Üksi - Introductions (1)

Hi mehnnonites, you might remember me from “that old place”. Recently @dave approached me about writing something similar to an old long-running and oft-abandoned zombie story I used to churn out every few months when I’d remember it. This will be a weekly-updating (barring demands from my other gigs) story that will grow and evolve as it’s written. All of which is to say if it sucks, blame @dave.

Installments so far: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

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“Microchips. In our heads.” Greg stares us down, his eyes narrowed in that steely squint indicating that we should feel amazed at whatever deep metaphysical truth he’s just leveled on our heads. His crows’ feet tighten briefly in frustration at the sight of our collective indifference before going slack again.

“There is no available technology such as this,” Kaja sighs through a cloud of smoke that curls, framing her angular features in severe relief.

“That we know of,” I reply pointedly, ever happy to point out a flaw in a premise. It’s a talent sorely undervalued by present company, as indicated by the number of exasperated breaths and rolling eyes I track through the group. “Besides,” I add, “I’m not entirely sure how productive this conversation can be. This entire situation so far can be counted as things we don’t know of. ”

That gets me a few nods of acquiescence. At least, I think they’re nods. Would this place translate non-verbal language, too? I start to ask before I think better of it - I’m trying to get the group’s focus away from this argument.

“Maybe not productive, but relevant. If we can solve this mystery, perhaps others will open up.” I sigh as I see the group nodding in agreement with Emer. “Learning how we all understand each other despite not speaking the same language could lead us to understanding how we all wound up here in the first place.”

“And where here is, exactly,” Julie chimes in.

“I’m telling you, we’re in a computer simulation. We’re hooked up in life support pods somewhere being fed all this through some kind of neural interface.”

“Nonsense. We’re awake and aware. This is some kind of laboratory experiment.”

“What if the world ended and we’re all that’s left?”

“How would we all end up here in this little town?”

“What if we’re dead and this is purgatory?”

“Or hell?”

“Or worse: what if this is heaven?” I smile. A stagnant silence falls over the group. Not quite the desired effect, but it’s shut everyone up for a second, which is welcome relief to my pounding head. This can’t be heaven; there’s no whiskey.

“I don’t wish to add more conflict to this already stressful situation,” pipes up a slight, unassuming man pushing glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, “but before we go much further with any of these discussions, we’re going to need to address the bodies.”