Flashfiction for Scifriday: Alone

What follows is a 100 word piece of flash/micro fiction for SCIFRIDAY! From the following blog:


I hope more people take a shot at this!

Picture below was inspiration, and then the story follows. I went over a little (112 words), alas. 



In ancient times it was called a railway, a sort of mass transit system. Now it was a strip of verdant beauty, a green path stretching forward. Luke took off his smart-boots, and for the first time, felt grass between his toes.

“Follow at 3 meters.”

“Okay Luke.” Came the voice, programmed to sound just like Julienne had.

It still caused Luke’s pulse to skip, her voice that followed him across such a gulf of space, and time.

Here, on Terra, alone on this graveyard of a world, Luke would spend the rest of his days. To dwell on loss, of his home in her, and all their homes that once were here.


Short Story: Gonzago The Auditor

The lift stopped between floors. Did we break down? No one moved or seemed to care. I say “Hey uh, maybe someone should hit the emergency bell.” A slumped suit back doesn’t move. Bastard. Poke him. No one is moving. Turn around. See someone frozen, mid-yawn, hand ready to catch it. What the fuck:

“HELLO?” Nothing except the fear rocketing up my spine.

Then the lift doors slowly open and a blinding slice of expanding light has me closing my eyes. I open my mouth to scream when sound stops me:

“Greetings Human Male You Have Been Chosen Do Not Be Alarmed. Walk Towards The Light.”

I count the fingers on the hand I use to shield me from the brightness. I can still count. Does that mean my brain is working correctly? I yell at the light:

“My name is…Krantz. Krantz Gonzago…and I’m uh…I’m an auditor…please…what’s going on?”

“Step Forward Gonzago The Auditor.”

Theres nowhere else to go so I move towards the crack till I’m immersed in white. “It’s too bright I can’t see.”

“Follow My Instructions Gonzago The Auditor: Forward. Keep Moving Forward. Now Stop. Open Your Eyes.”

I do.

And find myself in a steel room with a see-through floor, a desk and chair, and no visible doors. I turn around and the elevator is gone. What remains is only a blank steel wall with some kind of protruding screen, and one thin metallic finger, extending outwards.

“H-Hello?” The voices seem to come from every direction, heavy with reverb. I scan for speakers, find none:

“Gonzago The Auditor Do You Know Where You Are?”

I open and close my mouth a few times.

“I Will Increase The Magnification: Look Down.”

I do and find, spread out below, a sea of black, speckled with glinting stars and a pale blue dot, enlarging, becoming as big as my fist, then a large ball, then the earth fills most of the floor, the blue capped with tufts of white, lace-like clouds, the curvature fading to black, all of it seeming to glow in its own light.

“What Do You See Gonzago The Auditor?”

On my hands and knees I say: “Home.”


“Fucking hell.”

“Yes. That Terminal Near You Is An Ecto Move Towards it And The Haptic Interface Will Activate.”


“Touch The Metal Thing Gonzago The Auditor.”

I went over to the metal finger. When I got close enough some kind of hologram appeared, of a keyboard, the same sort I’ve been using for years, with the exception that it hovered in mid-air and was made entirely of orange light. The screen lit up with a menu in English.

“Is there an option to go home…”

“Gonzago The Auditor?”


“Do You Really Want To Go Back?”

I looked at the stars and stretched away and off to the sides of earth, where these aliens had come from, which meant, that I wasn’t or at least we weren’t, truly alone, not really and I said: “No, not yet, but why did you choose me? Hello?”

I asked several more questions but no response came. I stood in eerie silence above earth, alone.

The screen had a list of terms, functions that meant nothing to me as I went down the list.

– Activate Nano-fabricator
– Augmented Reality Control
– Hologram Projector
– Smart Wall Configuration
– Station Status

“Hrmm.” I pressed he “Smart Wall Configuration.” Another nested list emerged.

“Wall climbing. I used to do that in school.” Sort of. Vague memories unfurled. An image of hanging from a blue sea shell, some crowd chanting below. Were they old friends? What were their names? It already seeemed so far away. I key down till I’ve selected wall climbing. A confirm box press yes. Oddly familiar.

The ceiling retreated upwards, sliding away, and the walls reformed themselves into a climbing wall, hand helds emerging and changing color. It all looks so pristinely clean.

I approach the nearest wall. “I bet you perverts think its funny and predictable that an advanced primate such as my self as resorted to climbing.” Run my hand over the hand-holds- they feel solid. Say: “Must be like…nano-technology…yeah.” More silence.

“Definitely *ahem* nanotech, yeah.” I go back to the terminal, look at the menu. I select gravity control, and notice, for the first time, a small graphic of what looks like a human mouth in the corner. As I look at it a holographic tool tip appears: “Voice Control”. I press it.

Now what?

“Uhh, computer, uhh…voice control…active?”


“OKAY. Well…” And smiling through my teeth, I say: “Set gravity to…zero.”

“ARTIFICIAL GRAVITY DEACTIVATED.”And I slowly felt my arms drifting upwards, then my whole body.


I shove off the floor.



Nevermind. I soar upwards, tuck my legs in and begin to spin. I’m going head over heels, out of control, the earth sliding into and out of my view, into and past, over and under- the ceiling hurtles towards me- “FUUUUCK” My legs, outstretched, hit the ceiling and I push off and now I’m diving towards the transparent floor, the earth on the other side. I try to shield my face. “OH SHIIIIT…” Then I stop, bungee cord back the way I came- some kind of rope encircling my shin, made of the same, shape-changing material as the wall.

I play in zero-gravity, spinning through the air, floating. I learn enough control to glide, arms spread, a foot or so from the floor. For a few minutes it feels like I’m floating space, free, above earth. I drift down till my nose touches the ground, find myself panting from all the movement. A cold sheen covers my face. A single bead of of perspiration forms on my nose, expands till I blow upwards and watch a perfect, salty sphere detach.

I prepare myself for the short fall and say: “Set gravity to…uh…default.”


And I hit the floor with a dull thud. Feel clumsy and heavy again. Go back to the terminal. There is a menu option- ‘Entertainment.’

More options:
– Video
– XP

Before I’ve even finished reading the menu the whole thing flashes red and I’m back where I started. Maybe it’s glitched. I try XP and the wall next to the terminal reforms quietly, a sort of shelf extending with a strange , curved piece of plastic that almost resembles a headset. I reach out, touch it, and the whole thing retracts, the screen red:


“What’s XP?”

A voice answers, filled with reverb, that I hadn’t heard in some time:

“XP Stands For Experience Playback, Gonzago The Auditor.” I go back to the terminal and start going through menu options, settle on ‘Nano-fabricators.’ Whilst my captor explains, “Experience playback is full sensory experience entertainment.”

The nested list under ‘Nano-fabricator’ is massive- food, drinks, furniture, clothing.

“it’s not just audio and video, but tactile sensations, bodily awareness, emotions and even internal thoughts…”

The food looks human, even down to the names of the drinks, it’s like they designed all this for a human, for me.”

“With full spectrum XP you can feel what it’s like to be someone else. You can experience what it’s like to scale a mountain, to fly like a bird…”

“And porn?”

“That too.”

“Fascinating but I got some other questions like, when do I get to leave this place? What is this then? Am I an exhibition for you guys? An experiment? What’s with all the human food. The menu lockouts- and woah…what was that?”

Down, towards earth, I watch objects, small at this distance emerge from the atmosphere like a school of steel fish, rocket trails extending beneath them down to the surface. “What is happening down there?” The night side of the earth approaches, and I see another impossibility- a straight line, like an enormous silver string, it goes through the sky, down past the clouds towards the surface. “What is that?”

“Well. That would be the sub-saharan space elevator.”

Now notice how South America looks weird- too much sea, like sections of it are submerged in the ocean. The fear comes back.


A section of the wall recedes, and a woman emerges. “Hello Gonzago.” she says, the reverb gone. “My name is Ophelia and there is something you should know. The date is March 25th.”

“I know.”


“Oh my God.”


“You’re fucking time travelers. You like, time traveled me into the future. You’re not aliens at all.”


“You’re human.”

“Well…we prefer the term trans-human.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is going to come as a bit of a shock Gonazgo the auditor, but the world has changed somewhat, in fact we, as a species, have changed.”

She extended one arm then, and I saw it slide open, revealing a hollow space. Inside she withdrew a small object, a metallic cube. “My arm is artificial.” She said. “I had it replaced by choice- it helps me as an artist.” She tapped her head. “There is an insert here, a sort of computer with which I can control networked objects, like this holo-projector.” The cube sprouted tiny rotors, landing in front of us. Her hand spread and split, her digits parting to become small tools. “The holo-projector will teach you about our brave new world, that has such things in it- it’s your world now.”

“But I can’t. I’m not FROM here. I have no money, no pass port, hell, no job. Except, wait a minute- was I declared dead then? Or my investments…if I’m still alive, with almost one hundred years of compound interest…I could be rich right? Super rich…”

“Gonzago the auditor you are not rich, not in the sense you mean. In our time, this time, money is not as necessary as it was in yours.”

“So what…do I do now? I mean I’m an auditor. I have a degree. The laws have probably changed, everything, I bet you have like, what, robots doing my job now?”

“The short answer is yes. We do not call them robots, but essentially- yes. Your occupation is no longer relevant.”

“Then how will I make a living?”

“Living is easier, with the use of the nanofabbers. These machines are like your ancient…” she seemed to zone out, then she focused on me again. “Sorry I had to look up the historical term- these nanofabbers are like your ancient 3D printers, but with microscopic…robots, that build objects from the atom up. All that is needed are the raw elements- silicon, carbon, hydrogen; all, of course, readily available. In our world, in this world- creative work is what is valued more, originality that only your unique perspective can produce, work that can’t be produced by the nanofabbers, not gross labor. Design is what matters, art, Gonzago the auditor you must discover what it is your are capable of creating, what you have to contribute to the rest of us. The holo-vid will explain in more detail.

I watched and felt as if I was falling, as if everything I thought I knew had been rendered a lie. So I sat, hugging my knee in hologram’s glare.

“So what is this then- some kind of utopia? A heaven without friends, with no family, like some kind of dream that I am a tourist in?”

Ophelia looked at me for some moments, then nodded her head, as if in approval: “Gonzago the auditor, that was well put- have you considered writing?” She clapped her hands with what might have been condescending pride.

“I haven’t considered a damn thing. I’ve never been so terrified in my life. I mean the scariest memory I have would have to be, I mean…”

I tried to cast backwards in my mind, found an image, stark, of a climbing wall, the same damn wall, and I am falling- no, I am merely afraid of falling. Then Ophelia’s hands are around my hands and she’s saying: “Don’t worry Gonzago, stop trying so hard to remember- focus on the future, on what you’re going to do next in this world. It really is incredible in the end, you know- so much better than your time. There isn’t much of what you called poverty; nobody wants. Technology has made us more, made us better than we were. We explore the universe now! The kind of menial, repetitive work you used to do is fully automated, is being by AI’s.”

“So now what, you have robots, living alongside humans…as equals?”

Opelia looked disgusted. “They aren’t people Gonzago, they are machines, property: we created THEM!”

I wondered how I had here, what the life expectancy is, what kind of government exists, what kind of families their now were. I said to her: “Okay. So where do I start?”

She smiled and I feel reassured, and she…


I froze Gonzago’s playback, took off the XP headset. My partner said: “HEY! Why’d you pause it? I was inside the guy’s head. You totally ruined the flow.” Gonzago remained, that weird sensation he had, a mixture of curiosity, wonder, and fear, all fading away. “HELLO?” my partner said, poking me- “I said, why’d you pause it? This is great- this is the best XP cast I’ve seen in ages.”

I said: “I don’t know, the whole thing seems kind of gimmicky. Like Ophelia’s running out of ideas.” There were two more seasons to go through still, but for now Gonzago remained frozen. “It’s like, come on, there’s no way he’d really believe he was ‘time traveled’ into the future- that’s stupid, everyone knows that’s literally impossible. And when he finds out he’s a machine?”

“Yeah. That almost seems wrong.” My partner said. “I like Gonzago, even if he isn’t a person.”

Eventually we resumed the show.

19th post: Short story, after i read some Neuromancer: The Meeting

Freakin’ neuromancer, so good.


The meeting

At the sound of the door being opened, the child rose from his play on the carpet.
His father entered, wearing his smile above a perfectly tailored jacket. The small boy leapt up into a hug, adorable as a koala. A branded plastic bag containing the new nintendo console spills conveniently onto the floor. The father wraps his arms around his precious son. Buy in person. Show you care.

A line of purple slashed across the scene, and then the screen froze. The moving crowds on the street below barely paused. Mick, who had been staring as he walked, woke up into the noise and movement. The momentary distraction of the screen had reset his mind hard. A mistake that brought back the simmering anxiety. Mick let the fear take him for awhile as he continued to walk towards the meeting. He remained offline, paranoid about visibility.

All around him the unmarred perfection of the rich office types served to unsettle Mick further. This was not his scene, and the strain of the act confused his fists and gait. He clenched and unclenched his sensitive hands, was conscious of his posture which kept drooping suddenly. All the money in his pocket felt heavy, and underneath his jacket marked him as an impostor amongst these well dressed people who did not stoop to using cash. Mick saw the reflection of a cloud upon blue sky drift across some glass tower, an illusion caused by the tint, or maybe even nanos. The calm scene served to induce the breathing exercises. Mick calmed his mind. He looked up past the buildings to a patch of sky the color of pavement. The familiar scene dispelled his doubts, and summoned up Mick’s resolve.

He patted the cash and remembered the points.

Check the info, make a fresh copy of the text, keep one eye on the messenger, and leave last.

Simple rules.

The main road flanked by obscenely expensive stores narrowed to a street less gentrified than the rest. Mick heard in his head the derisive way the office types referred to old soho. He banished the thought, not wanting to get caught up in some bullshit debate about class. It had been many years since he talked shit for no good reason.

The coffee shop cafe was a clear window constantly cleaned by nanos, and a row of grossly colorful rich-waster types staring at their screens inside the frame, unaware of the zoo. The Chat, it was called, short for Chatterley.

Mick checked his phone, made sure he was still ghosting- he did not look forward to the deluge of messages he’d have to tend to later. The person he was to meet, the messenger, didn’t seem be one of the ones staring out at the view- a sign this wasn’t a complete shit show. Mick still had his doubts. First times contain too many unknowns. Mick went through the retro door, looking at the tables for the book, and straight away finding the backdoor with his eyes. Harsh animalistic laugher from some stoned bastards almost ripped Mick from his concentration. Maybe they’ll panic if the cops show up, think they’re after them. Of course if this was a sting it wouldn’t matter.

Like some regular Mick walked to the counter and ordered some kind of coffee, trying to imprint the whole place in his memory. He spotted the messenger, the paper book with the right title facing the door. A she, dressed for an office, with black screen glasses and wearing a tasteful designer phone on her wrist. Mick took his coffee, logged in to pay (with one his fakes), and sat next to the lady, a view of the front door. His hammering heart obeyed the command- not our first time, we’ve got this.

The messenger reached into a pocket and produced the drive. Mick placed one hand on the drive, and one on his phone, and hesitated. Still silent she nodded assent, and Mick smiled a tiny smile. Mick’s left eye went virtual, the other looked out at the real world front door, as if he would have enough time to do anything except flush the data, before he’d get taken down. The info was as he thought, but fucking hell, the sheer amounts. He would make a killing on this- his gambling regulars wouldn’t mind the volatile stock, crazy for the slightest edge in equities. Banks might have the best legit info, but all that legislation and oversight prevented them from acquiring some of the real data. At least overtly.

Mick copied the text to the cloud- a standing command for when he surfaced. Then he double checked the dates and the signed names. A quick search confirmed they were all highly placed in the corp. Mick felt like a fucking cowboy, all done in less than twenty seconds flat. So far so good. He looked the girl right in her shiny glasses and gave her the big shit eating grin. Her mouth maintained that hard line, even as he reached inside his pocket for the chunk of cash. He felt then, rather than saw, her stiffen. He wasn’t going to pull anything- only an idiot would think he’d do that here…fuck.

Of course Mick didn’t run shadows for as long as he had without topping most cog-kinesis charts.

He threw his coffee into her face. She jerked back shrieking as her skin burned and he tore the screen from her eyes revealing two false contacts, high fucking tech corp ware. He crushed the glasses already halfway out of his seat.

The whole room looking as he ran to the backdoor. He processed: fuck i’m going to have move cities again.

Behind him he heard the pros come through the front yelling at everyone.

Too late to try shit, Mick was out the backdoor, in some alley where the garbage still stank. “Taste some real fucking magic.” he muttered to no one, the adrenaline refusing to be contained.

He ran with one eye open, switched identities and surfaced on the net, sent the data to the cloud, all mirrored on a disposable phone. His real world eye scoped some poor office type having a smoke working his own phone. Mick tackled the guy, throwing him to the ground. He took the guys phone, throwing down a disposable in its place- his false identity blasting out it’s location like some scrub who wanted to tell his boss how fucked it’s all going.

He was out the alley and then across a main road- no traffic till he made it to the other side, like some sick angel was helping him. A quick check, and yes, the heavies weren’t following, their supervisor must have told them to check the fool in the alley. Mick almost felt bad for the guy. Almost.

Mick was pissed. A goddamn sting from some upstart nano-tech- the freaking nerve of the corp made Mick want to punch things. Fuck ’em dead, he thought. Rather than sell the data on the market, Mick decided he was going to screw the bastards, right up the ass. Go public to one of the open source news sites- fry their rep. Let’s see how everyone else likes how these assholes do business.

Then Mick burst out laughing, the adrenaline catching up to him. The thought that he might look like a good guy was hilarious.

17th post: A short story- The Tourists

Sadly, today it is no longer Owl day. So a short story instead.

Anyhoo, another 1k(ish):

The Tourists

She was sitting when she watched him as he ate the apple.

She stared intently at him.

“For fuck sake what?” he said.

Completely unaffected, she hesitantly said, “If I may ask? What do you do with the apple? Where does the trash go?”

Through pieces of apple that tumbled out of his mouth he said “Outside.” His eyes, as usual, were really wide.

“Oh.” She said absently, before resuming her intense stare. It was obvious she was thinking. He continued to eat the apple. Eventually she said “I guess I thought you processed it. Or annihilated it or something.”

“Why?” He asked, whipping his head around whilst containing the apple in his mouth and thus narrowly avoiding propelling pieces of fruit into a painting.

He knows this, and is proud.

She answers his question, speaking quickly as always, “Well. Because. Nevermind. I guess that makes a lot of sense.”

Then he ate the apple entirely, core and all.

Finished, he turned to examine an object on top of a pile on top of the thing he called his desk.

She got up from her favorite spot and tried, very hard, to be deeply interested in a different object. This one was shaped like a cube, except a bit more squashed, and with one small shiny surface that did nothing except reflect. Silently she named it “the shiny cube”, before adjusting her hat.

She wore a green beret, and bright yellow gloves that resembled the ones she used to use to whilst washing dishes. She had found them in a pile.

He wore his terrible light green jacket and a scarf with apples on it.

She turned around suddenly.“May I ask something else?” She said

Immediately he responded “You don’t have to be so formal.” He didn’t look up.

“Oh well ok then. Where does the apple come from?”

“Oh.” he said. And he stopped to think.

She waited patiently.

After some time, he finally said, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Dammit come on why not now? I’ll try to understand. You’d be surprised. Do you have some kind of machine that can just make apples? And other things? A machine that can just, i don’t know, fabricate anything?”

“Let’s just talk about it later.” He said and started pacing around the room, which he liked to call his office.

Suddenly she realised it may not be up to him, that he couldn’t just tell anyone about such advanced technology. Though she felt a bit bad about being so curious, she didn’t feel bad enough, and asked “Are you not allowed to tell me?”

His face twisted: “Allowed? What the hell? Could you just stop asking me questions i’m busy.”

“Sorry.” She said, absently, then went back to scanning the room, irritated and bored. “It’s not like you’re doing anything important though.”

“What the hell?. Define important and also why are you suddenly asking so many questions?”

She was flabbergasted. “Are you kidding me? Questions? Of course I got questions! I’M IN A MOTHER FUCKIN’ TIME MACHINE!” Then she capered around the room.

At first he stared in disbelief.

Then he stared in approval.

The time machine was small, and the air always smelled a bit strange. Even he agreed, except he would argue that it was a damn good smell.

Their were a few things about the time machine that she found annoying. For one thing, it was small. Her apartment had been smaller, though not in terms of actual, livable space that wasn’t simply “utilised for storage” (as he said.)

Apparently, his name was Redbullsocks.

He said he named himself after his two favorite things from recently visited times.

She has up till now refused to call him Redbullsocks, because she felt it was a pretty stupid name. She also felt incredibly bored. So much so that eventually she said to him “Do you have any kind of, entertainment or something? Like a book? Or do you have some sort of…”

“Radio? Or Tele-vision? Yes, of course I do. Not limited to certain stations though. You don’t need to tune in. We have these sites you see, that anyone can create. Many are purely entertaining. Some are HILARIOUS. Though you probably wouldn’t understand them. Some of it is really complex. For example, there are these really short, sort of, things, like, imagine a picture of this REALLY CUTE- oh shit- there isn’t a word for it. Anyway, then imagine there are these really cute creatures, and they say, eh, ok there’s no word for that either. Never mind.”

“You mean like the internet?”

“OH YES! The internet. That’s what you call it. I forgot you’re from the early days of it. Fascinating. Though I suppose it’s unlikely you actually contributed.”

“Well actually I was a computer science major.”

At this his eyes lit up in an overabundance of enthusiasm. He got up and advanced on her, spewing questions.

She eventually started shouting: “YOU KNOW WHAT NEVERMIND… I JUST REMEMBERED- YEP, THAT’S RIGHT, I REMEMBER NOW. Turns out I never actually helped build the internet.”

“Pity.” He said, honestly disappointed.

“Yes a real crying shame but so do we have internet?”

He scoffed, repeatedly. “INTERNET! Imagine your internet after a million years or so of technological advancement. What we have is thousands of times better than the internet.”

“That sounds INCREDIBLE, can I see?” She said, leaping from her spot in excitement.

“NO FUCK THAT. I hate that stuff.”


He started to rant, his fists curled up in rage, “I can’t STAND IT, it’s so distracting. Can’t hear myself think. AND THE GAMES. THEY ARE SO ADDICTIVE. You do not know.”





“Sorry for yelling”

“That is ok.”

Then for awhile they each did very little. He actually seemed quite engrossed with doing nothing. He would sit and zone out for long stretches of time. Occasionally he muttered a word, usually in a language that she did not understand.

On the other hand she spent most of the time getting irritated and bored.
Until she convinced him to go visiting.

“If we go will you please leave me alone?” He asked.

“It will be fun” She said, whilst she looked around the room collecting various rags. She would sniff the particularly terrible ones, but wrapped most of them around her body.

For awhile he worked the controls of his time machine inside the room he thought of as an office. They landed on earth on the 20th of April, 1616 AD, in the middle of the English countryside. They walked for awhile till they came to a village.

She complained about how it was the wrong village. He said “Do you have any idea how freaking hard it is to land this thing accurately?” She felt a bit bad after that.

So instead of visiting William Shakespeare they did other things.

At first she followed his strict instructions, always staying within sight. He examined a windmill for hours, touching the wood, and making little notes on a piece of paper. At some point they entered a barn, and he stole some hay and ran away.

She followed.

She thought, this is excellent.

After awhile though, she started wandering off. That’s how it began. She wandered off. Then she would scare the locals. Then she would taser a local with the high tech taser device, and then that complicated things till they ended up kidnapping a local peasant who was being accused of being a witch.

Which was very much their fault.

Later, back inside the time machine, which he referred to as the “vehicle”, they stood over the body of the simple English peasent they had abducted.

“Well fuck. What do we do now?” she said. He silently stared at her.

Suddenly he seemed filled with great determination. Taking a stand between her and the peasant’s unconscious body he stated “I know what you’re thinking but we’re not going to kill it. I don’t care what your culture demands. It’s not right.”

“What the fuck I was not thinking of killing him.” She said.

“WOW REALLY? Sorry! Sorry! I guess I was being a bit racist there.” She just shook her head.
He looked embarrassed, and said “Stereotypes.” as way of explanation.

Eventually he decided they would deposit him in a particularly nice location, but not before he had to argue against taking him to her own present era, though she claimed it was just so she could show him amazing things.

In a compromise, he allowed her to show the peasant a single video, taken from her own primitive internet, from youtube. It was a song, recorded by some guy, about an elephant who falls in love with a peanut, but the peanut is actually a human dressed as a peanut. She tried to explain to the peasent that the song was made to fulfill a pledge the man made on a website where people posted links to other websites, or sometimes just text, and people commented on and either upvoted or downvoted the post. The man recorded the song according to one of the requests made in a comment by someone else inside a thread the singer had created where he stated he would record songs by request.

This was all translated to the peasant, who had been given some kind of drug. (“Trust me.” Redbullsocks had said).

The peasent screamed until they turned the video off.

Afterwards Redbullsocks berated the girl, who now wore several ties on her arms.

“You gave him a bad trip.” he said.

They ended up depositing him a couple of thousand years farther on and after that he was fine.

The last thing he said to her, before she went to sleep was “From now on please call me Barnhay.”

Then he used his machine to make more apples, which he ate.