The Dreamer

  “Is it true?” one of my council members, Hisea, asks, his snake-like tongue hissing as he’s reading my notes about the lack of a vision. I’m happy the Oracle council was able to meet on such a short notice.

  “Yes,” I answer. “I don’t know who’s coming this time around, at least not without certainty. The Fallen initially looked the same as past timelines... but we all know how that went.” Why are they still bothering me about this a week after that damn thing broke? ... I shouldn’t be so harsh on them -- it’s only natural for them to care about the future. It’s not my fault I’ve had similar conversations before, even when they never turn out the exact same.

  “Nonetheless, it is a different timeline. How much are you willing to divulge of the last one?”

  “I got staked in the heart,” I answer simply. There’s no point being rude about it: they don’t remember it all. “The fallen of another time went on to murder everyone at the slightest provocation, myself included.”

  “Much like the other realities you’ve reported on... it’s certainly a sign of concern. Especially for the realities where our kind has been...”

  “Enslaved,” I finish, closing my spider-like eyes.

  “Among other fates.” With his own telekinesis, Hisea hovers the paper closer to his eyes. “It appears that we also need to discuss the funding for your lab. Apologies, this information-”

  “It's probably new,” I interrupt. I appreciate their concern for my health, but I can’t predict how the future goes: even when things seem to be the same, ever-so-slight differences I can’t see affect what I later experience.

  “Then, in this timeline, you’ll be happy to know you’ll be receiving compensation, about 700 pons. We trust you’ll spend these funds appropriately?”

  I smile: “I wouldn’t want to be on the news like the moneybags known as Blakkaol, now would I?” It gets a laugh from my colleagues, knowing that Blakkaol was convicted of the embezzlement of 101.1 million pons, spent towards decorating his manor rather than towards education. For all his masquerading as an honest man for the people, all his empire needed to fall was one curious reporter interested in his tax returns. At least it was a minor amount compared to the 8.4 billion pons spent in our education system. Maybe that’s why he thought he could get away with it. “Now, is there anything else we needed to discuss?”

  “No,” Hisea replies. “Just make sure to send the report to Regent Harbising, alright?”

  “Understood.” The report floats over to me, as I grab it with a tentacle sprouting from my back. With a mind of its own, it tucks the file into the folder within my frog-like hands. “I’ll be on my way then.” I give a short courtesy: “Just ensure you’ll be protected.”

  “Of course, Mr. Malavirus.” I walk out of the room, mentally preparing myself for the arrival of the Fallen. As I walk, I see a mail carrier hovering about -- I put the folder inside the drone, the machine clicking and whirring as it processes the paperwork. With a click, the LED light atop its head glows yellow, as it remains stationary, awaiting more mail.

  With that, I leave for the transit line, my hooves clicking against the metal ground. The station hums with life, of both the electricity going through its lights and the people playing on the station itself. Two kids play tag, both with spider-like bodies -- four legs attached to an abdomen, and the other four arms attached to the thorax. The taller one chases the shorter one as they dash, their parents crawling on the floor in mad pursuit. I manage to catch the runner with my tail, catching the tip on my shirt. They swing their arms at me, as I just giggle: “Oh come now,” I tease. “We may have auto-railings, but is that any way to act?”

  “Hey, let me gooooo,” they whine, still swinging. The tips of their arms minorly scratch me and my clothing, but they don’t tear in any way. The other sibling laughs, which seems to frustrate the trapped one more.

  “Oh thank you,” one of the two husbands pants, out of breath. “Sorry about our little ones, they can run far.”

  “It’s no worry at all,” I answer, lifting them into the parent’s arms. He grabs on as I simply bow: “I only live to serve.”

  “Haa, thank the Savior,” he answers, still out of breath.

  “Attention! Train arriving!” the automated announcement calls out. “Vermillion Line, heading leftwards.”

  I sigh with relief -- at least the train isn’t going the opposite direction this time around. It’s frustrating when I always need to go one way but it states the other. I look in the direction of the lights, the train silently approaching as it de-accelerates to a clean stop, its antiquated frame still holding up since a century ago. The doors snap open, with many monsters on their way out with many to step in as well -- myself included. Inside the train lay various seats, perfectly suitable for a long distance train. I take out my handheld tablet, rereading the ticket I reserved -- Cabin A, Sector Beta, one of the business-class ones. The only difference between the business and normal cabins are the soundproof barriers, often when government workers like myself need to take calls.

  I continue to stroll forward, seeing my people continuing to enjoy themselves: I go through a normal booth, happening to overhear various passengers talking about simple things: the job market, who’s going to win the next sports game, what our government could do better, stuff like that. There are some heated debates, but it’s inevitable, even desirable compared to the state of absolute conformity I see a lot of the Fallen attempt to implement.

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  My cabin is on the first door, already open. It remains clean, the seat cushion recently scrubbed of any stains. I sincerely hope that no one vomited here or did something... unspeakable.

  I take a seat, the scent of bleach still strong -- oh, someone did something here alright. I trust the staff to have cleaned this, but... eugh. I just hope the mess was made by a young child.

  Either way, I make my call -- I tap the call button, pinging the regent as I wait in my seat. Almost absentmindedly, I look over at myself again with a hand mirror. I brush over my braided hair with small tendrils, making sure all of the individual braids are in their place. I cross my legs, enjoying the odd sense of power it gives me -- or maybe that it’s just style to cross your legs. I think it goes nicely with my dress. Lastly, I look around my chest area as I take a deep breath. Time to experiment with this again.

  I start to raise it a bit, add a bit of fat, before discomfort hits me again. Bile rises, so I stop the change and swallow it back in. , that’s still uncomfortable. Why did so many people think I was a woman all along? Do I really dress like that based on their culture? All the women who came down here had battle skirts, not any longer dresses like me. Either way, it’s good to know I’m still a ‘man,’ as ambiguous as that term is.

  “Ahem, Genome?” I hear a deep voice -- I blush over myself, purple sprouting on my blue flesh as I look back to him, the Regent, Deoxal Harbising. The hologram of the Regent stands proud, his two curved horns akin to a bull wrapping around his crown. One of them stands broken, but it doesn’t make him any less mighty. Also, I suppose it helps that his figure resembles that of a minotaur, hence the bull-like imagery. His wheelchair creaks as he moves around, moving it with one of his beefy arms... Genome, don’t fantasize right now.

  “Yes sir,” I add, sitting upright and uncrossing my legs. Why am I always caught at the worst times, this happens every loop. I take a deep breath, the color of blue returning to me. I give an even smile -- “What may I do for you?”

  “You didn’t file the orb breaking to commit insurance fraud, right?” Pfft, of course he jokes like that. I can’t imagine how he’d react if he discovered 10 year old me had a crush on him; he’d tease me endlessly on how I found a 50 year old man attractive. Honestly, I thought he was only 30 at the time, but whatever.

  “No,” I wave off. “Besides, should I commit insurance fraud, I’d have done it in much smaller quantities and more frequent events. Plus, I do appreciate the stipend of 12,000 pons per cycle.” Unemployment benefits of 6000 pons are nice, but truth be told, I quite like this job. Plus, more money is better than some.

  “Yes, you call it a stipend,” Regent Harbising adds, “but I’d like to remind you that we are still not allowed to employ children.”

  “Of course,” I answer. “Yet in two aspects: I am certainly older than a regular adult if we consider mental age, and I am only an ‘honorary member’.”

  “...Despite your presence in the court and effectively being the leader in all but name? And we already know about the Cursed’s Word, what it said about such thinking.”

  “And as for your own case of being ‘a mere council member’?”

  “Touche.” He gives a bellow as I giggle along, blinking my several eyes. “Now, don’t worry -- the request ideally shouldn’t take long to approve. And as for your ‘employment,’ it’s moreorless dismissed by the fact that ultimately, it is volunteer work. Volunteer work that you’ve put your heart and soul to, but volunteer work that has been rewarded. We’ve been under constant pressure to keep it that way, I assure you.”

  “I’d hope so.” Openness is the key to any good government. “Now, about my... trip. The Fallen is arriving soon, and I,” I pause, remembering what I have to do, and how I have to dress. I sigh, transmuting again. My body shifts to being ‘normal’, my skin turning into a pale white. Rather than being adorned with the complexity of fur, it instead feels more greasy, and... icky. All that makes me me goes away in trade for a human design. I look at my reflection, seeing the face of ‘traditional beauty’ -- blue eyes, white skin, and a hazel-brown hair.

  “Are you-”

  “Yes,” I cut off, irritated as I hug myself, trying to hide the discomfort. My arm touches the at my chest, jiggling a bit as I feel myself start to throw up again. I put my hands down as I just smile: “I have to be appealing somehow.” For whatever reason, the men seem to find this form more ‘interesting’, and it’s almost always more men than women. I know the reason why, and I hate it: so many have offered to take me to bed, and more often than not, I had to accept. I tried resisting, but with how many realities failed, I started to believe that it was a ‘necessary sacrifice.’

  And then they kept doing it again and again, it kept happening, and it still hurts no matter how many realities I go to. I just wish they weren’t so cruel all the time, yet they won’t change. They almost never change. Not as if the women who visit are any different -- the only difference is that I adopt a male human persona. In every reality, I’m supposed to be someone to be fixed, yet all they expect from me is someone to take apart and reform.

  “My apologies,” I add, trying to focus on the now. “I’ll set up my residence at the Staraun.” I shift back to my monstrous form, the comfort of fur, scales, and tentacles returning to me. My chest loosens up, feeling less tight and restrictive of who I wish to be. “I need to be ready and monitor the drop-site for the Fallen, and be prepared for when they arrive. For now, I’ll just stay in a hotel and then use the shelter commissioned nearby.”

  “Shelter?”

  “Surely you remember the one near those decrepit ruins? Those ones built where I ‘prophesized’ the Fallen would come from.”

  “Ah, right.” His eyes blink, one a calm blue while the other remains scarred, resembling a faded gray. I only heard from word-of-mouth, but apparently his ancestor had fiery orange eyes when he fought against the Heroes of Old. “I’ll have some guys drop off your stuff when you can, alright? Just remember to send the address.”

  “There’s no need,” I answer. “I already got my clothes and spices sent via our mail system, before my Oracle meeting started. At worst, I’ll need to wait an hour at the station before they arrive.”

  “Ahaa! Always one step ahead. Were you always like this?”

  “Seems like it,” I smile proudly. I could lie about being this good, but I won’t -- I just am.

  “Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy yourself. Have a good day, and take care of yourself. Ryebose is still missing you dearly.” I wave goodbye, then sigh as the transcommunication is cut short. I know I’ve been the reason our relationship has been a bit... strained, but I’ll fix that. Once there’s a reality where we all live, we can actually spend time in each other’s company.