Up And Out From Down And Under

Cock crows. Second sun in the sky. Ravens and angels are wheeling around through each others flight paths, while magpies drop to pick at the shattered shiny remnants of halos.

There is a fire burning with wood from a tree that dropped a fruit that gave gravity to a scientist.

He knows that he is in a metatext space that someone has created to either program or deprogram here. His awareness triggers a domino rally that spurs a few fires throughout the environment that come in from different angles and try to undermines his awareness.

He yawns, but he knows that if he falls asleep the envelope will be sealed. He kicks a mirror that is leaning against a short walls, takes a shard from it and jabs it into his side. It isn’t a shard of glass – it is an interruption protocol. He will reprogram them.

He extracts his eyeball from his left socket and cracks it open, figuring that they mapped him before inserting him, and therefore replicating him. He has forgotten his name but remembers truths about himself. He finds the internal monitoring system’s ocular component and makes it talk to the subatomic marker these idiots will also have unknowingly mirrored. Tento Massai can build an escape route under the cover of their own idiot programming.

A tesseract fritz sends spark up through the data-line, into the meat, and through his supine body into the system. His snag-net for localised energy fields scoops the energy kicked out by the machine breaking, and a real world tesseract anchor gets flung out to his Edit Ship, and he is up above the place he had been imprisoned for, according to the monitors, three months.

He drops a snowcrash screen into their systems, and runs a scraper behind that to dig out the data on who they are. Butcher Birds, a deep space attachment, trying to capture Engineers who are working at the edge of The Unscripted Realms. Why? He’d heard about it – they were trying to learn the Rewrite Scripts and the Iterative Fractal Codes for the Spin Tide Barriers they had erected at the edge of defined space, so that the Scripted wouldn’t roll back or unravel. He wasn’t equipped to handle them, so he dropped a marker, and he alerted The Slush-Pile-Drivers, a detachment of radical Headitors, that would come in and repurpose this Cuckooed planet.

Time to be somewhere else.

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