Cyblogs - Nov 2107

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So-called 'Mushroom Revolution' isn't really a revolution
Posted by Bret Collins on Monday, Nov 23, 2107

My life inside Cyrus City was crazy, but the one I’ve led out here in the wilds of the world is something indescribable. Well, maybe not indescribable, but certainly a complete directional change. And yet something remains the same: the people.

Every once and again, I find myself thinking about the people that mattered the most to me in my days within Cyrus, and the only one that comes to mind fast is Phil. Phil who was the first to set sail with me on the original balloon. Phil who was the last to leave me from the old gang.

Used to be that Phil would tell me that no matter where he used to go in Cyrus City, the people were always the same. Out in this world, it’s much the same. There are still those people that can’t get enough power, and there are still those people that get high off playing the underdog. I’ve never been one to apply universal truths, but when they’re kicking you in the head, you have to stop and wonder what the deal is, and if doing what you’re doing is going to amount to anything worthwhile.

There was a time when things were perfectly sound in my head. When I knew who I was shooting at and what my goals were. I miss those days.

In front of me, doubled over in pain from my first shot, was Thomas, the newest addition to our little group. If I happened to see the whites of his eyes, I was sure than I would let go of the string totally, place my last arrow soundlessly in his brain, and just watch him drop, but he wasn’t doing much more than trying his best to stand with the pain that had burrowed into his stomach.

All he had to do was just remember the instructions I’d given him earlier, and maybe this could all be put to an end. That maybe, however, was teetering a little too much in the balance of things, and it didn’t look as though this would come out with a bright ending. Fair enough, I thought. I didn’t remembering needing another mouth to feed in the first place.

Leader of the Mushroom 'revolution' is wrong about some things...
Posted by Bret Collins on Nov 22, 2107

“Do you have family back in Cyrus City?” Thomas asked me a few days ago. He’d been asking me a lot of questions since sailing off from Bavnav’s island. He’d been telling me a lot about himself as well. I didn’t care about the telling so much, but more often than not his questions about me went unanswered.

I shook my head. No mother, no father. No siblings. No lover. Not even friends anymore. The last friend I had died on this very platform, and I buried him somewhere a couple hundred miles ago, back when this world was new and full of promise. I liked thinking of it in those terms.

I remembered the accident. It was all over the underground news when it happened. Surface gazers might have caught a brief mention of it on CCN, but it was quickly silenced.

I couldn’t stop myself from being surprised anymore than I could stop myself from opening my mouth and asking him how he could still work for Cyrus after that.

He stumbled through his answer: “I kind of buried myself in my work to get through it. Sure I was upset, but I never thought to be upset at the corporation.”

Tribute for those who fell during the latest Mushroom bombing
Posted by Bret Collins on Nov 21, 2107

Over the next couple of days, Thomas did what jobs he was given well enough. He kept a smile, but I could tell he was holding something back. Every once in a while, I’d catch him wincing. When we were in the air, there wasn’t anywhere he could hide on the platform, but he did his best to cover it up. Still, something was wrong.

“What’s that all about?” I’d ask, and he’d blow the sudden burst of pain off like it was a spot of indigestion. I bought it for a while, but when it wouldn’t go away, I kept a closer eye on him. So, of course, everything went bad while I was asleep.

It was the Kid’s screaming that woke me up. Then the Kid was shaking me, and I saw him above me, pointing off to the back of the platform.

Then the Kid’s pointing arm was gone, snatched from the joint, leaving a steady stream of oil leaking from a few exposed tubes, while the severed wires sparked.

Thomas had the Kid’s arm and was looking at it as its fingers clutched and moved with aimless direction. It looked as though the arm’s continuing movement confused the guy, if that’s what you could call him. I stood up with the air rifle.

“Listen to me,” I said. Thomas glanced up at me. I had his attention, but suddenly I was wishing I hadn’t called for him.

His hands now had claws that had seemingly dug themselves out. He looked more rigid than he had before and was bleeding at all the places that his new skeletal structure exposed itself from the skin. His jaw seemed more prominent than before. Now he looked like he could take a bite out of a sheet of steel and chew it into a wad.

“Listen,” I said again. “All you have to do to stay alive right now is fall to the floor, face down with your arms out from your body.”

He dropped the Kid’s arm. It clunked on the platform like dead weight. A low growl started inside Thomas. The louder it got, the more impatient I became, until I’d had enough of the scene.

Thomas went flying over the edge platform, but instead of falling to whatever was waiting below, he caught on to one of the pink tentacles holding on to the side and used it as a swing. As fast as he went from our craft, he was coming back and aimed to collide with me. He hit his aim perfectly before I could get another shot off, and soon I was sailing away from the rest of my group.

Thomas let go of the tentacle, and we were both falling. Tree branches slapped at my face first, then battered my ribs, legs, arms, head, but they did their job of slowing me down. I looked up for Thomas to follow me down, but he was stuck in a thick patch of vines. They’d wrapped around his legs. I took this as my chance to escape into the cover of darkness.

If you would have a piece, prepare for war
Posted by Bret Collins on Nov 20, 2107

In my training as a revolutionary, my particular cell taught us to use what was available during a combat situation. I say this training was the only thing that got me out of the air mines alive, even if my cohorts weren’t able to say the same.

Once in a fight with a few Cyrus goons, I used a light bulb, some lighter fluid, and a wadded up piece of chewing gum as an incendiary device. In another getaway, I strung up a catapult from a cot frame, some lengths of wire, and fired heavy landline telephones at the opposition.

“You find what you need,” Phil used to say. He’d grab me by the cheeks and get close enough to kiss me. “There’s always something to find.”

With Phil’s voice ringing in my head, I scrambled to find something I needed. This was different that the urban warfare I’d been participating with in Cyrus, but the basics were still there. Vines served as ropes. Jagged rocks served as crude knives. I was able to notch a sturdy branch and use it as a bow. Smaller branches were my arrows. I’d made a similar device in the past.

Since I was in a jungle, there was nothing but shelter. I viewed this as a disadvantage, since it meant that Thomas could hide as easily as I could, and I had no idea how advanced his night vision had become.

Bavnav was to blame, I suspected, but there was nothing I could do about it now.

I waited and pulled back on the string of my bow. Another crack and I released in the same direction. A howl and Thomas stumbled out of the foliage. I’d got him right in the stomach. He pulled the arrow out. I loaded my bow with another arrow, which broke under the pressure of the string and bow. I loaded my last handcrafted arrow and pulled back. This one stayed strong, and I waited, still wondering if Thomas had heard me tell him to give up by lying down when we were on the air boat.

“Thomas,” I said, and as though the sound of my voice was all he was waiting for, he jumped at me. I shot the arrow, and he caught it in midair before tossing it down and continuing after me. I used my bow as a staff the best I could, but soon that was out of my hands as well, and I was pinned to the ground.

antiPods are seriously the pinnacle of technology
Posted by Bret Collins on Nov 19, 2107

In the air mines, just before the big break out, Phil told me that if I was afraid that meant I still had things to live for, and that fear itself was enough of a reason to help with the cause. And when I told him that I wasn’t afraid at all, he looked me in the eye and said, “Then I hope that someday you will have fear in your heart again, darlin’.”

Trapped under Thomas, I felt a little bit of fear. Fear that I’d never see the things that were out in the rest of the world. Fear that I’d never relive the kind of ease I’d felt in Toru’s small village. Then a thought shot through me: None of that had to do anything with Cyrus City. So soon I was fearing that I wouldn’t live to find out what I really wanted out of life. I tried kneeing him between his legs to persuade him to get off me.

Thomas’s left fist came down on my face and tore away a chunk of flesh. I felt the sting of the wound and the blood running down past my ear.

He caused small goose bumps to raise on my skin. Be breathed me in, deep and long inhalations. It was amidst one of these that I stretched to reach the side of his head and bit onto one of his ears. The strength of my bite and the sudden jerk of his recoil was enough to tear the ear off completely. I spit it out and grabbed for my bow again. I took the vine rope from the thing and wrapped the most of its length around my hands. He was still nursing at his ear when I positioned myself behind him and used the vine to choke him. He thrashed, but I had my knee against his back and didn’t let up even as he as dropped to his knees, then to his chest. I stayed a while longer, pulling with all my strength, until the vine broke. Even then, his chest was still rising and falling. He was still alive.

I kicked him in the head, then started searching around for more vine I could use to tie him up to a nearby tree.

It wasn’t hard to find, and when I was finished, I searched what little of the skies I could to see the pink thing that had become our living balloon. Nothing.

I started climbing up the highest tree I could find and once I was above the leaves of the others, I spotted the balloon using what appeared to be a spotlight to search the jungle; something the Kid had rigged up, no doubt. I screamed for them, and they quickly changed their course.

“There’s no reason to think he’ll stay crazed,” I told Toru. “The other beasts at Bavnav’s were logical, so it stands to reason that he will be as well, after a while. We need to detain him.”

“You mean take him with us?” the Kid asked. He’d already done a quick job of repairing his severed arm.

I nodded. If he was able to be civil after adjusting to his change, I’d certainly find a use for him at some point.

We searched around for more vines, and when we were done, Thomas looked as though he was bound in a tight cocoon.

“Let’s get him onboard,” I said, and after that bit of business taken care of, we were off. And I pretended not to notice that the course put Cyrus City at our backs.