to any spectrum they were familiar with. It stretched diagonally and he could almost touch it but dared not. The Traveller was proud of himself because he felt like he owned this thing, like he felt he owned all the others marked on his map. He turned to the Engineer, expecting to see a very awed young boy who would praise his discovery. However it was not the Engineer his eyes laid upon. It was the Chemist.

“I’m starting to really pity you.” The Chemist said, somehow sounding like he really meant it. “The boy left quite a while back. I met him going the other direction at Kluesy Town.” He walked past the dumbstruck Traveller and observed the rip in space, hanging in the air. “This is quite remarkable. I’ve only ever seen impressionist drawings of the one that appeared in our hometown. They were quick to isolate it.”

“Ch-Ch-Chemist! You followed me!” the Traveller exclaimed, sounding like he didn’t mean the shock.

“Well somebody was following you. You didn’t seem to mind it at all.”

“I thought you were the boy. So, what do you reckon? Possible, am I right?”

“Hmm… Yes… But it will be difficult.”
“Well, since you’re here, you can start collecting data.”

“That was too quick.”

“What was?”

“Your recovery.”

“Sure.”

“Here I thought I could dupe you. You meant me to follow all along.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

The Chemist sighed and put his bags down.

“I didn't want the boy to leave, though,” the Traveller said to himself.

Flipswitch Chronicles: Chapter 2, Draft 2

Brass pipes, steel doors.

The metallic clinking of wonder-works around the whole building.

They were all familiar to the Mercenary. However, just down the tunnel was an area he never ventured. For a reason, but that reason was overwritten by his new-found desire. He wouldn't take the "don't win, but never lose" attitude the lower-rank citizens had made a motto of. He was the Mercenary, and he always had to win. A very effective way to stay on top of this matter, or any matter, he believed, is to have power. And quite honestly, power was the only way he could think of for this situation. He didn't have much knowledge like the other professor-class members. But as long as he held power in his hands, he would never be outrun.

The tunnel seemed to stretch far, and the pipings on the wall seemed to increase. The way was getting narrow; he had to be near by now, he reasoned. More mechanical sounds added to the constant chattering background, each wave echoing against surfaces, spiralling along the tunnel. He wasn't claustrophobic, but the myrad of sounds that enveloped him was telling him tales of fear. Only tales, because the Mercenary was too strong for that. It was very warm and humid as the coolers were challenged the deeper the tunnel went. Beads of sweat rolled off his brow, gathering at the device round the side of his face. The heat of the metal warmed his cheek in discomfort, but the device was doing its job, measuring the mysterious resonance that filled the air. It told him he was there, and finally, he came to the end of his walk.

The tunnel ended in a very large mass of space (because you couldn't call it a room) where the floor was a very very long way down, and so was the ceiling; being very very way up. Suspended in the middle of the room was a large round metal container with indentations that made it look like a miniature moon. Inside this container, held the thing he sought. He knew what it was, but not what it looked like. The Revolution Bureaucracy had been developing a new energy source that would one day take over their steam-engines. Rumours of "the Battery" had circulated within his ranks, but he was sure he was the only one in the merry band of misfits who held this rumoured information. Information that could now be proven true.

The space he was staring at would be the future research facility that would look into these "alternate energy sources". How bold of them, to place their inspiration like a trophy, no doubt to induce encouragement into the lifeless ranks of workers. Ideas the RB had were too futuristic and unbecoming for their world. The Mercenary never understood them, and always felt like they were from some place far. All that didn't matter though, because their world is ending.

He took out his crossbow and fired a precise shot to the pipings that held the container. A small anchor hooked around the pipe securely as he tugged the cord that attached the anchor to his crossbow. Without hesitation, he swung over to the container, forced it open and grabbed the object inside.

Flipswitch Chronicles: Chapter 1, Draft 2

"Ladies and Gentlemen, if I may address you, we've gathered here today because of one thing. We are all aware of something, and we're not going to wait for the rest of the world to catch on. It will be too late for anyone by then. Before anything, can the intruder please be removed?"

The Traveller spoke to half a dozen other people in the room, one of whom mysteriously disappeared. This was not their first encounter, yet the strangers still kept their distance from each other, ready to jump anyone with a glint of distrust reflected in their eyes. This proved quite an unproductive feat since it made everyone extremely twitchy. Perhaps it was for the reason that they knew each other well, that they acted so.

“Shall we get to it, then?”

A cane rose from the crowd, which caught it Traveller's attention. “You don't have to put up your hand to say something-”

The cane suddenly clicked, stopping the Traveler mid-tone, and hand that held it was flipping one of the switches along its length. The hand belonged to a man donned in a mustard suit, and he was the Philosopher. After a few whirring noises from the cane, he lowered it for study. “These conditions are most uncondusive for any sort of formal discussion. Why are we not using the forums?”

“Yes, I'd expect so, the walls are reinforced.”

Surely everyone had realised that there was a strange tension in the room they could not place themselves with.

"Really, what's gotten into us? Everybody is suddenly getting under my skin. We know we can't do anything if we don't work together," The Pysicist said as he dusted his waistcoat and closed the space between him and the Philosopher, placing his hand on the Philosopher's shoulder. "I call for a truce."

Chaos of disagreement erupted, and the Physicist fell back on his step. "Temporarily, at least!"

"ORDER! ORDER!" shouted the Traveller. “Butler, activate the filters.”

"Now really, who died and made you our leader? Did you just decide to take the stage on a whim?" The Mercenary's voice bellowed across the room. His arm was outstretched, holding a peculiar gun to the Traveller's general direction. There was only the highest probability that a shot from it will fatally find its way to its intended target, but the Traveller knew better than to quiver or fear.

"Nobody had to die, and even if anyone did, I'd be fooling myself thinking you bunch would ever hope to serve a leader. I am only calling for order," the Traveller sneered. He cleared his throat, hoping to clear his mind enough to recall his prepared statements. A heavy mechanical sound started rumbling beneath their feet, like chains and gears in motion.

"I'm not naming myself the leader, but someone ought to get the ball rolling,” his voice started again into the murmuring crowd, looking at everyone until attention was seized. “Now if I may address the obvious to everyone in this room,” the Traveller said, then paused to look around. “We are a broken civilisation. We know that. We cannot help it. But let's be objective. And selfish as we are. Let's use each other to get what we want. Let us acknowledge that we will be left for dead should we not pick ourselves up, and not do anything unecessary that will just delay our own selfish plans. If we stick to who we are, I believe everyone can get through this by themselves."

The Biologist rolled her eyes, and spoke in a condescending tone. "This, coming from the one who three seconds ago, declared himself not leader. Skip the motivational speech, Trav."

“I was only testing. The filters seem to be working, otherwise I'd be dead by now.” The Traveller cleared his throat again. He reminded himself where he was, and set his tone back to proper. "Now if everyone could give this obviously important-looking huge piece of parchment the attention it deserves," -he pointed to said large parchment hanging from the ceiling- "you could actually allow some form of comprehension to sink in.”

"Galvani, is that really...? But how did you...?" the Physicist baffled, while considering the placement of markings spread across the parchment.

"I travel, and I do not travel blindly," the Traveller said.

"This opens windows, brings down walls, unearth mountains- I could write a song. Yes, this will most definitely break my research!" The Physicist cried in excitement. The others tried to ignore him, while themselves scrutinizing the landscape map of their world.

"These points...” The Chemist noted, pointing at the marked locations that was the whole point of the map, “they ring a bell. If we do a full analytical study..." the Chemist said, more to himself, but the others could hear.

"Now hang on just a moment! By what I understand from our previous discussions, and the Traveller's cryptic statement... I thought you were just being morose! I cannot condone this! The infinite risks we will be exposed to alone will crush our very being!" the Philosopher remarked. Apparently he had said something the Traveller wasn't quite comprehensive of. None of the other occupants of the room quite understood, in fact. But even through well-rehearsed pokerfaces, the Philosopher knew dumb-found anytime by the mere silence. "Look, our being- our individual, exists because there is a barrier that forms our psyche, that keeps us in shape, and keeps the life in us from spilling over to anything we touch. If we attempt what it is we understand, and drag with it those we do not understand, we won't be able to control any of it! We certainly cannot replicate nature as nature does!"

"You and your soul theories! I beg to differ," the Biologist said. "I have on numerous occasions successfully replicated even the most complicated subjects. I do believe that replication, at least is well within our technologies."

"But it is not replication we seek, is it?" The Mercenary said in his usual growl, as he gathered the pieces in his mind.

"No.... but certainly, if we find the right resources, we can achieve this."

“I understand your concerns Phil, but we're not doing this blind, that is the whole point to this assembly.”

“What, us? Working together? Are you mad?” Half of us are out for the other half's blood.”

“No, of course not... I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. We'll be doing this individually.”

"Am I the only one to admit I have no idea what is going on?" The Engineer said pitily.

Without shifting her gaze to the Engineer, the Biologist said, "Good, at least we all know who's last in the race."

"Since when are we racing!"

"Indeed I don't see how this is going to be a race when everyone will eventually share what they know! Why can't we just team up on the go?" The Philosopher said in a wondering tone.

"You think we'll fall for your pseudo-rational voice? Don't make yourself out to be greater than what you really are, you stinking lowlife!" said the Mercenary.

“Homophobe,” spat the Philosopher.

"We all know by now how risky this occupation will be. Nobody wants to be the most vulnerable, that's why the most efficient way to get the job done is for everyone to think three steps ahead in every direction, and we lot don't do good in comfort" said the Traveller. "I believe we have order within ourselves, that's the only way possible, and that is enough."

"You can truly feel the rusting mechanics of this world in this room alone. We don't have much time," said the Chemist.

The Flipswitch Chronicles. Part 4

Human nature as an independent form, Teleology decrypted, Philosophy of Nature, Between Plato and Socrates, Darwin’s theory of Nevolution, Patrcrohillluses…

“ Phil! I get the feeling you’ve got some non-acedemical books mixed in these piles,” the Biologist shouted over her shoulder as she read off the titles on the massive stacks of books in the Philosopher’s library. “Why couldn’t you at least shelve these?”

“It’s my library, Bi, I’ll put my books however I want. And none of them are non-acedemical! You’d be surprise to learn insightful theories and studies where you don’t want to look.” The Philosopher said as he weaved through the pillars of books. He was carrying some folders which had loose parchment sticking out at the corners, and placed them on a table at the center of the room. “It’s going to take eons to sift through the information you’ll need in those books. I’ve reports and journals here that will be a good start. Your end of the bargain, now?”

“Oh all right. Here,” said the Biologist. She clicked open her purse and took out a small black case. Pushing down a small lever by the side, six glass tubes rose, apparently containing the products of some of her experiments. “It’s a lot easier to manipulate biological entities.”

“Good. I’ve word from the Traveller that we can use the one off the east coast,” the Philosopher said as he took the case from her, studying the contents of the tubes in the light.

“Which translates as ‘I stole a map.’ Right? Honestly I don’t understand why we have to bother lying to each other.”

“I don’t know why either. I just have a strong urge, like it’s the right thing to do. Don’t you feel that way?”

“No. I’m so pure I don’t need to wear gloves when doing my procedures.”

“You make it up by being extremely annoying. We’ll set off tomorrow to retrieve preliminary data, and then return for the necessary tools.”

The Biologist rolled her eyes and went back reading off the last of the book titles just for the sake of completion. She pocketed a book she was not supposed to, and then walked over to the table to go through the journals in the folder. Scanning the pages, she effortlessly picked up information she needed from various pages, pieced it together and wrote relentlessly in her heavy leather-bound notebook. As she did that, she would mark the references she felt needed for extra reading. It continued for hours, after the Philosopher had left the room to attend to his own side of business. Once she slammed her notebook shut, she went over to the pillars of stacked books and retrieved some books that she had picked out from the references, without much care that the pillars were being demolished one by one. It was already dark out when she finished packing the books, so she left the study lights on and left the Philosopher’s mansion, heading for an all-nighter at a bar she frequents.

The next day, the Biologist was woken up by the whirring clinking sounds that the Bartender’s equipments made every morning, followed by some prodding on her cheeks by a long thin object, held by the Bartender himself.

“Bi…. Bi!!” The Bartender called out to the groggy Biologist. “Your skirts are in the way. Move over, I need to sweep up.”

The Biologist lifted her head from the table and rubbed her eyes. When she got it to open, she noticed the mess strewn across the small table in front of her; books and parchments of her handwriting. Noticing the Bartender’s intensive glare, she picked up her bustle skirt and lifted her legs off the floor. When the Bartender had finished, she stomped her feet back to the ground and started looking through her work. “What in Galvations is this supposed to be?” she questioned as she tried to read off the last lines she wrote. “I must have fallen asleep before writing this. I can’t even read it.”

“You’re working on some interesting things there. Mind sharing?” the Bartender said with his back to the Biologist as he pulled some strings that fell from the ceiling.

“Top secret, Bart. It can only get people in trouble should talks start.”

“You make me out to be a mouth off! You know me better.”

“Yes I do, but still, it’s not worth the potential chaos.”

“Here, have some special brew,” the Bartender offered a glass of dark liquid that ran from his mixing equipment strapped on his right arm.

“Thank you,” said the Biologist. She scooped up the books and parchments into her bag, pushed her hive of hair on her head back into a reasonable pile and walked over to the long table up front. She unceremoniously gulped down the glass of brew and breathed out a loud sigh. “That did it.”

The Bartender studied the wreck before him and said to her, “Don’t you have somewhere to be? It’s already hours past dawn.”

“Oh. Yes. Why Phil won’t be pleased at all to be kept waiting; It’s going to be a fruitful day.” The Biologist chucked. “Thanks again, Bart. I do like what you did to this place. The ambiance is just so breathable,” she commented for the umpteenth time as she picked up her bag and walked over to the door.

“Decades of work it is. See you again!” The Bartender bade her farewell.

“See you, I hope.” Though I doubt, she added in her thoughts. She felt sad for a moment, until she crossed the threshold. It was back to work now on their brilliant mission.

The Flipswitch Chronicles. Part 3

"I don't understand why I get to be pushed around," the Engineer said, panting in the Traveller's wake.

"The answer lies in the question itself," the Traveller answered.

The Engineer stopped in his tracks, coming to the realization.

"Come, my dear, we are near out first stop." The Traveler said as he trudged the loose sands, kicking off pebbles from his path.

Quarter of a mile up was a faultline that cut the land like a horizon. The Traveller smiled. It wasn't visible from where they were standing, but it will be more apparent when they are close. The Traveller quickened his pace, excited to approach the faultline which held host the key to their survival.

They could almost see the ripples of distorted light, much like a hot-road mirage, but different. This was something that they could feel. Something under their skin was dancing to the gravity pull it exuded. Goosebumps intact, the Traveller made his last few steps before looking up to the large rip in the air, right above the crack in the ground. He immediately realized that it had grown from the time he found it two months ago. It was almost twice larger, now spanning a train cart length. 50 feet of dancing light which did not correspond to any spectrum they were familiar with. It stretched diagonally and he could almost touch it but dared not. The Traveller was proud of himself because he felt like he owned this thing, like he felt he owned all the others marked on his map. He turned to the Engineer, expecting to see a very awed young boy who would praise his discovery. However it was not the Engineer his eyes laid upon. It was the Chemist.

“I’m starting to really pity you.” The Chemist said, somehow sounding like he really meant it. “The boy left quite a while back. I met him going the other direction at Kluesy Town.” He walked past the dumbstruck Traveller and observed the rip in space, hanging in the air. “This is quite remarkable. I’ve only ever seen drawings of the one that appeared in our hometown. They were quick to isolate it.”

“Ch-Ch-Chemist! You followed me!” the Traveller exclaimed, sounding like he didn’t mean the shock.

“Well somebody was following you. You didn’t seem to mind it at all.”

“I thought you were the boy. So, what do you reckon? Possible, am I right?"

"Hmm... Yes... But it will be difficult."

"Well, since you’re here, you can start collecting data.”

“Here I thought I could dupe you. You meant me to follow all along.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

The Chemist sighed and put his bags down.

The Flipswitch Chronicles. Part 2

Brass pipes, steel doors.

The metallic clinking of wonder-works around the whole building.

They were all familiar to the Mercenary. However, just down the tunnel was an area he never ventured. For a reason, but that reason was overwritten by his desire to win. He wouldn't take the "don't win, but never lose" attitude the lower-rank citizens had made a motto of. He was the Mercenary, and he had to win, to stay on top. A very effective way to stay on top, he believed, is to have power. And quite honestly, power was the only way he could think of for this situation. He didn't have much knowledge like the other professor-ranked members. But as long as he held power in his hands, they would never top him.

The tunnel seemed to stretch far, and the pipings on the wall seemed to increase. The way was getting narrow; he had to be near by now, he reasoned. More mechanical sounds added to the constant chattering background, each wave echoing against surfaces, spiralling along the tunnel. He wasn't claustrophobic, but the myrad of sounds that enveloped him was telling him tales of fear. Only tales, because the Mercenary was too strong for that. It was very warm and humid as the coolers were challenged the deeper the tunnel went. Finally he came to the end of his walk.

The tunnel ended in a very large mass of space (because you couldn't call it a room) where the floor was a very very long way down, and so was the ceiling; being very very way up. Suspended in the middle of the room was a large round metal container with indentations that made it look like a miniature moon. Inside this container, held the thing he sought. He knew what it was, but not what it looked like. The Revolution Bureaucracy (RB) had been developing a new energy source that would one day take over their steam-engines. Rumours of "the Battery" had circulated within his ranks, but he was sure he was the only Doomsday member who held this rumoured information. Information that he could now prove true.

The space he was staring at would be the future research facility that would look into these "alternate energy sources". How bold of them, to place their inspiration like a trophy, no doubt to induce encouragement into the lifeless ranks of workers. Ideas the RB had were too futuristic and unbecoming for their world. The Mercenary never understood them, and always felt like they were from some place far. All that didn't matter though, because their world is ending.

He took out his crossbow and fired a precise shot to the pipings that held the container. A small anchor hooked around the pipe securely as he tugged the cord that attached the anchor to his crossbow. Without hesitation, he swung over to the container, forced it open and grabbed the object inside.

The Flipswitch Chronicles. Part 1

"We've all gathered here because of one thing. We've all realised something, and we're not going to wait for the rest of the world to catch on. It will be too late for anyone by then. Shall we get to it, then?"

The Traveller spoke to half a dozen other people in the room. This was not their first encounter, yet the strangers still kept their distance from each other, ready to jump anyone with a glint of distrust reflected in their eyes. This proved quite an unproductive feat since it just made everyone extremely twitchy. Perhaps it was for the reason that they knew each other well, that they acted so.

The Philosopher raised his staff and flipped one of the many switches upon it. "By Galvani, the tension in this room is most uncondusive for any sort of formal discussion," he said aloud. His staff gave a whirring noise and stopped vibrating.

"Really, what's gotten into us? We know we can't do anything if we don't work together." The Pysicist dusted his waistcoat and closed the space between him and the Philosopher, placing his hand on the Philosopher's shoulder. "I call for a truce."

Chaos of disagreement erupted, and the Psysicist fell back on his step. "Temporarily, at least!"

"ORDER! ORDER!" shouted the Traveller.

"WHO DIED AND MADE YOU LEADER?!" The Mercenary bellowed across the room, arm outstretched, holding a peculiar gun to the Traveller's general direction. There was only the highest probability that a shot from it will fatally find its way to its intended target, but the Traveller knew better than to quiver or fear.

"Nobody had to die, and even if anyone did die, it wouldn't make me a leader to you bunch of crocks. I am only calling for order," the Traveller sneered. He cleared his throat, hoping to clear his mind enough to recall his prepared statements.

"We are a broken civilisation." His voice started again into the murmuring crowd, looking at everyone until attention was seized. "We get that. We can't help it. But let's be objective. And selfish as we are. Let's use each other to get what we want. Let us acknowledge that we will be left for dead should we not pick ourselves up, and not do anything unecessary that will just delay our own selfish plans. If we stick to who we are, I believe everyone can get what they want."

The Biologist rolled her eyes, and spoke in a condescending tone. "Nice speech, Doc, but-" She halted. Damn, the Traveller made sense. "But I fail to see how some of you will be of any use to me."

"You know you just tumbled off the clever stairs into the ranks of the stupid, right? We know you are self-centered, but maybe, just maybe you should learn to bolt your mouth shut sometimes?" The Philosopher spoke.

Inwardly, the Biologist agreed. Outwardly, she just humphed.

The Traveller rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. "Now if everyone could give this obviously important-looking huge piece of parchment a spec of attention at least," -he pointed to said large parchment hanging from the ceiling- "you would actually be remarking on some very smart realizations instead of helping each other sound patheticly dim-witted," he proposed.

"Galvani, is that really...? But how did you...?" the Physicist baffled, while considering the placement of markings spread across the parchment.

"I travel, and I do not travel blindly," the Traveller said.

"This opens windows! No, it brings down walls! Yes, yes, this will most definitely break my research!" The Physicist cried in excitement.

"These points coincide with certain land properties. If we analyze this, just imagine!" the Chemist said, more to himself, but the others could hear.

"Now hang on just a moment! By what I understand, I cannot condone! The infinite risks we will be exposed to alone will crush our very being!" the Philosopher remarked. Apparently he had said something the Traveller wasn't quite comprehensive of. None of the other accupants of the room quite understood, in fact. But even through well-rehearsed pokerfaces, the Philosopher knew dumb-found anytime by the mere silence. "Look, our being- our individual, exists because there is a barrier that forms our psyche, that keeps us in shape, and keeps the life in us from spilling over to anything we touch. If we attempt what it is we understand, and drag with it those we do not understand, we won't be able to control any of it! We certainly cannot replicate it!"

"I beg to differ," the Biologist said. "I have on numerous occasions successfully replicated even the most complicated subjects. I do belive that replication, at least is well within our tecnologies."

"But it is not replication we seek, is it?" The Mercenary said in his usual growl.

"No.... but certainly, if we find the right primers, we can achieve this!"

"Am I the only one to admit I have no idea what is going on?" The Engineer said pitily.

Without shifting her gaze to the Engineer, the Biologist said, "Good, at least we all know who's last in the race."

"Since when are we racing!"

"Engineer! You are here because I need your machines. You will learn the way soon enough by yourself."

"Indeed I don't see how this is going to be a race when everyone will eventually share what they know! Why can't we just team up?" The Philosopher said in a wondering tone.

"You think we'll fall for your pseudo-rational voice? Don't make yourself out to be greater than what you really are, a stinking lowlife!" said the Mercenary.

"We all know by now how risky this occupation will be. Nobody wants to be the most vulnerable, that's why the most efficient way to get the job done is for everyone to think 3 steps ahead in every direction," said the Traveller. "I believe we have order within ourselves, that's the only way possible."

"You can truly feel the rusting mechanics of this world in this room alone. We don't have much time," said the Chemist.

♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣♣

Can you guess what the problem is, and how they planned to overcome it?

My bloodsuckers.

We are creatures without time, living in the same dimension, yet separated. Our hearts do not beat, but when we take your blood, our hearts start to flutter. It beats for a moment. It makes us feel alive, connected to this world. Just as you eat to stay alive, we eat to feel alive.

There are those that choose to descend to this level when they are calibrated for a higher dimension.