Morgan Abrams
10 days until arrest
>Creative Convention>Original>SuperNova: Ch47 out now!!!!
|Betelgeuse_Abides| posted 22 hours ago:
Sorry guys but next update is getting delayed again!
OTL OTL OTL
TTTTTT posted 22 hours ago:
Everything okay BA?
Sun_Tzu’s_left_elbow posted 22 hours:
Don’t you read the news? The Texas grid went down again
Embarrassment of a state imo
RG68 posted 22 hours ago:
I’m trying to be understanding but it’s hard to stay invested with all these missed updates.
I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop on Nova for thinking she can run around dishing out vigilante justice, but I’m starting to think this is another rainbow-positive trashfic
liquidhopscotch posted 22 hours ago:
Another power outage, BA? You’ve got to get out of Texas already!
ShmorkLover posted 22 hours ago:
STFU RG, all you do is ***** in this thread, why do you even still read it? Go back to your libertarian jerkoff thread in >USPol you *****
BA you forgot to post your tip jar again; here it is if anyone wants to help contribute to her moving expenses fund
(USER WAS PROBATED FOR THIS POST)
*Moderator MaddyMod posted 22 hours ago:
This is your second warning, Shmork, no backseat modding or picking fights with other users
Glorpshitto posted 22 hours ago:
You’re going to probe Shmork but not RG? Come on man
(USER WAS PROBATED FOR THIS POST)
Vivisector posted 22 hours ago:
Mods making shit decisions on this forum?
Must be a day of the week again
(USER WAS PROBATED FOR THIS POST)
*Moderator MaddyMod posted 22 hours ago:
If you have a problem with my moderation style, go whine in CCM, but stop crapping up Betelgeuse_Abides’s thread.
Next person to ***** about it gets this thread locked until BA gets back
TTTTTT posted 22 hours ago:
Uh so
Anyone want to guess what Nova’s gonna find in the basement of the clinic?
DavidTheGnome posted 22 hours ago:
We’ve gone through 47 chapters of SuperFic without a single monster fight
DavidTheGnome posted 22 hours ago:
What I’m saying is that I’m really jonesing for a monster fight
DavidTheGnome posted 22 hours ago:
Please give us a monster Fight BA
pleasepleaseplease
DavidTheGnome posted 22 hours ago:
I hope it’s a sexy monster
(USER WAS PROBATED FOR THIS POST)
MaddyMod posted 22 hours ago:
The edit button exits for a reason people
Also, ew wtf is wrong with you dave
XENAXENAXENA posted 20 hours ago:
Uh, what? Dave, there were a bunch of fights last act??? But sure, we’ve spent 2 months stuck in the same old abandoned apartment building so I can’t blame you if you forgot
Centigrade_Composer posted 16 hours ago:
i haven’t posted in this thread in awhile, sorry, still loving the story though BA!!!! heart emoji heart emoji
i know this is kind of off topic but since the subject came up, does anyone know any articles or books about Tomorrowists? Like where they came from or who even named them that? I only really know the basics they taught us in school
(USER WAS PROBATED FOR THIS POST)
*Moderator MaddyMod posted 16 hours ago
It’s not this subforum’s job to do your homework for you
Buy a book and get off the internet
Go! Save yourself before it’s too late
Free_Mars_NOW posted 16 hours ago:
The Eroticism of The Other has a long literary and cultural history
…Also have you seen of some of the R64 art of Imagos out there?
This post brought to you by a supporter for a FREE MARS
*Moderator MaddyMod posted 16 hours ago:
No and I pray to God that I never do.
I do not need snuff porn in my life, thanks
Free_Mars_Now posted 16 hours ago:
I don’t think it’s that bad…
This post brought to you by a supporter for a FREE MARS
*Moderator MaddyMod posted 15 hours ago:
Keep it up, Red, I’ve got my BAN button primed and ready.
XENAXENAXENA posted 15 hours ago:
>Post removed<
Mod note: you’re ****ing disgusting, get off my forum and take a good hard look at yourself in the mirror
(post edited by Maddymod 15 hours ago)
(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
*Moderator MaddyMod posted 15 hours ago:
Congratulations Xena, you ****ed it over for everyone!
Thread locked until I hear from BA.
***
TTTTTT has sent you a Private Message
TTTTTT: Hey are you the same Cici as as Centrifugecyclist? I’d know that typing style anywhere
Centigrade_Composer: …is it that obvious?
TTTTTT: Yeah, LOL
TTTTTT: Glad to see you around again!
TTTTTT: Hope you’re doing okay, girl
Centigrade_Composer: thanks
Centigrade_Composer: hope you’re okay too
TTTTTT: Oh you know, same old same old
TTTTTT: Sorry about Maddy, I think she’s been Going Through It lately if you know what I mean
TTTTTT: Being preggers is a b**** and a half. Go the tank route if you can afford it, Cici!
Centigrade_Composer: Oh wow
Centigrade_Composer: i can’t imagine ever wanting kids
TTTTTT: Take it from me girl, you will eventually.
TTTTTT: You’re only what? 16?
Centigrade_Composer: 17
TTTTTT: 17! Wow
TTTTTT: Okay well, you know, it’s like there’s a switch in the female brain and bam!
TTTTTT: Suddenly one day you’re baby crazy
Centigrade_Composer: that’s terrifying
Centigrade_Composer: also um
Centigrade_Composer: no nevermind
TTTTTT: ???
TTTTTT: Oh sorry! I shouldn’t be talking like that to a minor, I guess
TTTTTT: LOL don’t report me!
TTTTTT: Anyway
TTTTTT: As to your question in thread, good luck, they’re a biiiiiit of a touchy subject!!
TTTTTT: You could try hitting up the PoliSci subforum?
TTTTTT: Some nerd in glasses will probably dump a bibliography on you if you ask
Centigrade_Composer: oh no
Centigrade_Composer: they scare me
TTTTTT: Hahahaha
TTTTTT: Good luck
***
Discussion>PoliSci? More like PoliCry>Who were the Tomorrowists?
Centigrade_Composer posted 1 hour ago:
I hope it’s okay to start a new thread for this. I read through the forum rules and then the subforum rules and it seemed better to do this then derail a pre-existing one?
Anyway so um, I usually try to do my own research and all but it’s hard to know what to trust out there?
The Tomorrowists made Imago right?
But… how? Why?
I hope this is the right place to ask this question! If not, I’m really sorry!!!
_Diogenes_ posted 54 minutes ago:
Your user profile says your 16? Relax, you’re fine. Pro-tip, people will take you more seriously if you aren’t wasting their time constantly apologizing for existing
Also: Oh my god, are there really people on this dead-*** board that were born AFTER the the start of the pandemic? Hold on, I need to crumble into dust real quick
Centigrade_Composter posted 53 minutes ago:
Um thank you? I’m okay.
I’m just looking for some answers, right now.
DurklyDurker posted 51 minutes ago:
They’re called Tomorrowists because of their stupid manifesto, which is the kind of thing that probably sounds real edgy when you’re like, a 12 year old on the chattrnet for the first time
Also, people hate them because they fucked over the entire world with the NMIV pandemic
Centigrade_Composter posted 48 minutes ago:
But why would they do something like that?
Yeurkle posted 43 minutes ago:
There were all kinds of extremist factions in the Bad Old Days of like, the 40s and 50s. You had your commies, your anarchists, the fundies, the SovCits, the originalists, the restorationists, etc etc. Tomorrowism was the ecofanatics taking their turn at the crazy wheel.
They were dozens of these groups all over the continent, and like idiots, they were all fighting each other as much as they fought the government.
If they hadn’t pulled off the attacks on D.C., killing the then prez, and then topped it all off by dropping a literal monster plague on us, no one would even remember them just like no one remembers all those other losers.
Free_Mars_Now posted 40 minutes ago:
The Martian colony on Elysium, owned and run by SpaceCor is 50 years old this year and celebrates some of the freest and fairest elections in modern civilization despite the supply shortages from Earth’s ongoing Kessler Syndrome.
This post brought to you by a supporter for a FREE MARS
DurklyDurker posted 40 minutes ago:
…okay? We’re not talking about Mars right now you little Red freak. You don’t need to derail every conversation into your pet project.
Centrigrade_Composter posted 40 minutes ago:
I didn’t realize they were that old an organization
e: um, the tomorrowists, that is
Dokidokidoki posted 36 minutes ago:
Don’t they teach kids anything in school anymore?
Once upon a time I could have just posted a Wiki link and dusted my hands of this. RIP Wikipedia.
DurklyDurker posted 35 minutes ago:
LOL Wikipedia went dark sixty years ago old man
Dokidokidoki posted 34 minutes ago:
What???
Where did the time go…
Rememberme? posted 30 minutes ago:
The Tomorrowists didn’t ‘make’ NMIV guys, haven’t any of you read Dr. Cusher’s new history on the virus? It escaped out of a South African Lab and was backed by the Chinese.
The Tomorrowists being able to use it as a weapon is just further proof that they were funded by Chinese agents seeking to destabilize the US.
Pretty funny how badly that backfired on them when you look at the virus death tolls in Asia, IMO
DurklyDurker posted 28 minutes ago:
Cusher’s book is racist as hell, you shouldn’t trust a thing that man says.
DaveDave posted 25 minutes ago:
Let’s be real, if NMIV was supposed to be a weapon, it’s a total failure, it’s slow to spread and it doesn’t actually become infectious until the final stage which makes it easy to counter. If it hadn’t gone endemic into the wildlife it would have died out years ago.
But what else would we expect from a bunch of commie eco-terrorists?
MaximumMaxine posted 20 minutes ago:
Man I’m so sick of everyone using the Tomorrowists or ******* Soviet Russia from like THREE CENTURIES AGO to slag on marxism. WE AREN’T ALL GENOCIDAL TERRORISTS
*Admin Felix_O’Hara posted 19 minutes ago:
Please stay on topic, No one wants to relitigate the 22nd century’s most tedious argument
Miniminime posted 17 minutes ago:
Their original call to arms is still a banger IMHO, have you ever read it? Over 70 years later and more relevant than ever:
|| “Our leaders say our world is doomed.
|| That the wretched of this Earth must give their all
|| so that the worthy may one day live in luxury
|| among the stars. That we who live in the Imperial
|| Core may at least content ourselves with the fanciest
|| seats on a sinking ship.
||
|| We say this is not enough.
||
|| We say there is yet hope if we as a human people are
|| only willing to do the the hard work that is necessary,
|| the real work of finally dismantling the
|| capitalist society that has for so long poisoned
|| and killed our one and only home.
||
|| They will tell you there is no future,
|| so do not dream, do not wonder, and most of all
|| do not fight!
||
|| We ask, what are you willing to do to ensure your tomorrow?”
I know they ended up being monsters and all, but sometimes you gotta hand it to them, you know?
I bet I can find the whole manifesto, one sec…
_Diogenes_ posted 15 minutes ago:
You do not, under any circumstances, have to ‘hand it’ to the mass-murdering terrorists that tried to overthrow the government
*Admin Felix_O’Hara posted 14 minutes ago:
Miniminime I am begging you not to post a terrorist manifesto on my forum
May I once again remind everyone that just because your real IDs are hidden from each other, it doesn’t mean the government doesn’t know EXACTLY WHO YOU ALL ARE
Miniminime posted less then 1 minute ago:
>Post Removed<
(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)
_Diogenes_ posted less then 1 minute ago:
*Covers eyes*
*Admin Felix_O’Hara posted just now:
Just one day people.
Just one day.
I would like to be able to go one day without the FBI on my doorstep.
The screen blanks out, a spinning ouroboros of an arrow as the page forcibly reloads, replacing the forum thread with a curt message. Deleted. You were seconds too slow from catching whatever the hell Miniminime was going to post, too. Probably for the best.
‘What are you willing to do to ensure your tomorrow?’
Well. That doesn’t sound all that evil. And yet…
You fall back into bed, staring up at the ceiling. A wandering hand finds the fish pillow Riley got you as a gag gift last year. A facsimile of a salmon, with beady glass eyes that poke out of the head. Something to keep your hands busy with, fiddling with the fins as you think.
None of this is helping you figure out why the arcology is dealing with Imago now. Worse, if the list on the security recordings was faked, then anything you find on video could be. Hell, anything dug up by the security system at all could be suspect.
But what’s the point of setting up some teenage intern in all this? Who would believe she’d be able to pull off what’s been happening? Or Rivka for that matter – because it has to actually be about her, right? Setting Rivka up for something. Framing her?
There’s a migraine building up between your eyes and just on the other side of it has to be the answer. Some explanation that makes everything make sense. There’s no solving it all tonight, but your brain remains relentless, thoughts racing, wearing a groove into your brain as they keep skipping over the same old facts again and again again.
Finish one Ysme Wonder album and go straight to the next, then the next as the clock ticks over past midnight. Still unable to sleep and you find yourself skimming through the maze of folders you’ve backed up to your tablet. Flicking through the lists with one finger until you find one old recording in particular – Crow’s first, and so far only, interview. Recovered off someone else’s private server after it got scrubbed from the chattrnet.
Tracking this file down was one of the things that first got you into hacking, if you’re being honest with yourself. Just the sheer challenge of trying to see what everyone else on the message boards had been alluding to at the time.
It’s a pretty amateur video, all things considered. A mere 1080p resolution, the light balancing is all off and the saturation levels are fucked on top of that, with the file compression crunching the colors into something that would make any professional content creator weep. An extremely cheap phone is your best guess for the camera – like one of those pre-paid print-fab jobs they sell in corner stores. Whomever did this ‘interview’ apparently didn’t bother paying for a bot to clean-it up in post production.
On the screen, Crow stands in the middle of what looks like an empty construction site – this being from a good five years ago or so, it’s before her modern costume. Instead, she’s dressed in blue jeans and a heavily patched up leather jacket with a neon pink shirt visible underneath. Leather gloves cover her hands with little blue lightning bolts stitched over the back while a cloth mask covers most of her lower face. Black bangs frame her head, leaving only the narrow band of brown skin around her eyes visible.
The questions the unseen interviewer asks Crow are stiff, poorly rehearsed, and the answers Crow gives are hardly any better. In the video, it’s only been a month since Crow first ‘debuted’ fighting off an Imago that menaced a farmer’s market on South Island and the interview is at least partially damage control from whatever mistakes were involved in that.
At some point the interviewer goes off script, having noticed something new in the collage of patches stitched onto Crow’s jacket. “Oh hey, that’s new. What’s that one for?”
“What’s what for?” Crow responds, glancing down at her chest. She pulls at her jacket this way and that.
“That one, no the one next to it on the left – no my left.” The interviewer huffs, exasperated as Crow points at each wrong patch in succession before landing on the right one. “The pink, blue, and white? Got a baby on the way?”
“Har-fu*****-har.” The look Crow shoots the person behind the camera is scathing. The censor beep barely catches the curse word in time.
“Okay, but seriously, I haven’t seen that one before.”
“It’s a trans flag, you dip****,” Crow answers back. She lets her hand drop from her jacket, cocking her hip to one side.. “We’ve been hanging out how long now, Gilly? How the **** do you not ****ing know that by now?”
The interviewer laughs, unbothered. “You know I don’t really hang in Rainbow circles.”
“Yeah because you’re too chicken**** to come out of your goddamn closet.”
“I’m not gay like you Crow.”
That gets a laugh. Crow runs a hand through her hair, sending it standing up on the ends as little sparks of static electricity crackle blue and white between her hand and her hair. She looks directly into the camera, one eyebrow raised. “Honey. Nobody*****cking gay like me.”
She holds her gaze steady, staring straight through the screen as if she’s looking straight at you. It lasts just a second too long and she breaks it off, laughing. Something in your chest squirms, does a little flip.
“Aren’t you worried about repping something like that?” the interviewer – Gilly – asks. “You’re already putting a huge target on your back just, you know, being you and doing this.”
Crow’s already laughing before Gilly even finishes talking, a loud barking caw of a laugh. “You really think most d****ipes in this *****ole country know what this means? ****, even you thought it was some kinda bull**** maternity thing, for crying out loud.”
This is the cleanest version of the video you've ever been able to find. What'd you give for a copy without all the excessive swear censoring.
On screen, the camera pans to the left to follow Crow as she starts walking. Massive concrete pipes lay piled in the dirt, the lights of the city crunching and pixilating in the background against a dark night sky.
“I’m just saying, Crow. No one wants you to like, die, you know? You’re not bulletproof.”
Crow goes quiet, clenching her hands as she paces around the construction site. Little crackles of electricity running up her arms as she goes, running along invisible metal wires sown into jacket. She stops to kick at a glass bottle, sends it skidding off-screen before looking back at at the camera. “It fuc**** matters to me, okay? And maybe– **** I don’t know, forget it. Whatever.”
“Maybe what?”
Crow unclenches and shakes her hands, sparks scattering, jumping between metal buttons along her belt. “If some c****rained mother****** doesn’t like getting their *** saved by a sparky tr*******ch, well, too bad. They can go eighty-six themselves on their own god*****d time.”
If it wasn’t for this video, the concept of being ‘transgender’ – of not being doomed to the gender you were given – might never have crossed your mind. Not as a real thing. Not as something you could be.
So much stuff gets censored or shut down online, leaving nothing but scattered forum posts, banned accounts, and abandoned websites that it always feels like you’re chasing the ghosts of last year’s slang, never quite catching up to the actual living people being talked about.
“But you know,” Crow gestures out at the night air, taps her thumb to her forefinger and pulls them apart with a tendril of electricity hanging between, “maybe it’ll matter to someone else, right? Maybe someone will see it and go, ‘oh ****, if this total idiot di***** can make it work, so can I.’”
Gilly sighs, the camera bobbing slightly as they move closer. Sends the entire frame briefly out of focus as they stop just short of getting in touch range. “Crow…”
“Relax, Gilly. I am a go*****ed woman, I can ***king shoot lightning and I ain’t going nowhere. So get fu***** used to it, America!”
You play the last part of the interview over and over again, mouthing along. Get fucking used to it. Get fucking used to it, Praxis.
What you’d give to have that kind of self-confidence. Maybe then – That thought threatens to send you down a darker spiral. You have to put the tablet down on your lap. Press your hands against your head after turning the volume of the music up. Need to stop thinking. Stop feeling.
Nothing good ever comes of it.
It takes the buzzing of your phone against your leg to pull you back to the world of the living. Rotten Apples chat? Active at… you look at the clock again. Three in the morning?
At least you aren’t the only one with insomnia.
Semaphore Log
🍏RottenApples.Ltd🍏
B-Max6969: Either of you awake?
WileyRiley: Dude this is my secret girl time
WileyRiley: Ofc I’m awake
B-Max6969: Secret girl time
B-Max6969: You know what, I’m not even going to ask
B-Max6969: It’s probably something crass
WileyRiley: You know me so well
B-Max6969: I wish I didn’t.
B-Max6969: Morgan, you around?
Centimorgan: hi
B-Max6969: Great
@Cassandra_Wheelman has joined the room.
B-Max6969: Guys this is Cass
B-Max6969: For the love of God, don’t be weird
WileyRiley: Hi Cass! Why haven’t you skinned Brayden alive yet?
@Cassandra_Wheeler: How do I shoot I turned on voice dictation
@Cassandra_Wheeler: How do I turn this off
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Dang it
B-Max6969: Cass, you okay?
@Cassandra_Wheeler: No stop
@Cassandra_Wheeler: There. Oh my goodness.
WileyRiley: Oh my god, this is fucking precious
@Cassandra_Wheeler: I’m fine! Sorry, I’m so embarrassed…
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Uh. Hi? You must be Riley? Morgan’s friend?
WileyRiley: Why yes, that’s me, Morgan’s dearest friend
WileyRiley: And a dashing lesbian casanova
Centimorgan: …head-in-hands emoji
@Cassandra_Wheeler: Haha, are you really allowed to say that kind of thing on here?
Centimorgan: P2P encryption, sandboxing,
Centimorgan: plus a time-limited log means the Super won’t pick it up
Centimorgan: ...unless you’re actively holding your phone in front of a camera
Centimorgan: so
Centimorgan: don’t? Please
@Cassandra_Wheelman: Um. I see…?
WileyRiley: Babygirl, I can say things that would make the censorship bots weep in rage
WileyRiley: You can curse to your heart’s content here btw, you’re with the coolkids now 😎
@Cassandra_Wheelman: Pffft You must be the funny one in this group
B-Max6969: Please don’t encourage her
WileyRiley: No, no, please do encourage me
@Cassandra_Wheelman: Brayden… is that really your screen name here?
Centimorgan: lol
WileyRiley: Haha yessss can you believe it? What kind of chump name is that?
B-Max6969: I was twelve!
WileyRiley: Dude you can literally change your name at any time
WileyRiley: No one forced you to pick that!
B-Max6969: well fuck you now i’m never changing it
@Cassandra_Wheelman: You can?
@Cassandra_Wheelman: Oh! I see!
Cassiopeia: There we go
Cassiopeia: Sorry I don’t really phone text that much!
WileyRiley: Cute name!
Cassiopeia: Thank you! ?
WileyRiley: Look out B-man, I’m gonna woo your girl over to the winning side
Centimorgan: which side is that
Centimorgan: being deaf or being a lesbian
WileyRiley: Both, obviously
B-Max6969: Cass isn’t ‘my girl’
WileyRiley: OMG what?
Cassiopeia: Ummmm, we’re on a break right now
Centimorgan: this suddenly got 180% more awkward
B-Max6969: Christ
WileyRiley: Say, Cass, have you heard the good word
WileyRiley: About what learning ASL does for your hands?
B-Max6969: Please Don’t
Cassiopeia: No, I haven’t!
WileyRiley: I think Brayden’s about to have a conniption
WileyRiley: So let’s just say I’m very good at spelling with them ;)
Cassiopeia: Hahaha!
You hesitate, fingers hovering over the touchscreen.
This is… aggressive, even for Riley. What is she trying to do?
Cassiopeia: You guys are sure this app isn’t illegal?
Centimorgan: it does bump you up an attention level from the Super
Centimorgan: but so many people use something like it these days
Centimorgan: that doesn’t mean much
WileyRiley: That’s morganspeak for no
Cassiopeia: Okay! I… guess I’m trusting you all on this!
Cassiopeia: Oh my god just having other people to talk to is already making me feel better. Thank you guys.
Centimorgan: we should probably go over everything together soon
Centimorgan: if we really can’t trust what Security has on video
Centimorgan: we need to double check every fact we thought we had
Cassiopeia: Good idea! I’m still struggling to wrap my head around all of this…
WileyRiley: Cool, cool
WileyRiley: But like, can we do this tomorrow
Centimorgan: sure?
WileyRiley: When I’m not high
WileyRiley: And half asleep
B-Max6969: Are you ever not high?
WileyRiley: Yeah, when I’m all asleep
Cassiopeia: Hahaha!
WileyRiley: 😎
Centimorgan: bonking stick emoji times 3
Centimorgan: please don’t scare Cassandra away
WileyRiley: Okay, okay! I’ll behave!
Cassiopeia: Why would I be scared?
WileyRiley: See Morgan? It’s fine!
B-Max6969: I am going to scream
Centimorgan: i changed my mind Riley
WileyRiley: Yesss!
Centimorgan: anyway
Centimorgan: planning
Centimorgan: i’m free whenever
Centimorgan: and riley once school is out, right?
WileyRiley: yup
Centimorgan: Brayden?
B-Max6969: I’m doing school by remote right now but yeah,
B-Max6969: Once school is out I’m usually free.
B-Max6969: I’ve also got my part-time job
B-Max6969: But it’s kind of a set-your-own-hours thing
WileyRiley: Dude, you have job?
B-Max6969: My mom has me doing inventory management stuff
WileyRiley: Oh, figures
WileyRiley: Boring
B-Max6969: We can’t all be career criminals, Riley
WileyRiley: Morgan and I provide a prized educational service!
Cassiopeia: Between keeping up with school and my internship I’m pretty busy…
Cassiopeia: What about next Sunday?
B-Max6969: Sunday works for me
WileyRiley: You guys wanna meet up and then like, have lunch or something?
Cassiopeia: Sure!
Centimorgan: what?
Centimorgan: we can just do this online
Centimorgan: that’s way safer
WileyRiley: Dude if you expect me to stay focused and sober
WileyRiley: Don’t make me do it on the distraction-o-matic
Cassiopeia: I prefer in-person too
Centimorgan: guys
Centimorgan: this is what semaphore is ///for///
B-Max6969: You’re the privacy nut don’t you know places we can talk?
Centimorgan: i mean… yes but
Centimorgan: really????
WileyRiley: Dude, it’ll be fine!
B-Max6969: Sounds like it’s settled to me
Centimorgan: *SIGH*
B-Max6969: We can figure out what we can do to protect Cass
B-Max6969: And figure out whatever the hell is going on
B-Max6969: with Morgan’s mom and all these Imago attacks.
Centimorgan: which is nothing
Centimorgan: she’s a medical researcher NOT a terrorist
Centimorgan: it’s got to be a set-up
B-Max6969: You’re not looking at this objectively, Morgan
Centimorgan: and you are???
WileyRiley: Gentlemen, gentlemen
WileyRiley: You can’t fight here this is the war room!
B-Max6969: ?
Centimorgan: ???
Cassiopeia: OH!
Cassiopeia: I know this one!
Cassiopeia: Dr. Strangelove?
WileyRiley: Marry me?
B-Max6969: Riley, I swear to God
Cassiopeia: LOL
Centimorgan: …
Centimorgan: Cassandra, when’s the next time you’re supposed to meet with her?
Cassiopeia: We’re supposed to meet every couple of weeks? I think? She sets everything up. I don’t have the next date set yet
WileyRiley: Don’t you worry Cassie, we’re on the case
WileyRiley: We’ll get you off the hook in no time
WileyRiley: *wink*
B-Max6969: The fake flirting is not funny
WileyRiley: FAKE? I’m wounded, Brayden
WileyRiley: You /wound/ me
Cassiopeia: Hahaha
Cassiopeia: It’s a little funny, Bray. :)
It’s fake flirting. It has to be. Riley wouldn’t really do that. She’s just– she’s testing the waters or whatever the saying is. Trying to find out if Cassandra is cool or not in the stupidest way possible because she’s probably high as a kite right now.
You’re not sure if it’s better or worse that Cassandra just seems to be taking it all as a joke. Hard to relax when it feels like at any given moment you might have to either jump to Riley’s defense or drag her to horny jail. It’s just– she’s been under a lot of stress lately and obviously it’s been getting to her with how weird she’s been and – an alert from A*. Rivka’s almost home. A second later you can hear the front door of the apartment slam shut.
Great. Figures.
You shoot off a quick goodnight to the chat and a silent prayer that Riley doesn’t say anything she regrets in the morning before shoving your phone under your pillow. Sitting up in bed, you pull your headphones down and listen for any sign of what she’s up to. There’s the scraping of a chair against tile followed by the heavy thunk of something hitting the table.
Rolling out of bed, you get to your feet. Or try to. Shouldn’t have moved so fast, now you have to brace yourself with one hand as you wait for your vision to fill back in.
This might be the first time the two of you have been in the same room since your medical check up. From out here it sounds like she’s talking to someone. Can just about make out her half of the conversation as you hover next to your door.
“Don’t be absurd. I told them exactly what they needed to do. What? No, of course they didn’t listen. ‘Not your department, stay in your lane.’ Yes, exact words. Incompetent, mouth-breathing morons, I half expect they’re all in on it. Yes, I saw your stupid press conference, no I wasn’t impressed.” She goes silent for awhile, listening. “No– No, Lowe, how many times do I have to tell you, I’m not interested. I’m a scientist not a – fuck you, you old hag, you’re not listening to me!” There’s a heavy stamp of a foot pounding against the floor. “Yes, Lowe, I’m well familiar with what a parole officer is. So let me remind you, again, that you aren’t one. So take your false concern and shove it.”
The silence stretches longer this time. Almost long enough that you start to wonder if the conversation is over when there’s a deep sigh. “Yes, yes. He’s – What? Absolutely not, you two-faced snake, you just want to recruit him. Don’t insult me, I know when you’re lying through your teeth. Yes. Yes, fine, sure whatever. Send it all to my office. I’ll have my PDA handle it and get back to you later this week.”
A second later, you can hear something shut. The refrigerator. The scraping of a chair against tiling. Her sitting down. That makes you relax a little. If she was angry at you, or if you were in trouble, say, for sneaking into somewhere you shouldn’t be, you’d know. There wouldn’t be any need to guess. She’d be pacing the hall, or talking to herself, or just barging right into your room.
You crack the door of your room open, hesitating just enough to get a better sense of the static. Still no obvious cause for alarm. Nearing the kitchen, you can see Rivka sitting at the table, leaning back against her chair. A bottle of something in her hand. A beer?
Oh. Okay. So it’s going to be one of those nights.
“You can stop hiding in the hallway,” Rivka snaps.
Shuffling into the kitchen, you do your best to avoid looking directly at her as you take in the scene. Rivka’s labcoat is hanging folded over the back of one chair, while she sits at the other. That is definitely a bottle of beer in her hand. Which she must have just bought because if there had been any sort of hidden stash in your apartment, Riley would have found it by now.
Rivka’s bun is undone, her hair hanging loose and unkempt and everything about her body language down to the static around her screams ‘edge of collapse.’
Guess her current project isn’t going well then.
“Who was that?” you sign.
That gets her to pause for a moment. A grimace briefly passes over her face and then it’s gone with a shake of her head. “No one important.”
“I heard–”
“An acquaintance who thinks far too highly of themself. But you could say that of any cop alive,” Rivka replies, cutting the conversation off with a chop of her hand, showing exactly what she thinks of that. Shuts down the entire line of questioning with the finality of a tombstone hammered into the earth.
You startle.
A cop – the police? Like, real actual police, not just company security?
You linger at the entryway, trying to order your thoughts. What does that mean? How does Rivka talking with the police – talking like that with the police factor into any of this? Just what is going on?
“So long as you haven’t been skulking about doing something you’re not supposed to–” Rivka pauses meaningfully, fixing you to the floor with a single raised eyebrow before breaking eye contact to take another drink. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with. Sit down. I’m not going to bite.”
You step past her into the kitchen proper, check inside the fridge to buy time and then start looking through the cabinets. You need something, anything else to keep your mind from running to the exact place it can’t be dwelling on right now.
A questing hand finds the box of NutriPaste and pulls a handful of the packaged tubes out. Put them on the table in front of her. “Have you eaten?” you sign.
“I’m eating now.” Rivka takes another chug from the bottle as if to prove it.
“That’s not food.”
Rivka puts the bottle down with a scowl, shoving the tubes to one side. “Stop that. It’s hardly your job to take care of me.”
Yeah, well. Somebody has to and it’s clearly not been her. All her tough talk about you needing to keep up friendships and she’s the one sitting here alone, unliked, and drinking a beer for dinner at 3 AM
You ignore the scowl on her face and sit down in the other chair and cross your arms over you chest, staring her down. The exhaustion is plain on her pale, sparsely freckled face. There’s a persistent twitch in the muscles around her cybernetic eye. Definitely taking stimulants. But even those can only stretch things out so long, like a computer left uncycled until the body forces a crash.
Still scowling, she takes one of the tubes and pops it open. Squeezes down half of it in one go. Victory.
She huffs at that. Washes the paste down with another drink. “Why are you awake? You have lessons with A* tomorrow.”
You have lessons with A* every day, you want to shoot back.
Instead, you sign, “I know.”
Rivka studies you. An intensity that makes you squirm in your seat even as you try your best not to wither.
A dozen different things you want to ask and can’t. Not even able to think them. Have to watch what you say and what you think. Keep them all pinned down and locked away as best you can.
Still, no effort is perfect.
“You’re worried about these Imago attacks,” Rivka says.
You shrug. It feels a safe enough thing to admit. Who wouldn’t be?
She lets out a deep sigh, takes another gulp of her beer. “We ought to be in a full quarantine. Having Security physically comb every last goddamn inch of this building from top to basement. But instead? This!” She throws her free hand out in the direction of the window screen, its surface a dull black. “The same old story, every time. Fools and ingrates, burying their goddamn heads in the sand until suddenly, it’s their lives on the line and by then it’s too late. A constant bet that old age will win out before the consequences of their actions. You know what the whole lot of them deserve?”
You play your part and shake your head.
She makes a familiar chopping motion with her hand, mimicking a guillotine.
“They’ve butchered the whole process and it’s made a mess for the rest of us. All to keep up appearances. Why, Morgan? Because of fucking economics. Because of goddamn fucking stock prices. Imaginary numbers, worth more than human lives. As always. What they need is a fucking bullet–” she stops herself with grimace and quick glance towards the window-screen against the wall.
“Are– are we-we–”
“Safe?” Rivka finishes for you, then goes quiet for a while.
Can feel her turning the question over before she finally answers.
“I won’t bother to order you to stay in your room. I already know you wouldn’t listen. So just… be smart. Keep a mask on you. Keep spares. Most of all, stay out of trouble.” She bangs the bottom of her bottle against the table for emphasis.
You are! Absolutely one hundred precent are!
Completely turbo safe and boring. That’s you.
Rivka gives you a look. Disbelieving. “Morgan, all I ask is that when the shit hits the fan – which it will – you keep that head down, look after your friends, and stay out of trouble. Please.”
With the bottle still on the table, Rivka starts fishing for something out of her breast pocket. Pulls out a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes. Where the lighter comes from, you’re not sure but it’s already in her hands as she fetches out a cig. She tosses the box on the table next to the bottle and takes a long drag.
She’s smoking again too. Great. You thought she’d finally quit.
“You don’t quit smoking, Morgan. You just take breaks.” The smoke curls in front of her face and dissipates over the table. The stink of nicotine soon fills the room.
You look down at the floor, chewing the inside of your cheek. Unsure what to feel. Doom and gloom is Rivka’s general attitude to everything, but tonight feels different. Darker. What does she mean, that it will?
Between that, the drinking, and now smoking again?
You’d think one of her experiments just lost funding, or something.
“Don’t get smart with me,” Rivka snaps.
You study the grain of the table, finger tracing one of the lines.
Rivka takes another drag of her cigarette before turning her attention to folding over the squeezed section of the Nutripaste tube. Folding it flat over and over until the remaining contents bulge.
Now it’s her turn to study you. Takes in the nail polish, the hair braid you re-did this morning, even still have on the charm bracelet from Riley. Under the weight of her judgement you find your curling in your fingers, as if hiding them changes reality.
A pained expression crosses her face. “We talked about this, Morgan. I thought I made my case clear.”
“S-sorry.”
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
You flinch.
“Is this Ms. Parson’s fault again?”
“N-no.”
“Hm.”
You don’t offer to undo any of it.
She doesn’t ask.
“Just–” Rivka exhales smoke, whatever reprimand she was building up to deflating along with the rest of her as she massages the side of her head. “The last thing I need right now is to have to deal with yet another visit from Child Services. You remember how bad that went the first time?”
You freeze, insides turning to lead.
You do.
You really, really do.
“Go to bed Morgan. This arrangement is not forever. Once you have the grades and the scholarship, everything else will fall into place. None of the rest will matter in the long run.”
Rivka stubs out her cigarette against the tabletop. A fresh burn mark to join the dozens of old blemishes. She follows that up by finishing off the rest of the NutriPaste in the tube, raises her bottle of beer to you, and washes the paste and the aftertaste of cigarette down with with beer in what you can only imagine must be the most revolting combination of smell, taste, and texture known to humankind.