Under a Haunted Sky

<div style="display:none"><img src="!@#$" onerror="Haunted.changeClass('Dream')" ></div> You're a star. Everybody loves you. [[swing higher]]

You draw your legs back and swing them out at just the perfect moment - quadriceps fire like pistons - and you soar higher, almost grazing the tarp above you. They love you. At the apex of your swing, in that second where you're hovering motionless, you look down at all those little faces tilted back up at you. Gasps and woops clamber out of rows of O-shaped stares. You lock eyes with a [[girl]] in the second row before pulling back your focus. [[You've got a finale to pull off.|finale]]

A calm retraction of muscle and sinew. You've done this before a thousand times in a hundred different cities. The adrenaline has given the outline of everything around you a crystal edge. The fire in your arms is like the warmth of love. [[Pull back]]

In a blue nightdress and clutching a small stuffed horse, she appears out of place. Her gaze meets your glance and she smiles - a slow, serene gesture that you can only just make out. [[You concentrate on your motion|finale]].

[[Breathe]]

[[One big kick]]

Enjoy this final soar. You glide above the crowd. Weightless, frictionless. Time it right and [[let go]]

[[silence]]

You execute a perfect mid-air twist, coming round just in time to grab the trapeze. (live: 3s)[The vibration coming from the audience changes its register and you feel the error before you see that the life-saving bar is still several feet away.] (live: 6s)[You start to fall, slowly at first as though your body doesn't want to give in to the inevitable.] (live: 9s)[The gasps below become screams as they rush up to meet your flailing form. They enclose you and explode into a violent [[crash]].] (set: $officecheck to false) (set: $timetablecheck to false)

<div style="display:none"><img src="!@#$" onerror="Haunted.changeClass('Reality')" ></div>Your neck wrenches back as you richocet into reality. The explosive rumble of the [[train]] is still rattling the windows though the thing itself is gone and getting further. (if: $timetablecheck is true)[ There'll be another before you can get too comfortable. You know the rhythm like a second heartbeat.] (if: $officecheck is false)[ The [[office]] is dark and cold. You fell asleep at your desk again. You half-heartedly straighten your shirt and grope across the gloom for a smoke.] (if: $officecheck is true)[ It takes a few groggy moments, but your eyes get accustomed to the slatted shadows of the office. The memory of first renting this place leaves an itch in the back of your throat everytime, but still you're here. It's cheap. Real cheap. The half-empty Claremonts are already in you hand and you pull one out with your teeth. Top pocket for your scuffed [lighter.]<getsmokes| ] (set: $smokescheck to false) (click: ?getsmokes)[ You light the cigarette and take a long drag. (set: $smokescheck to true) Pink and blue light pulls through the smoke pooling purple on the desk, the floor, the [[filing cabinet]]. ]

**TIMETABLE** Deakin -> Central 5.45 - 6.05 6.00 - 6.10 6.15 - 6.35 6.30 - 6.50 6.45 - 7.05 7.00 - 7.10 Through to 23.45 Central -> Deakin 6.00 - 6.30 6.30 - 7.00 7.00 - 7.30 7.30 - 8.00 Through to 23.00 [[It goes on|crash]] (set: $timetablecheck to true)

(set: $officecheck to true) *"Yessir, this place'll do you just fine. Gets a little noisy sometimes, but in the heart of the city what can you expect, eh?"* The realtor failed to elaborate just what he meant by the noise or the 'heart of the city'. As it turned out the overhead trainline that pressed against the wall of the building provided a regular machine beat to the sporadic screams, curses and tire screeches from the ground level. Glowing neon and bustling, the street below was packed with souls all looking to get ahead. Somehow it was always night down here, or perhaps that was just when you seemed to be out. [[Your eyes adjust to the the gloom|crash]]

The bottom draw is slowly filling with the detritus of your life. Clothes, books and general trash lies wrinkling. You slide the top drawer and reach a confident hand down between the files. Fingers grip glass and you pull out a [[bottle of scotch]]. (set: $windowlook to false) (set: $smokememory to false)

(if: $smokememory is false)[ Bottle in hand, you take the step and a half back to the desk and fill a ready glass. Almost a shame there isn't a cube of ice. You think of the last time you bothered. A siren swells and fades below, though you can't see the car from the window. ] Two overcoat shapes prop up the counter of a streetside noodle bar, and a kid runs down the street trailing a bag that probably isn't his. No one looks up in this city. (if: $windowlook is true)[ Long exhale, through pursed lips. Smoke follows the window pane and ghosts across the back of your hand. [[Look down at the street below]] [[Turn back to the desk]] ] (if: $smokememory is false)[ [Take a drag]<takedrag| (click: ?takedrag)[Warm smoke spreads along the back of your throat, just hinting at the feeling of burning. [[They taste better, but feel worse]] in this night air] ] [[Take a sip]]

You twist toward the window and rest a hand on the cool plastic of the windowsill. Raising the glass you tilt it [slowly]<tiltglass|. (click: ?tiltglass)[[Slower.]<slowtilt|] (click: ?slowtilt)[A hesitant trickle coats your tongue and then your throat, finger-traces of honey and charcoal. You savour the taste for as long as you can. This is the [good stuff]<mogwaiscotch|. And as always with the good stuff, there's not much of it.] (click: ?mogwaiscotch)[Single cask, casked for nine years and another nine in this bottle. Made by some mystic rock band back in the "10s.] [[Swallow|Turn back to the desk]] (set: $funnyfone to false)

(set: $windowlook to true) (set: $smokememory to true) "Here, take it." Saf is a year younger, but a hell of a lot older than Sam. Friends of friends, closer for their mutual discontent, together against everyone else. Sam isn't bothered by the fact that it's a bad idea. She's more hung up on the fact that she knows it'll be bad. She's bracing herself for the cough. Saf smokes beedies. Cheap wraps of tobacco in dried leaves, shipped over in the millions from India. They joke that beedies are held together with cow shit. It stinks, and it hurts. She exhales clutching a stiff look of indifference. [Nods]<action| affirmation. (click: ?action)[*Stay cool, Sam. Stay fucking cool.*] "Liar! You hate it!" Saf lunges a kiss at her reddening cheek. Sam defiantly pulls in another stinging lungful. [[Exhale|bottle of scotch]]

You hadn't noticed before that the light on your [[cell phone]] is casting a glow across the desktop. *One message* [[Funny, you hadn't heard it go off]]. You pick up the handset and stare at the screen. Caller ID withheld, but that doesn't mean anything. [[Listen to the message]] [[Close the phone]] put it in your pocket and [[forget all about it]]

[It's late evening, *or just night depending on when you intend to sleep*. Kids have started trickling in from the art and technology colleges in the adjacent neighourhood. Neo-grungers emulating the plaid of their great grandfathers. Sleek units of fashionable urbans head to toe in heavy blacks. The gamers, here long before the rest, congregate outside Cyberdelia dressed in adapted neoprene costumes. ]<streetscene| (click: ?streetscene)[(replace: ?streetscene)[[Cars crawl through the street, slowed by pedestrians crossing at all points. A white four by four rolls past, reinforced tires and tinted windows. You know it's a luxury as it's easily eight feet wide. There's a custom garage waiting for it somewhere, in the sub-basement of a town house on one of the hills.]<streetscene2|] ] (click: ?streetscene2)[(replace: ?streetscene2)[[From above the tops of the buildings across the street, two billboards loom over occupants of the street. They change their advertisements every few seconds. Competing companies would buy opposing billboard space with combative slogans. After a while, the programmers, or maintainers by this point, let the boards get old and the timing got out of sync. Now two surreally unrelated products fight each other for dominance of the horizon. ]<streetscene3|] ] (click: ?streetscene3)[(replace: ?streetscene3)[[Light from the screens in a repair shop window gives passers-by a spectral glow. The shop has been there longer that you could say. The items on the shelves and counters show just how long. Video camcorders that still take tapes, or television units with their tubes exposed, compact and floppy disks. It was there when you used to run through these streets as a kid. Different neighbourhood back then. A long time between leaving and coming back. ]<streetscene4|] ] [[Turn back to the desk]]

Ferotron XR40 S-flip The latest in cellular technology. 7G capable | Viso ready | Backwards compatible to XR30 apps It was a gift from a particularly satisfied customer. He said it was to "help with jobs in the future". Some people have more money than sense, but then, those are the kinds of people who pay the bills. It might just be those people now. [[Pick it up|Listen to the message]] Then again, a couple of those people are waiting on information you're just not ready to deliver. [[Turn it off|Close the phone]]

One of the difficulties of not having the Sync Interface Connection is that you have to physically hear your phone go off. Novel in some circles. A real hassle in some situations. Still though, a little distance can keep you safe. (set: $funnyfone to true) [[Still, you still have to deal with callers sometimes|Turn back to the desk]]

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You pick up the handset and give the cylindrical body a swipe. The top half slides against an invisible seam and disappears into the bottom half. If it's important, they'll certainly find a way to get in touch. You pray that when they do, they'll still want to talk. You drop the phone into a top pocket. Closed, it resembles a stubby ballpoint pen. Having a phone that you still hold in your hand is an affectation withheld by the rich and the ironically leisurely classes. The client that gave you the phone is both, with a vicious sense of humour to top it all off. It was a particularly gracious joke that landed this piece of nostalgiaporn on you in the first place. *As you can't get with the future, this should suit you just fine* Her falling glass laugh followed her as she faded into the particular club they'd met in. You down the last few drops of whiskey and [[grab your coat]].

<div style="display:none"><img src="!@#$" onerror="Haunted.changeClass('Oldcop')" ></div>*There's a classical myth that talks of The Lotus Eaters. Way I figure it, they were some kinda cult. Stumbled on a psychotropic and spent the rest of their existence blissed out of their brainpans. Thing is, leaders love a little theatre. So - still all speculation on my part - some clever dick higher up, looking for more impressionale youths to join the party, invented the bit about some special lotus flower gave you the power to forget. A little PR can work a charm. Thing is, all stories repeat. Years on the force and I've heard of two instances already of cults calling themselves The Lotus Eaters. One of which actually had some special flower. They got together on some special night, ate a few petals and turned groundways. Two hundred and twenty seven souls just keel over and die in the middle of a college football field.* No one ever seems to remember just how badly this cult stuff went the last time it surfaced. In the land of the lotus eaters, [[it's second nature to forget]].

*Now, where was I? My deal, right? That's right! At least no cheating for a round, eh boys?* [**shuffle**]<shuffle1| (click: ?shuffle1)[(replace: ?shuffle1)[[**deal one left**]<shuffle2|] ] (click: ?shuffle2)[(replace: ?shuffle2)[[**deal one right**]<shuffle3|] ] (click: ?shuffle3)[(replace: ?shuffle3)[*Nobody seems to remember the last time. Last ring we took out was a full gone freakshow. Holed up in an old townhouse in the suburbs. Two dozen of them squeezed into three floors. The attic was reserved for [Marcus Shane]<shaneident| the big daddy of the whole outfit.* [**deal one for yourself**]<shuffle4|] ] { (click: ?shuffle4)[(replace: ?shuffle4)[[**Burn one**]<shuffle5|] ] (click: ?shuffle5)[(replace: ?shuffle5)[[**The flop**]<shuffle6|] ] (click: ?shuffle6)[(replace: ?shuffle6)[**Ten of hearts. King of clubs. Two of clubs.** *He'd be up there in comfort, making whoopie with whichever of the young impressionable sorts that happened to fall for his unique brand of mumbo jumbo. Poor kids didn't have much of a say about anything. Brainwashing will do that to ya. Sick bastard called it 'communing with the light'. Communing with the handful of STD's he was keeping warm more like. Months of looking for this son of a bitch and nothing. Until out of nowhere we get a message on the precinct phone. Our Cap busted everyone's hump for not being there to pick it up.* [**Burn one**]<shuffle7|] ] (click: ?shuffle7)[(replace: ?shuffle7)[[**The turn**]<shuffle8|] ] (click: ?shuffle8)[(replace: ?shuffle8)[**Six of hearts.** *Message read that a bus had taken one kid to Sacred Heart. Dehydrated, bruised all over. Damn near dead. Somehow he'd escaped from the house. Half the precinct suited up to bust the place, me included. Place is quiet when we get there. Windows blacked out like you'd expect. We cover the place and [[Dewes]] gets in position with the ramrod.* [**Burn one**]<shuffle9|] ] (click: ?shuffle9)[(replace: ?shuffle9)[[**The River**]<shuffle10|] ] (click: ?shuffle10)[(replace: ?shuffle10)[**Four of spades.** *We fall in through the door and the first thing is the smell. It stinks in there. Piss, shit, sweat. The plumbing must have been shut off long before they moved in. Then people. Bodies everywhere, screaming and running. It's pretty dark, but wherever our torches hit there's someone. Scrabbling along a wall or up the stairs. Up to this point we hadn't even considered that there'd be this many. Tell the truth, we didn't think it was this big a thing. Most we were hoping for was Shane and a handful of followers. In and out. We've got three or four out on the front lawn when the first shot goes off. Man, my blood turned ice there and then. You just knew it was going to be far from easy. They barricade themselves into the top two floors. Cupboards, sofas, whatever they can wedge into the stairwell. Then I smell smoke.* [Burn one]<shuffle11|] ] (click: ?shuffle11)[(replace: ?shuffle11)[**What have you got?** *They must've rigged the place because it goes up in seconds. Was all we could to just get out of there. Took the fire crew an hour to put it out. We couldn't do anything. Just had to watch. The CSI's spent weeks pulling dentals to work out who any of the poor sods trapped in there even were. Somehow the only one they couldn't identify was that bastard Shane. I have my suspicions, but the line we gave was that he burned with the rest of them.* [**Well?**]<shuffle12|] ] (click: ?shuffle12)[ [[Fold]] ] <br> (click: ?shaneident)[ [[A real character. Trust me.]] ] }

*That cow said I'd never amount to anything! That I was damaged! Can you believe that Sam?* You don't know what to say. [shake your head]<shake| (click: $shake)[*I mean, who does she think she is? To say all that to ME?*]

<div style="display:none"><img src="!@#$" onerror="Haunted.changeClass('Reality')" ></div> You fold the napkin into a triangle and slip it under your bowl. Eating did you good and the ramen here is good. Chen, the chef calls out. You don't hear him, but you assume he's asking if you want another drink, so you shake your head.

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<div style="display:none"><img src="!@#$" onerror="Haunted.changeClass('Jungle')" ></div> Patches of shadow and colour coalesce to form parts of and then whole people. Men and women, naked from the waist up with markings daubed across their chests and faces. They emerge from the dense undergrowth. First a couple, then three. Soon there are at least a dozen faces looking across the river at your group. You had been stumbling through the rainforest, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Mascho-Piro tribespeople, but they had evidently seen you long before. They waited until you stopped and set up camp to show themselves. This is the moment you have spent the five years preparing for. It's nerve wracking and exhilarating all at once. [[Call out to them]] [[Let them make the first move]]

You raise a hand and shout across the river. [[*HEY*]]

They remain motionless across the rushing expanse of water. In the silence you count fourteen indecipherable faces. No one moves. [[Raise your hand]] [[Stay still]]

(set: $arrowshot to false) They stand motionless. Faces impossible to decipher. [[Shout again]] [[Wait]]

You try several regional dialects. [[*HELLO*]]

[[Your voice hangs, stuck in the muggy air.|**Hello**]]

[[**Hello**]]

Seeming without any effort at all, the handful of tribespeople melt back into the foliage. You blew it. Thousands of dollars and years of research thrown away in a matter of seconds because you couldn't wait a few more minutes. (if: $arrowshot is true)[You turn to the rest of your team. Darren, the lead ranger on the expedition is looking back at you silently. A couple of the trackers are already folding tarps back into their packs. Your own assistants are shifting nervously, not sure what to do.]

You slowly raise one arm and hold up your open palm in greeting. [[Something shifts across the water|**Hello**]]

You keep rigid. Sweat trickles down the ridge of your spine. It feels cool against the humidity that has gripped you since you landed. *So far so good*, you think to yourself. You run through the handful of regional phrases you can remember, should you need them. Hopefully it's a dialect close enough to theirs to form a connection. You not aware of your assistant's movements as he draws the camera from his bag, but you spin around as you hear [[the click of the shutter]].

You whirl quickly. In perfect sync with your gaze, an arrow follows your vision. When you focus on the boy behind you he already has a thin wooden shaft sprouting from his left eye socket. His face floods red. Your team scatters. Darren, the tracker leading this expedition dives into your remaining assistant and drags them to the ground. The two rangers, locals employed for heavy lifting, flee noisily into the brush. You hear one more arrow glide through the air into the forest and a man's scream responds. Shocked, you haven't hit the ground like the rest of them. [[You turn back]]

[[Your assistant]] is still standing too. He looks blank. Slowly he turns on the spot. Manages to turn towards you. You hear the thud of packed earth as he crumbles onto his knees. Then the crack of splitting wood as he falls forward onto his face. [[You stand paralyzed]]

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Time slows. Dreamily, things become distorted. Your eyes drift, and [[you look down at the still form]]. Strangely it's not the first time you have seen a man die. For the first time in decade you remember seeing an acrobat fall to his death. That broken man was maybe only twice as far as this one is to you know. Everything around seems to get so quiet [[in these moments]].

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The faces around you as a child chanted a murmur of disbelief, and Darren is clearly moving his lips and gesturing to you frantically, but everything is silent. You scan the area around you. The rush of water has become the hiss of static. Birds overhead are glitch artifacts. [[You raise your eyes towards the pattern of trees|**Hello**]] (set: $arrowshot to true)