You're having an arguement with your gamepieces in Risk (tm), and they're ganging up on you, and soon enough they've picked you up and dumped you in the trash can in your old apartment...

It does smell like trash. You're laying on something soft.

You hear very close by the roar and chatter of a heavy machine gun on full auto.

PT

Wow, I think to myself, I didn't think I could ever see something like that without some serious CGI effects. I was wondering how long it would take to get taken out, and by a lesser demon no doubt. I was feeling a little peeved about it.

I get look around. Suddenly aware that there were some mahine guns going off somewhere....

...and trash. The gods really do love me, they always deposit me in the trash. Last time it was in the alley by a dumpster.

I'm just allowing my eyes to adjust to the new place, I don't even really move, just absorb my surroundings.

Theres a halt in the firing for a second, and BOOM.

A clatter to your left from the machine gun area is followed by a soft thump.  Faintly, through the ringing in your ears, you hear boots walk up on stone. A cool voice, whiskey over steel, speaks.

"Let me help you up, citizen."  A hand reaches down, and pulls you up in a vise-like grip.  Its Clint Eastwood. He has a large silver pistol in his other hand.

To your left is a bald man with a tattoo on his forehead of an inverted pentagram. A single bullet hole cleaves it.

Laying on the ground in front of him is a Bar-60 with about half a belt of ammo.

You hear screams, gunshots, and police sirens from several directions but none are within a hundred feet of your small alleyway.

I shake my head accepting the offered hand, was this some kind of western?

"What's going on here and what can I do to help?"

"I like your style, citizen." Clint says, and flips over the machine gunner with a cowboy boot. "Nothing, unless you're a priest."  He pauses. He picks up the Bar-60.

"Here, take this. I hate to see a man lacking sufficient means to defend himself."

He can clearly see your shotgun, and axe, so...

He's dressed in modern clothing as well.

"If anyone gives you a hard time, say a media vulture or some slimy bueraucrat, you just tell them Detective Harry Callahan said you could have that."  He tips back his Stetson and nods before walking away talking on his walkie-talkie.

"Yeah, send over the body wagon to...."

PT

OOC: You do a perfect Dirty Harry btw...

I nod with a smile taking the huge gun, "that's swell Detective Callahan," trying not to let it look like I'm a pansy when I take hold of it.

Then I look around the alley, trying to see if I can get some kind of handle on the new situation. So to take stock so far; this is a world where it's alright for a citizen to have a a gun that requires a belt of ammo...Plus, there's the awe inspiring Dirty Harry. The questions was, did I feel lucky?

Dirty Harry walks around the corner to the left, and you hear his footsetps receding until they merge with the street sounds which include spats of gunfire and ambulances and police sirens. The garbage you got out of has the imprint of your body, and has obviously been there a while.

Its a short alley stretch with a "T" at the gunner's end and a left hook at Harry's end.

Looking at the face of the dead man, your intuition places him in the 'obviously pschyotic' category. He looks like a nasty piece of work, and thats not taking into account his inverted pentagram on his forehead.

You do sense something familar toward the street, roughly.

PT

I follow my nose, thinking that this might lead me to something decently familiar. Help me come to terms with the way this place works. What was this familiar thing, was it another verser, perhaps a thing I've seen before?

I go towards the feeling and the street. Trying to take in all I could see. I life the gun so that it wasn't pointed at anyone in case the street was full of authorities like Harry.

Citizen...sounds like a facist dictatorship is in power...something to keep an eye out for....

The street is three lanes of fast-moving traffic with plenty of horns and the occasional 'let me borrow a bit of sidewalk'.  Most of the cars sound loud to you...and then you realize...V-8's.

A supermodel walks past you on your left on the sidewalk.

You hear gun shots down the street.

You look for the sense of familarity and see your tank.  Its in pristine condition, undamaged.  Its sitting on the sidewalk, and has crumpled the concrete.  A traffic cop....Wesley Snipes...is writing it a ticket.

Another supermodel walks past you heading the opposite direction.

PT

My head spins for a moment...this is Last Action Hero. This is Movie World.

Did I really bring a tank with me? I suppose it makes sense since I was splattered all over the inside of it. Chances are I'll need it I suppose. Okee, lets go get the tank.

I head over to the tank and Wesley, I try my best to sound sincere, "Oh no officer, they busted you down to traffic cop again? I can't believe it. Don't they owe you a debt of gratitude for what you did last week?"

Just in case.

He looks over at you startled, and you're surprised by how short he is.

"You know, you're the first person to out and out thank me. I saved their bacon by stopping that escaped serial killer from blowing up the natural gas plant and the whole of downtown, and did I get thanks, maybe a day off and a steak dinner? Noooooo. Instead it was, Detective Georges, you flipped three police cars, you fired 987 bullets, you endangered 118 civilians, you smoked a cigarette in the mayor's office.  Wa-wa-wa. The town is still standing isn't it? I don't want a medal, but is a day off too much to ask?!? And then they bust me to traffic cop!"

He throws down the notepad of citations and stomps off.

"I'm taking an early lunch."

Evidently you're not getting a traffic ticket.

PT

I blink, once, twice...wow, that couldn't have worked out better! I just hope I'm not the plucky comedy in this show. They always get shot.

I pick up the notepad and climb up to the tank and hop in. I've got a set of wheels now(well treads) and I'm thinking that it's time to get some food. Haven't had a good burger in quite a while. Hopefully the tank is big enough for drive through.

It's got to be a Pepsi joint too.

I start cruising looking for a good burger joint.

You're able to find a Pepsi joint....The Burger Shack within three blocks, and without running over any of the smaller vehicles. A couple times bullets sprang off your tank.

You pull in, and realize there is no way the tank is fitting in the drive-thru lane. There is a median to the right of the lane with an electric transformer and a tiny stone garden with a bush. Your tank is seventy percent too wide.

Currently, the Shack is getting robbed. You can see a man with a gun holding it in a teller's face inside.  The gunman looks vicious, the kind of person reasonable people cross the street to avoid after taking one glance at him.

PT

I back it up slowly, trying not to destroy anything too important.

Chuckling a bit to myself, I aim the tank cannon at the front doors. Then I pop the lid and stick my head out, looking into the shack. "You, yeah you with the gun. Come out with your hand held high or I blow a hole through you..."

Having a tank really makes the odds in your favor.

I check to see if I can pick up anything on the tanks radio, maybe police band or something.

He snapshots at you with the bullet shattering the front glass door, and richocheting off a tread while diving to his right and behind an interior partition.

The former hostage and the rest of the people in the dining room dive madly to the ground.

PT

It never works out the way I want it to...

Sighing I grab the cannon and hop out of the hulking machine. Which, when carrying a gun that requires a belt of ammo, doesn't come as easily as it sounds. I heft the thing with me as I walk towards the store. "Look all I really wanted was a burger and pepsi...and I don't want to get shot up."

"Now will the man who is trying to hold up a burger joint please stand up. Your choice of places to rob is frankly a little odd. Let me tell you what I would've done; I would probably have probably held up a cash'n'carry or a check cashing place or something like that. You would have gotten a lot more money."

"Look I don't really want to shoot you or fight, I just want a burger, a pepsi and to see these fine people get out of here alive. So come out and talk to me."

"Someone else was already robbing the bank, and I didn't think of the other one."

The man fires his gun through the partition at you. Everyone scatters out of the zone of fire with what looks like practised skill. It slams into your leg, and you're horrified to see how close it came to your femoral artery.

PT

I gasp at the wound and drop to my knee heading for some cover. This clown was going to kill me if I didn't think of something real fast. "Okay now that was kind of a cheap shot. Considering I didn't want to get shot up and all. Why do you have to make this hard?"

"Tell ya what, I'll let you go if you just knock all this off and get out of here," I said, "I've been dying too much lately and I'd love to get my burger and pepsi. Otherwise I'm going to have to kill you with this Bar-60, which fires some really big bullets..."

I watch and wait for my opportunity to strike. In the meantime, I use my tie to tourniquet my leg.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:48, Tue 23 Sept 2008.

He scrambles away from the partition and the glass door opens and he runs away after he crawls out on his hands and knees.

The others in the restauraunt, behind the counter, give you a standing ovation, and the waitress says that the burger and pepsi will be on the house.

One of those nearby looks curiously at your leg.

"Why tourniquet it? Its just a flesh wound."

PT

I smirk, "well yeah, it is just a flesh wound but I wanted it to coagulate before the blood messed up my slacks too much. Its bad enough that I'll have to put a patch on them right?"

I accept my burger and pepsi graciously and find a spot in the restaurant to think a little. Savoring them both while I try to recompose myself.

I realized as I sat there eating that I had fallen a long way from what I used to be. I wasn't ever the shoot first ask questions later kind of guy, somehow the last several worlds had shaped me into that attack dog. Or I had let myself be shaped that way. This world had gone a long way towards reminding me of the Mansion's world, where everyone was a thug. This one was a little better than that but it made me think of Bob's plight. I saved him but had lost myself in the process.

On the other hand, Beowulf's world was a place that had taught me a lot. Though that wasn't who I was, I had been a healer and a business man. Where had all that gone? Right out the window it seemed. I made a promise to myself at that moment, that I would try to find that man again, so that I didn't become Di Vars. He was impressive, but cold and unfeeling towards the world at large. I couldn't be that.

I finished my pepsi and burger, feeling that I could do what I promised myself and still fight Mr.Entropy.

"Thanks for the burger and drink. Stay safe."

I headed back out to the tank and climbed in feeling a little more sober and clear. I had to find the good guys. I headed towards the police station, stopping for directions here and there.

Your leg wound does not feel like 'just a flesh wound' to you, but the blood does stop oozing rapidly out with your medical treatment. After finishing the most excellent burger and the cool, refreshing Pepsi(r), you do feel fortified for the day.

Outside, you pass many fairly ordinary looking guys, a lesser amount of females (but all of them are knockouts), a dozen famous movie actors, and five people (four guys and one woman) who radiate evil as you make your way to the police station.

Precinct No. 19 is a madhouse as you approach it with Sly Stallone dragging a lasso full of homicidal maniacs to the front door, Arnold Schwarzanegger trying to get past him by holding his villain above his head with one hand, and Hulk Hogan impatiently waiting with a car full of infernal cultists to be processed behind them.

PT

While I'm looking around I seize the moment and grab my camera from my pack and start snapping shots of the action heroes. I reason that if I'm lucky I'll be able to learn about what's going on in the city that I could really make a difference doing. So I'm gathering intel, not only on the heroes, but the world itself. Perhaps I can learn a thing or two in the process.

You take a number of pictures which the action heroes don't mind, and then the line lets up, and you're able to get inside to the desk sergeant.

"If you want to make a complaint about the police...that room over there. If you want to apply to the police academy, second floor turn to your left, end of the hall. If you're a reporter, you can either go to the top floor and walk to the edge of the building and jump off, or go to PR on the forth floor. If you're making a complaint about some criminal lowlife scumbag, fill ou tthis form. If you're giving me my doughnuts, then step up right now."

He glares at you sadly as if overcome by the sorrows of the world.

"You're still here."

PT

Police Academy...that might be interesting.

I nod to the man and head up the stairway and hang a left. Then I proceed to the end of the hallway. I didn't have much training with guns, so this would certainly be a great primer as well as a starting point for a rewarding career in law. I open the door.

...And enter the door to see Paris Hilton or 'Ms. Kimberly Smith' according to her nametag as the secretary.  She listens to your request, and nods.

"Take this, go into that room over there, answer all questions as fully as you can, and return it to me."

You walk over to a nearby room with large empty tables and chairs, and a couple other applicants working on their applications.  Ordinarily, applications form filling out ranks right behind IRS tax forms for sheer joy, but these forms have a number of really bizzarre questions.

"Have you ever suffered blackouts and upon waking up found your hands covered in blood. Answer truthfully."
"Have you ever run ten miles after being shot in the stomach?"
"Can you shoot down a cruise missile with a .38 revolver?"
"If you are a FEMALE only, if insulted are you able to bench press three times  your body weight?"
"Do you talk to your gun? If so, what is its name?"

PT

I start filling out some of the paper work. I get to some of the bizarre questions and chuckle, looking up and around at the other applicants. Mostly just looking for the hidden camera. Then the reality of it all sunk in. This was action hero world.

Maybe, just maybe, I could make it. I could try. Then I might still be able to make a difference here. Find out something useful about this place, maybe tip the scales to order.

I mark maybe to the answers that I think might be necessary and answer truthfully to the others.

The secretary scans your answers, and smiles brightly at you.

She hands you a small business card.

"This is your appointment to have an interview tommorrow at 2 p.m., OK?"

====

Your leg hurts a lot. Its not bleeding out, but despite what the locals said, its not a small flesh wound.

PT

I smile as pleasantly as I'm able to(imagining a real version of Paris Hilton) and continue out the door towards the front.

Well, actually that works out perfectly since I needed a place to stay. So I ask the front desk about a route to the hospital, before I leave. I smile and point to my little flesh wound..."I might need a bandaid."

As soon as you say "I might need a band-aid." the wound stops hurting so severely. It now feels like one of your buds punched you too hard in the arm for the fun of it, instead of a serious wound.

Magic skill "Its just a flesh wound." 1@1 Limited Damage Repair (self). Must tell someone key phrase "I might need a bandage" and be uncaring about damage.

The guy scoffs, but tells you the directions to the hospital.

PT

I smile a little brighter and wave as I leave.

I marvel at how simple that worked out...and begin to think of other phrases that I might be able to say when necessary. This would indeed be much more fun if I could get something useful out of it. This would be way better than last action hero.

I just knew that it would work out pretty well down the road. Though I'd have to get into some kind of action to use it I supposed.

In the meantime I head towards the hospital, if I see any seedy motels along the way I'll go ahead and investigate prices.

At first you see a half-dozen wildly extravagant and luxurious hotels, then a single Holiday Inn, and then a couple dozen seedy motels on Hotel Street. It seems odd how you were so lucky as to choose this street.

Dollarnite costs 19IM.
Yetanother Seedy Motel 22IM, but it has a pool.
Rockbottom Inn costs 14IM, but none of the rooms have doors.
Mi Casa Inn costs 26IM, and weirdly enough none of the old beaters and nice cars alike out front are locked.
Pharma-Suit-Ick Inn has prices, but you're not sure what they are because about a dozen obvious drug dealers descend on you as soon as you step on the property.

IM=Iron Men.

St. Catherine's Hospital is doing excellent business with gravely wounded gunshot victims being operated on in the parking lot under awning tents as there is no space in the hospital.

Wow, finally somewhere I might be able to actually do what I had set out to do. I go over to one of the tents. "Hey I used to be an EMT, any chance you could use an extra pair of hands?"

This was probably business as usual but for me it was amazingly flooded with victims. As I watch I look for the sani-wipes and gloves.

The doctors and nurses look at each other as they try to shove a man's intestines back into his gut, and then they nod. You get your gloves and sani-wipe, and a gown, and you're in business.

You realize that they're checking you out to make sure you know what you're doing, and after a few minutes they stop, and you're part of the team.

One thing you note as they sew the man back up is how practised the surgeon is. Back home, he'd be a world class trauma specialist. Here, from the way he talks he's Just Another Surgeon.

But then ten seconds after he's whisked off to recovery, and the plastic sheet is changed on the table, there's another trauma victim being lowered on  to the table. Evidently, the surgeons here get a LOT of practise....

PT

Then that's what I could get too, some practice.

I start helping out as best as I'm able, trying to keep my eyes open and learn a bit from the expertise of these surgeons. Working with these guys would be better experience than ten lifetimes worth of drive time in my hometown.

So I do what I know and build from there. I'm the equivalent of a rusty nurse at the moment but it was a place to start with and I did know a thing or two.

You get rust knocked off, and see new techniques developed to deal with an almost industrial scale trauma section.  The work is absorbing, and you just have time to breathe before diving into the next case.

Time passes. You're not sure how long, and then you're blinking as a surgeon stands in front of you.

"Go home, Mac, go home. You're out on your feet. Seven hours, no break."

You start to apologize, but he refuses it.

"Your first day in a while. We could tell. Got to get your strength back up to where you can do a regular ten hour shift."  He leans over to table, and scoops up a sheaf of papers, and has you initial them. "Great, you're hired. See you tommorrow at five in the morning. Right here. Okay?"

You feel shaky, tired, and like you're underwater and coming to the surface as ordinary reality starts to percolate through the 'flow' trance you'd been in for the last...uh...seven hours.

"Um, get a shower before you leave. Good job." He pats you on the shoulder, and only then you realize you only know him as "Dave."

PT

Shaking off my reverie I start to move and smile at Dave. "Thanks, I'll be here."

I grab a shower after beginning my first tour around the big hospital. Then I head to one of those cheap hotels nearby....on Hotel street. I bring the machine gun and the tank.

On my way, I stop for a burger and a Mountain Dew. One never knew how or when you'd have to depart for other places. So feeling a little bit of an obligation to relish each moment to erase the homesickness, despite my growing lust for adventure.

You see 'House' and 'Doogie Hauser', and 'Quincy', and a whole lot of other very busy people rushing about in determined purpose and community. A number of them nod at you, and quite a few give you a small quick smile.

One grins.

"New guy. Don't worry. I'm in personell, and I've got a trick  memory. Never forget a face. Welcome to St. Catherines, McCallister." His nametag says Rog Wilkerson. Yours of course, says "McCal..."

Once you leave there, you make your way over to Hotel Street, and find cheap lodgings. However, while the clerk is amenable to accepting cash 'even though I'm not supposed to. Owner wants credit cards.', he's not amenable to accepting 'counterfeit' money like USA legal tender.

"Whats a dollar man? I need Iron Men. I don't care what podunk little country you come from. Here in the Democracy its Iron Men or the bridge overpasses."

PT

I put up my hands in a surrender motion, "Okay, well what if I can get you the money tomorrow with a little interest? I swear...I've got a job at the hospital, I just need a little time to get paid."

I was hoping that the classic action hero trust factor would work in conjunction with this situation, since it always seemed like action heroes were hard up for cash.

You can almost see the wheels spinning in his head.  If you default, he blames you, and the boss yells at him a bit.  If you pay, the boss gets paid, and the extra 'tip' goes into his pocket.

"Of course, sir. Fifty percent daily interest."

He hands you a metal key with a plastic handle.

The room is unpleasant. A scent of smoke is heavy in the air. The closet folding doors are shut which showcases the several broken slats. Pockmarks are plastered over on the wall.

The TV shows are witty comedies of manners, and  low-key sitcoms, and game shows. There are no action movies. Thats reserved for the nightly news.

PT

I give him a quick smile, "you won't regret it thanks again."

The first thing I do is make sure that there aren't any dead prostitutes under the mattress and if that's all good I try and call it a night. T.V. begins to lose it's appeal after you have lived through the sorts of things that I have. It just doesn't quite match up with reality.

If nothing happens during the night, good, I'll have the alarm set for 3 a.m....

There is a bag of cocaine under the bed.

You lay down after turning off the TV, and are settling down when the closet door is ripped aside, and a man with a Nixon mask, and a foot long Bowie knife is screaming as he raises the knife to a stabbing position.

He lurches forward....

And you remember the line from the Last Action Hero...'there's always someone in the closet.'

PT

I roll towards the machine gun probably on the tiny table included with most hotel rooms. This was Point Break, I knew this movie. "Hey buddy, the beach is that way, I'm not the one who tipped off the FBI!"

If I can get to the machine gun and bring it around, I'll give him a second to rethink his ideas, otherwise he's a goner.

You dive for the machine gun, and he dives for you. You get your hands on the stock of the Bar-60, and he lands on you.

One hand scrabbles for your throat, and accepts grabbing your hair. The other hand rares back with the knife in his hand...

His face is a mask of insane fury. He's mumbling words you don't know in a language that doesn't exist.

PT

I reach up with my off hand and grab his knife hand. With the other hand I punch his throat. "You jerk, I'm trying to sleep!"

Violence was indeed a hallmark of this place and I just didn't have it in me to join the fray as it were. I was trying to make a difference and blindly killing wasn't the way. Maybe I could subdue him and detain him for the cops. It remained to be seen...Otherwise this might be a short lived attempt to make things better.

You hammer him in the throat, and he gags, but the blade comes down anyways. You fumble for it, but get a button on his shirt sleeve rather than his wrist, and his blade buries itself in your pillow.

He brings it back up for another try. This time you get his wrist, and he tries to yank free. With superhuman fury, he does, and he grins at you with his yellow teeth.

PT

I grin back.

Then I kick him off me. As I do so I try to let the action propel me towards the gun that Detective Callahan presented me with. There was only a couple of ways that this could play out and this was one thing that just wasn't going to end nicely. The feeling of realization made my heart sink.

You smack him off the bed to bounce on the floor. Screaming in rage, he leaps back up and you have the Bar-60 in your hands, and its firing before you even think about it.

The bullets stitch him across the chest. He looks down stupidly, and collapses against the wall.

The manager comes by, and apologizes for not having the exterminators in to get rid of the 'madman infestation'.

PT

I scratch my head a bit with an awkward grin and begin the process of cleaning up my 'madman infestation'. In a lot of ways that completely freaks me out but at the same time it makes me feel a little guilty. Wasn't there any way of doing things without violence here?

Try as I might there was just enough peace to fit on the head of a pin. At the very least I could always try to get the best options covered first. With a little luck I could hopefully make that stick. In the end I decided that it wouldn't do any good to blame myself for Jason's red-headed little brother attacking me. I could only continue to try to do better.

By the time I'm done, I'm long overdue for bed. Gotta catch those Zs before they get away.

The next day you're up, and taking a shower which seems to have two settings. Scalding hot and artic blast. A cup of coffee with enough caffeine in it to make expresso wince, and you're definitely awake.

From there its a short walk to work, and to helping stitch back together dozens of people.

Ten hours later, you're focusing hard on remembering how to walk so that you can collapse into a chair.  A nurse comes by, guides you to a chair, and sits you down. She comes back an indeterminate time later with coffee and a hot sandwhich of ham and melted cheese.

Thirty minutes later you feel human enough to function, and the doc drops by with an envelope.

"Got your check for the week cashed ahead of time. Here. You're doing good work, see ya' tommorrow."  He slaps you on the shoulder, and leaves.

You've got an envelope of nine hundred Iron Men in hundred IM denominations with pics of Theodore Roosevelt on the front. There's a note.

"Gov takes one TR."

PT

I find my bearings again and shake off the weariness, yet I do feel pleased with my accomplishments for the day. Still the nagging feeling that more could be done was haunting me. What could I do to change the violence and horrifying reality that must permeate every part of this world?

First things first, it was time to go pay off my debts. I hop in the tank and head for the hotel. I push the tank towards my temporary home. The money is safely tucked into my front pocket within my wallet.

You are almost home when a police car wails around the corner ahead of you on two wheels, and slams head-on into an old truck. Mere seconds later, Schwarznaneggar and Stallone jump out of the police car, and run around the truck's back to the bed.

"Great, a nuke."
"KKK? Black Panthers? People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals?" Ahnold asks in a tone of just making conversation.
"Um, Generic Evil Corporation."
"Oh, Geckos."
"Yeah."
"Red wire or blue wire."
"Statistically, its the red wire 98.79 percent of the time."
"Statistics never met my third wife, she could crash a car up on blocks."
"Just pull the wire already, I have a lunch date."

The wire is pulled. You're still alive.

You pay off the clerk who's happy to see you.

PT

I get back to the hotel room to rest and order a pizza. While I'm on my phone I pick up the gun to search the closet and bathroom.

While I wait, I begin to think about my situation. It was an interesting place, lots to learn though. It was a place where television and movies were combined to create a modern mythical society. Amazing things were happening all around him, but for the denizens of this place it was all just another day. If that was so, perhaps he could find some answers in this world's scientists, who were all likely to be amazingly unreal super-scientists. Maybe he had a chance of going home.

He was determined to find out after his next shift. First though he used the phonebook to locate some likely suspects and began to call until it was too late.

There's another dead madman in your closet. A few minutes later a knock on the door gets you up, and a couple apologetic exterminators come in and fetch the body.

"Had a lot of these in the hotel. Did't get around to toting the bodies until just now. Sorry about that."

They then spray paint the wall a nice clean color over the red blotch, and spray some very good deoderants into the air.

"There you go, sir."

They leave.

You continue calling, and some things catch  your attention in the phonebook.

1. Mad Genius, a temporary staffing service for um...
2. The local college with its divisions of High-Energy Physics, Biowarfare, Robotics, and Egyptology....
3. Michael's Foxhole, Inc. "For those who remember seeing this show."
4. Dr. I. M. Genius....
5. Generic Evil Corporation, Ltd. Regional HQ....
6. "Feel like you're so brilliant others will never understand you? Are you hampered by outdated moral prescriptions against human experimentation and other attempts to impose Victorian morality on you? Then come to Dr. Seeker's seminar lunches on Tuesday at the Punchhouse at seven pm."

After looking through the phone book I reached a logical conclusion:

I would call The local college with its divisions of High-Energy Physics, Biowarfare, Robotics, and Egyptology. Tonight.

I would tell them about what I've learned about versing. I would use the age old T.V. cliche about admitting how it sounds...and that's all the more reason to believe me. After all, why would I lie about this?

I began dialing...

You talk to Dr. Liselle Channing who if she's as good looking as her voice sounds has to be an absolute knockout. She sounds a bit bookish, and Irish.

"How could I not believe you? Aren't you right that such a story is so unbelievable that a madman would never come up with it? And aren't I the proud recipient of a grant from Foxhole Foundation for the Study of Multiplicity of Realities?"

She laughs warmly.

"And doesn't it logically follow that if there were other realities, we'd be the recipient of occasional visitors?"

PT
OOC: I'm not sure you're up for it as it would require a fairly steady posting rate, but there is a gather thats just got started. You're invited, or you can stay here and enjoy the luck that brought you to Dr. Channing so quickly.

I do a little ripcord pull for joy, "It does at that. Where are you located and what would be the best way to handle this?"



OOC: School and work are my main detractor now, as of Sunday of next week I'll be able to post twice a day since one of those is going to be off the list. :)

"Well, wouldn't a foin gentleman as yourself is after being take a lady out to some coffee and fondue at the Three Dragons which is just across from my lab, once I walk out the gate?"

Considering you likely to say 'yes'.

You take a taxi across town to the Three Dragons which has three garish dragons on its roof. It looks like a college student sort of place.

The bartender points you to a stunning auburn-haired lass sitting alone at a table. She has a briefcase out, and is looking through it. Her hair is arrayed in some intricate style that ends with a ponytail that drapes down over a burgundy blouse to midway down her back.

PT

I walk through the restaurant scanning the room as I enter, these were just the sort of places that ended up being tossed in a moment's notice when rival chinese gangs broke out their automatic weapons...

As I get closer to the young woman I extend a hand, "Ms.Channing I presume?"

Formalities understood I take a seat at the table and order some coffee, and a fondue for the lady.

"Doctor Channing if we're going to be formal, but Liselle will do, wouldn't you say?"

She attacks her fondue with considerable enthusiasm.

"Now, you're an extradimensional, and you decided to go to some center of learning for answers, and since Merlin wasn't around, you got me....So?"
She arches an eyebrow waiting for your questions.

PT

I look at her a moment and try suppress a laugh at the living cliche. "I want to know if there is a way to get back to my own universe, because I didn't get here by my choice...I don't have a spaceship in case you were going to ask..."

OOC: Oops, lost track of you.

IC:

"Well, that was my first question, don't you know?"

Her Irish accent fades, and she turns serious.

"The first problem is opening a gate to another universe, and I know two men who've claimed to have done that. One of them, Doctor Cullihan, I'm fairly sure of.

The second problem is more serious. There are three possibilities that theory allows for the size of the Multiverse. One, is fairly small, perhaps a hundred worlds, at most a thousand. The next is in the uncounted trillions and quintillions, ten to the 2086th power is a likely number for several good reasons."

She pulls a face.

"And laddie, don't you know, it gets worse? One rather good theory insists if you can believe it that the Multiverse is infinite? So, how does one go about finding precisely the bar code strip of paper with your precise details for your world in a room the size of the solar system, utterly packed with bar codes?"

She shrugs her shoulders.

PT

My eyes wander to the ceiling processing what she was saying.

I reach back at that moment figuratively into the dark recesses of my brain to see if I can recover any of those old sci-fi memories of Doctor Who or StarGate to see if I could come up with something plausible....

"I can appreciate those issues. But wouldn't my universe leave it's fingerprint on me, it's magnetic resonance....dimensional vibration or something like that?"

"Its..." She pauses. "Okay, its plausible, wouldn't you think? But, how to test for this...." She hums to herself Rhapsody in Blue, her eyes unfocused. "Okay, some theorists say that the universe vibrates at a specific frequency. Some people say this is the Voice of God, and if you can decipher it...um, I'm getting off on a rabbit trail, aren't I? So can we let that little bunny escape?"

She smiles at you.

"Would you be willing to take a trip to Hawaii? And I hate to say this, but the question is, do you want it fast or cheap? My college might in time come through with a grant, they might? But wouldn't you know, they might not, and in any case, it would be some weeks, yes?"

After a second you realize she's asking if you have money for plane fare for her and you.

PT