Rampancy

By the time we got through check-in my throat felt like a fat piece of meat between my head and collar.

It wasn’t.

It just felt like that.

Every time I swallowed. Like my tongue had to struggle to wiggle in and out of it.

I hated that feeling.

I hated that I knew what that feeling was.

God was I really that annoying my entire life?

That I could recall what moments-after-strangling felt like?

I honestly had to review how many times I’d had fingers around my throat.

Genuinely too many.

“Boy.” His deep, calm voice startled me out of thought.

“Don’t call me that.” I croaked.

“Why?”

“Because I’m very obviously an adult.”

“Woopie. Dharma Yog are like reverse dog years. Sorta.” Dvar slipped his sunglasses into his jacket pocket. “Point I’m making is, yeah. You’re an adult. But yeah. You got a lot of learning to do. The best part’s the fifty years after one-hundred.”

“I don’t see that happening.” I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to try to level out.

“Why not?”

“Couple more rides from you, I’ll be long dead before then.”

Dvar shoved my head and went over to baggage claim.

I never could quite figure out why the illusion decided the peak of civilization was the 80s through the early 2010s. But then again. I think if I thought about it long enough that probably made sense.

Assuming we made any more technology than we have now…

“I could see all this shit going really wrong one day. Yeah.” I nodded, looking around the transfer station, watching people move about.

“What?” Dvar said, rolling a flat cart back over to me full of our luggage.

“You ever wonder if we’re the first civilization…? I dunno… nothing. Look… sorry I gave you shit.” I said, trying to extend an olive branch.

“Not sorry I strangled the shit out of you.” Dvar chuckled that chuckle. Like a panther that was smart enough to be cocky. “To be honest, I have it on pretty good authority we’re gonna play that game a lot. You run your mouth reckless.”

And he said it while being unconcerned with me.

He was checking the transfer station. Looking for the exit.

I wanted to say something back but that would prove his point.

I wasn’t about to prove his point.

I just climbed on top of the cart and sat down on our bags.

“What are you doing?”

“Being property.” I answered.

“Some hills don’t need rolling upward. Or dying on.” Dvar warned, but gave me a half smile, threatening me with masculine dimples.

Fuck me, he had masculine dimples. I clocked them.

They reminded me of someone I’d met before.

I tried to regain my composure as we rolled through the transfer station scuttling over carpet through crowds of people.

I saw a guy with a walkman.

An old relic the illusion let people manufacture that played cassette tapes for audio recordings.

I wanted one of those so bad.

I stared too long, probably. Kinda got that feeling when the guy looked at me oddly and turned away.

I watched the outside fast approaching as Dvar rolled me like luggage out of the front of the station to the street.

There was a row of convertible, wide body cars parked out front. Blasted in amber-orange and tangerine rays from the sun. Spilling over Thread from the transfer station’s road all the way down the hill of reflected light and glass, roads and streets, spilling into the Valley. Looking at all of Thread as it spread out in front of me, curving upward at the opposite side of the disc in the barely visible distance.

A great big bowl in space.

As far as the eye could see. Cutting into the right side of my vision was it’s massive crystal blue lake-ocean-situation, rising up the inclined wall on its side, the entire bowl tilted so sunlight could spill down into it.

But it didn’t feel tilted. All of its gravity seemed to pull towards the surface of the bowl.

The illusion made no sense.

“Home sweet home.” The closest I’d ever get to earth before the illusion.

Before it turned into a bowl of its own. A dustbowl of violence with only two bastion cities with any form of civility.

The west actually won again out there.

Dvar moved round to the front of our cart and said, “Cutie, could you get the fuck off my god damn shit?” In a voice so calm I had to laugh.

I hopped down off of the cart. As he bent down to get the first bag, he ‘accidentally’ shoved me against the yellow taxi cab that pulled up for us.

Hard as fuck.

I thumped off of it with a grunt and slid to the deck.

“Fuck you…” I grunted.

He picked up our luggage piece by piece and loaded it into the cab while I picked up my dignity piece by piece and loaded it into the back seat.

I slammed the door too.

Sitting inside, I listened to him load the trunk, felt the cab shake gently when he dropped our bags inside. I looked forward at the cabbie whose eyes flashed up to meet mine then went back to his flip phone. I could hear him texting frantically with click buttons.

T9 texting. I knew those blues.

God help him if he had to backspace.

But then I also noticed the dot on his forehead. Either a third eye or a religious marker. Hard to tell anymore…

Then I noticed something else. Walking through the transfer station, most everyone working there, most every cab driver heard negotiating outside.

They all spoke Hindi.

I felt Dvar slam the trunk a moment later. Then he knocked on it, getting my attention.

I looked back to see him balling a fist up at his eye, simulating sarcastic weeping.

I almost shouted something back.

Almost.

Then the door of the cab opened. A flood of that beautiful citrus scent hit my nose and I remembered his words.

Not in public.

I bit my tongue and he slid in beside me, closing the door.

“Good boy.” He said, as if he knew I liked praise. I smiled a little.

I felt oddly… seen?

That sounded so gay.

Literally in my head, that sounded gay as shit.

Get it together, Uno! I refused to let him rob me of my anger. I frowned at myself and resumed being upset.

I took a deep inhale and adjusted in my seat. Tangerine and citrus informed my breath.

And he was just there.

Over there.

I could touch him.

Not that I wanted to. I could feel him without looking at him. The ever pleasant aroma of his cologne. His presence. I kept glance-checking him like I expected him to pop out of existence like an apparition.

I was weirdly nervous. I never knew what he was gonna do.

Like a dominant animal in his space. Not just the cab.

Thread.

He somehow made it feel like Thread was his.

He tilted his head to look out of the window, drumming the backs of his fingernails on the glass as he looked at his floating disc city.

Thread had a Prime Minister. That was Berchinald Rembrandt. My dad…

Ex. Dad.

But Thread had a Yakuza king.

“Benny… Benny, Benny, Benny… He owes me free lunch.” Dvar said, nudging his head forward at the cabbie.

He spoke in fluent Hindi and the cabbie responded back.

“Why are the Cabbie’s here all Hindi?” I asked, noting about the third fluent Hindu speaker since we arrived.

“Because everyone is. Was. Or Japanese. Or some version of Indo-Japanese.”

“Most everyone in the illusion is that to some degree, that’s not what I asked. Why Hindi? Specifically.” I corrected my question. Perhaps a little more sharply than I should have.

My eyes flashed to him and he didn’t look back. He just kept preoccupying himself with the window. I exhaled a breath of relief. I thought for sure I was gonna wake up somewhere else again.

“Whatever happened in the past after this place was created, the industrious nations who jumped on trends fast were the first ones to assimilate. The people who needed work.”

“Ohh… India, Japan, parts of Korea. Most of Asia in general. They flooded in first and by the time everyone else realized the real was a steaming turd headed for oblivion, they had to fall in line. I get it.” I nodded.

“A new order.” Dvar said. “I was gonna go to Benny’s but. Let’s just say I might feel like I over did it with the strangling thing.”

“Oh? Really? I can’t imagi-…”

“Can you just take the win?” Dvar cut in sharply.

I shut my mouth. Amber eyes moving over to him again. Finding his staring back. Then they preoccupied themselves looking around the cab again.

“That. Right there.” He said, pointing at my face.

“What?”

“That.”

“What?”

“The look on your face when you’re not talking? Stunning. I need that more. The other ones less.”

“… You could just say shut up, man.” I rolled my eyes and sat back in my seat.

Sinister fucker just laughed.

“BOOM!” He blasted my ears with his big voice.

I jumped so hard I almost pissed myself.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” I screamed. He scared the fucking shit out of me.

I nearly jumped out of the car window.

He laughed harder.

“Oh my god. Are you serious? What in th-…” I sucked air through my teeth and slid further into my car door, my heart thumping in my chest.

The driver chuckled under his breath.

“Tell that guy in Hindi, go fuck himself.”

Dvar literally told the driver in Hindi that I said go fuck himself.

The driver laughed harder.

“Fuck both of you.” I pouted.

I had to listen to them cackling for the next minute of my life.

At my expense.

The driver said something through cackling laughter and Dvar’s quiet rumbling laugh escalated.

He said something back that I only got parts of. They were speaking too casually and laughing too hard for my pathetic Hindi knowledge to decipher it.

When you have a connection with the cab driver and it's because you were the butt of the joke?

Not a good look.

I rolled my tongue over my teeth in irritation. Felt my jaw clench. I never wanted to beat a motherfucker up so bad in my life. Why is it you always wanna beat a motherfucker up when they can easily beat you up?

Why is life that unfair all the time?

I just stared out of the window and watched Thread go by, done with the both of them.

Dvar eventually gave a sigh of contentment.

I hated his stupid sigh of contentment.

I even mocked it the best way I could with my face to the window.

Quietly.

Real gentle like.

“You realize this only ends one way, right?” I heard him say from beside me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Then he was leaning in. I could smell his cologne come closer. Could feel his heat beside me.

He spoke right into my ear.

“My tongue in your mouth,” he whispered. Just for the both of us to hear.I felt ice tumble down my throat and splash into my chest.

My eyes slowly went wide as I stared at him.

He slowly pulled back to his side of the car.

I was real quiet for the rest of the ride.

Every time I looked over there, he was swiping on his phone, texting things, offering a chuckle at something.

Then he patted my thigh as we pulled up to a white and wood brown dojo.

Or a building that looked like one.

Or a part house… building… dojo… thing?

Whatever it was, it was interesting. And cool.

For a moment I wondered if I was the kind of person who should ever be allowed in some place that looked this serene. I couldn’t shut the fuck up for four minutes, let alone long enough to meditate.

I was literally the worst meditator ever. I could do it well enough to charge my Dharma Yog. To reload my Res Rounds, but… that was about it.

No breakthroughs here. I just sorta pretended.

I kinda thought everybody else pretended.

You would think as much time as I spent locked up, forced to meditate, I’d have gotten somewhere.

I spent almost my entire life on Meridian among pearly novelty buildings and the inside of drab, bog standard ships, only ever seeing Thread from afar. On Meridian we fell in love with sameness. Because there’d never be anything else.

Buildings?

Same.

Rooms?

Same.

Beatings?

Okay, those were worse for me.

I couldn’t shut up to save my life.

My platoon leader was my biggest bully through primary school.

I’d say something to piss him off on purpose.

He’d send me to the infirmary.

Good times.

It’s a shame the most stable thing in my life was whatever ship I was assigned to for the month. The rock of my stability built in a mass produced torture chamber.

To the point where I could only find peace if something was wrong.

Male aggression defined the lines in my life.

Told me when I was doing things right or wrong.

Funny how trauma makes itself at home on your couch.

It lives with you.

I was almost ashamed of the fact that I got a thrill of satisfaction from Dvar knocking me the fuck out.

In my life, nobody loved me unless I bled for them.

If they were hurting me at least I knew they could see me.

God I’m fucked up.

But this? Thread? This house? This was…

Cool. Snap me out of my crazy shit, cool. Like, ‘old video of Miami Vice’ cool. With sushi out front.

Motherfucker had palm trees and shit.

“Motherfucker you got palm trees and shit!” I blurted out my thought the same time I had it, pointing.

My excited face and huge eyes turned towards Dvar.

“Put on your third eye.” He said as he opened his door and got out.

He walked around to my side and opened the door for as well.

I knew it wasn’t because he cared. He was protecting his investment.

I could tell cus he grabbed his investment by a French braid and hauled it out of the car.

“Ahh-ah…” I pinched an eye shut as he dragged me down to my knees on the concrete outside.

I watched him lift his hand and swipe at nothing. Then it occurred to me why I’d only seen drab buildings. An east meets west landscape of white primary colors like a historical photo of middle class Indo-Japanese flare. Miles and miles of buildings in the business park.

I hadn’t worn a third eye since a while back. This place only looked half as cool as it could have looked with one on.

“Why don’t you have a permanent one?” He asked, and only then I noticed the dot on his forehead.

I saw so many people with them on it just sorta didn’t seem important.

Nobody on Meridian wore them.

Why would we? We manufactured tech, we didn’t use it.

The Silence were monastic to some degree. Dedicated to dharma. We weren’t allowed to have fun. Fun was beating ass or getting ass beat. Fun was training. Fun was picking on the runts to make them stronger. Or to make them suffer a horrible runt accident and get retired to the mines.

“Never got sold before,” I said, gripping his wrist, “I was basically Ghost Protocol. Meridian doesn’t have a third eye layer." I growled as he jerked my head around in response. Playing with my skull.

He stilled my head and grinned at me.

“Does that piss you off?” He asked, jerking my head around some more with my braid.

“Aah! Stop!” I snarled.

“Say it pisses you off.”

“No!” I lied. I didn’t want him to win.

Why do we pick stupid fights?

“Say it, you little runt.” His free hand struck my face. Stinging me. “Look at me.” He demanded.

I went still when he stopped tugging my head around, glaring at the metal trash bins on the street.

It occurred to me then that the only things here are the things the One Logic would let them conjure…

Not anything they wanted.

The world had rules.

“Hey. Hey!” Dvar snap-snap-snapped his fingers in front of my face.

I blinked hard several times and threw my amber eyes back up to him. “Hn?”

“Don’t dissociate. I’m talking to you, Autie boy… That. Rampancy. You prototypes, you all do that.”

“Do what?”

“Dissociate. Thought loop. Ramble. I bet your head’s a mess.”

“What- it's who?”

“Rampancy.” He said the word again, clearly. “They used to call it scale disorders or something. That’s not this. Autism. That’s not you… You’re not human. You process differently. The same way the One Logic works.”

My eyes ticked about in my head.

“That. See?” He grinned a little. “I love seeing the gears in that pretty little head work.” He pat-patted my cheek and I pulled away.

“Stop touching my head.” God I hated that.

He shoved my head and I got up from the ground, throwing him an evil side eye.

“Are you done inspecting me?” I asked.

He didn’t respond, he just snatched me up by my collar like a bully in school. Planting my back against the taxi’s b-pillar.

“Nhhg!” I grunted. Felt it. Hard.

“You don’t wanna mess with me too much, Uno.”

Something about his voice shut me up. My eyes locked with his. Moved back and forth between them.

He didn’t glare. He didn’t challenge or grind his jaw.

He just looked at me like it was 6 o’clock in Miami.

I nodded oddly… fearfully… at that gorgeous half Asian face.

“Not in public. Right.”

“That’s how we stay in the fight.” He grunted, letting me slide back down to my feet.

“Unload the car.” He said, turning and marching away with a deep breath.

Like he needed space from me.

“By myself?”

“I loaded it.” He was gone. In the house.

I couldn’t argue.

“Fuck.”

Left with only the tangerine tang of his presence leaving me.

Stage one dependency.

God I’m such a loser.