PERFORATION 6.15 (Patreon)

Believe it or not, here, at 11:42am EST, this is already my second chapter of the day. RfR's coming out in a few hours too. Damn, homies, sometimes I even terrify myself! Glad that I let myself take a break on saturday, but shit's moving fast over here, and I gotta make sure that the I'm using my energy properly. Wish me luuuuck.

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“The bourgeoisie, wherever it has got the upper hand, has put an end to all feudal, patriarchal, idyllic relations. It has pitilessly torn asunder the motley feudal ties that bound man to his 'natural superiors,' and has left remaining no other nexus between man and man than naked self-interest, callous 'cash payment.' It has drowned the most heavenly ecstasies of religious fervor, of chivalrous enthusiasm, of philistine sentimentalism, in the icy water of egotistical calculation. It has resolved personal worth into exchange value, and in place of the numberless indefeasible chartered freedoms, has set up that single, unconscionable freedom—Free Trade. In one word, for exploitation, veiled by religious and political illusions, it has substituted naked, shameless, direct, brutal exploitation.

The bourgeoisie has stripped of its halo every occupation hitherto honored and looked up to with reverent awe. It has converted the physician, the lawyer, the priest, the poet, the man of science, into its paid wage laborers.”

― Karl Marx, The Communist Manifesto

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“Hi, Richard. The fuck do you want?”

He smiles wider, stepping out of my personal space and over to a nearby patch of the gravestone. The obelisk is uneven, craggy, and there are chunks of it that are large enough to sit on, which Richard does. He even puts down his glass, pressing it to the smooth black stone even as the brightness of it continues to distort the shadow of this place. 

“What does anyone want in our line of work? I want to understand. You’ve heard the phrase before, right? Knowledge is power? The one thing this place keeps from us, and demands of us, is knowledge.”

“And that’s why you’re here? As a fucking academic scholar?”

He laughs. The worst fucking laugh I’ve ever heard, because it’s built perfectly, designed to be exactly short enough that it doesn’t overstay its welcome, sharp enough to convey emotion by way of volume and tone more than any actual emotion. 

“I guess you could say that! I like to keep informed. Like to keep myself up to date on things, and there’s a lot that’s been going on lately to keep up to date on. I would’ve come here sooner, but it wasn’t quite right. But then I heard that you’d be coming, and I figured hey, two birds, one stone.”

“How the fuck did you know I was coming here?”

He waves a hand. “Ah, just a guess really. If you didn’t show up, I got to explore this place all on my lonesome, and if you did, I get to explore you too. You’ve been an interesting study, gotta tell ya. I mean every now and then the company needs to fill out a quota but let’s be real, your type don’t usually make it up to my level. And to think, here you are, with such a rich little weirdness of your own!”

I frown. “Do you just… enjoy being an asshole? Is that how it works with you? You’re into it, and you just sort of make it everyone else’s problem?”

“If it works, why stop doing it?”

I roll my eyes at that, which feels inadequate to express my disgust, but is what we’ve got while we’re here. I dislike feeling powerless, but it’s a little bit of a relief, to be in a place that someone can’t hurt me. Being powerless when things are harmless is better than being powerless usually, at least. 

Doesn’t mean I’m not at a disadvantage, though. He knows me, and I don’t know him. And he knows a lot about me, apparently. 

“And what does it “working” imply, in this scenario? Hmm? What, you going to tell me about all the ‘lovely business opportunities’ you’ve got planned, how, I’ve got a chance to get in on the ground floor of this incredible new venture idea you’ve got?”

“Well, in my defense, you do, and it’s a pretty great idea.”

I snort. It doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure that trick, does it? 

Except that sometimes it does. Sometimes, a lot of times, that trick really fucking gets people. 

“No thanks.”

He has the grace to look shocked, at least, though it’s much too exaggerated to be real. 

“Without even giving me a chance! Damn, doll! Come on, we’re basically in an elevator right now, ain’t we? Going from one floor to the next? No offices, no appointments, just in that little in-between space. At least let me give you the pitch.”

And to some extent, it makes sense. What do I have to lose, right? He can’t hurt me here.

But we’re not here. I’m not here, at least, and I doubt he’d risk his real self to trek all the way through MEAT to get here, if that is how it works for him. Probably not, but still. I have to think past this moment, past this instant where he can’t hurt me, out to the ones where he can. 

“I don’t really see much reason I should let you,” I say, my voice almost a whisper. 

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, their edges drifting a bit as he moves in the shadow. The quicker we act, the more the “walking simulator” has to struggle to keep up, and the more the shadow has to exert itself to keep us here. 

I tell GLIMPSE BEYOND to shut the fuck up for a bit. I’m not even wearing the glasses, for fuck’s sake. 

“Hey now. I know I give off a bit of an impression, right? I know we got all that classism going on lately, ‘fuck the rich’ and all that, but I’m not a bad person, doll. I want what’s best for all of us. We’re all trapped in this place, connected to these big meaty bastards, the least we can do is make sure we’re all getting something out of it.

“But hey, you said no pitch, so no pitch. Maybe we turn things around, huh? Maybe you tell me what it is you want.”

He can’t hurt me here. He looks like a normal monster here, the kind that can be fought off, that’s on the same level as me. But we’re not. 

He’s right about one thing at least. Knowledge is power. And he’s got a lot more of it than I do. 

He knows my name, my history, where I live, the fact that I have access to this place, probably knows a good deal about my powers. He’s got eyes in the back of everyone’s heads, for another thing. All I have is the fact that he might not know what I know, and that means he might underestimate me. 

So I have to keep quiet. I have to keep what I know secret, and lie. He knows that I saw some aspect of him, but he might not know that I’ve connected some of the other manifestations I’ve experienced to him too. 

He’s probably the eyeball marker on my minimap. Looking at him, I know, with all the knowledge that GLIMPSE BEYOND can offer, that he’s the source of the eyes around town, and probably the rats-with-eyes I’ve seen in my dreams. 

It’s not a big leap to connect him to the big fucking pillar of eyes with a body that I met a while ago here in MEAT, either. Another “player”, and one that murdered the fuck out of me. 

If he figures out that I know who he is entirely, then he’ll know that I’m not going to trust him. And if he knows I’m not going to trust him, I can’t play him.

This is not my arena. Not my forte. 

But knowledge is power here, and we’re not on even ground. I need every bit of power I can get.

“I want to find out what the fuck is happening,” I say. “I want to make sure that these things wandering out in the world can’t tear me the fuck apart the next time I meet them.”

“A woman after my own heart! See, we want the same things! Security, possibility, a little bit of understanding to top it all up. Why not see if we can find a way to work together about it?”

“What would that even entail?” I ask him. “What, you going to offer me a fucking contract?”

“If that’s what it takes!” he says, arms spread wide. “I’ve got shit to offer, doll. Maybe a little rent freeze on that shitty little condo of yours. Maybe someplace a lot nicer. You seem pretty dang handy with figuring this place out, considering how well you’ve made it so far, so maybe we set up a little salary for you, hmm? What do you say to a few extra decimal points in your bank account, something to tide you over while we work on our little joint venture?”

“And you can just do that? Pay me, and for what?”

“Easy as shit. That’s the beauty of money, babe– I don’t even need this place to make the world shake. Easy enough to hire an independent analyst, get you moneyed up to do exactly what you’ve been doing, but with actual resources now. Keep exploring this place, keep going out and about around town, maybe around the county, and keep me informed about it. I pay you, you pay me, and we both help each other to… spread.”

I want to roll my eyes, but I’m a little bit too disgusted by the implication of how he phrased that.

He seems to see that, because he finally drops some of his show, lowering his hands to his sides and letting his smile drift off his face and into nothing at all.

“You don’t even have to work for me directly, if you don’t want to. You think I know everybody on my payroll? You can send in reports via email, for all I fucking care. Call in to my secretary if you fucking like. Explore, cash the checks, buy some more of that meat you seem to need. No more grocery store runs; I can pay you enough to get your own personal fucking butcher. This is cattle-ranching territory. There’s nothing  meat up for sale. Get something better than that hunk of junk shitbox you call a car, maybe. Some body armor, some guns, buy a house with it.”

Then he sits back down onto the rock, picking up that amber glass of liquid again and swirling it around. 

“I get it if you need to think about it. Scary shit, suddenly having food on the plate. But I’m offering a meal ticket here, doll. And everybody’s gotta eat.”

Oh, he’s good. It’s a good fucking spiel. He’s practiced at this, and he’s being fucking generous. 

That’s what tips me off, though. He’s being generous. This guy. Is being generous. 

So either he’s desperate, or he’s not being generous at all.

“Let me think about it,” I say instead of calling him a fucking liar. 

He shakes his head, taking a little sip from his glass, which never seems to run out. “Mmh. Sure. But the offer’s temporary. Once we’re out of this place, it’s off the table. I’m not that nice.”

Yeah. There it is. Pressure. Buy now, now, now, says the man on the television. 

“Why do you even need me?” I ask. “You’re obviously here too. And those eyes? Why can’t you find out what you need yourself?”

“Do I look like the sort of man that has the time to do all that shit himself? Because if so, please tell me, I’ll have to change my wardrobe.”

“You look like the kind of guy that throws money at a problem to solve it, and is dealing with some shit that doesn’t have a bank account to throw shit at.”

He points a finger gun at me. “Precisely. Which is why I’m throwing money at you, because you do have a bank account. And bills. And expenses. And a job that’s probably going to start noticing absences the longer you’re dealing with this shit instead of that. And medical expenses, even. I’ve heard that all this… this you’re doing is probably pretty fucking pricey.”

I snort, crossing my arms. “Don’t pretend like you’re doing this out of a desire to help me.”

He shrugs. “I’m not. I’m self-evidently self-interested, which ironically makes me incredibly good at negotiating. I want something you can offer. I have things to trade you for it. You can say yes, and make both of our lives better, and maybe even get a hell of a leg up on understanding how to use all this weird shit, or you say no, waste both of our times, and fuck yourself over worse than anything I could ever try to do to you, because I don’t have to do anything to you except watch you crash and burn.”

The glasses on my neck tingle. 

GLIMPSE BELOW pushes past the walking simulator, shivering around my neck, like an equipped item telling me it’s activated.

Lie.

If he is who I think he is, someone connected to all the eye-based shit that’s been happening, then he sure as fuck hasn’t been paying everyone his eyes are looking out of the back of the heads of. He sure as shit didn’t try to trade me for anything when he found me in MEAT the first time and killed the fuck out of my avatar. And he hasn’t been trying much negotiating while his rats scurry into my dreams. 

He’s doing this because his other options are running dry. Because he’s tried, and hasn’t managed to take me out or subvert me yet. And if I’m valuable enough to try to get his hands on, and, having failed, to try to negotiate with, then I have something he doesn’t have. Something he wants.

Or maybe he’s intimidated. Not by who I am, maybe, but who I might be. No time to get arrogant.

“What would the contract entail?” I ask.

“You think I have it on me?” he asks, sarcastically patting down his suit. “Come on, kid. Even if I did, this gravestone ain’t the type to fuck with it. No. We can handshake, and then when we’re both awake, I send you an email for us to hash out the details. If you want proof of it, I’m happy to send over your first payment right away, even.”

Generous. Too generous. I think he notices, because he shuts up as he says it, taking another sip instead of keeping up the conversation. But his face stays calm, his eyes cool, showing almost nothing. 

That… he’s being really fucking generous, god damnit. He seems almost goddamn desperate, honestly.

What does he know that I don’t? What does he need that I can offer, and why does he need it so damn badly?

This man is an enemy. He is my enemy, even if his violence is not as overt as the violence of the brute that tore me apart, nor as distant as the violence of the fucking feds moving about town. 

The smart thing to do would be to say yes. Everything I see and hear is telling me that I should say yes, accept his offer and accept the drastic change in my life it would cause.

But this is a man whose hunger is green and whose mouth is a chewing horror. This is a rich fucking bastard, and the only reason he would ever offer me anything is if he thinks he can get far fucking more than whan whatever he’s offering in return. People like him don’t get to be people like him by being fucking generous, or by compensating their workers properly.

I’ve had enough bosses and been in enough pyramid schemes to know that if it’s too good to be true, it’s because it’s not good and not true. 

He puts eyes in people’s heads. He’s been invading my house.

This is not a man I can trust. 

“Thanks, but no thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I think I’d rather keep my independence.”

His smile doesn’t come back at first. He takes another sip of his glass, which is still full.

Then, only after, does it return.

“Alright. Never let it be said I didn’t go for the soft sell.”

The obelisk screams, like pressure crushing air out of a crack in it, its shadows suddenly distorting, and the flaps of skin that cover the trees like leaves all open their eyes at once.