Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Ok, so first there's this rampaging wyrm underneath of Baltimore. Mechanoid, probably. It comes up spontaneously and wrecks buildings and people and cars fall and get buried under rubble. Nobody can tell when or where he will rise up next--- so our first step to stopping him is to rent a couple helicopters. The idea being, of course, that if we can watch the attacks from above we might be able to see some kind of pattern and begin to anticipate the wyrm's movements. My team is completely freelance here, no support from anyone, but luckily there are car rental places that have helicopters, and also fortunately driving a helicopter is pretty much only as difficult as driving a box truck, something I've done multiple times. I go rent one by myself and land it on the roof of the H&H. I guess I'm early or something because I then procede to go towards and lie down and look up at the beautiful blue sky and take a little nap.

I awake to the sight of a few other helicopters dropping a strange net over top of the H&H. It's not a densely woven net-- looks like a grid made of single cables spaced wide apart. At first I'm sure I'll be able to fly my helicopter up and out through it but as it is lowered my hopes for that are dashed-- the grid is just tight enough to keep the chopper in. I get worried (it's a rental) but I get more worried by the fact that there's a police cruiser parked on the roof now, too, and an old policeman is walking towards me. I grab my bubbler and try to move it into my pocket nonchalantly, like I'm just coincidentally waking up and have assumed the cop is here about something or somebody else. He smiles when he gets close and announces his (totally dubious, of couse) charge, telling me I'm a child molester. I smile back and tell him he's overplayed his hand-- shoulda gone with something more plausible, because now I know for certain somebody with a lot of political clout is trying to stop me from figuring out this business with the wyrm.

Later on I'm in a small rancher-style house in a town called Ghost Walker. It's right next to a man-made lake that used to be part of a tiny lil roadside tourist trap-- you'd ride a little submarine around past paper maché divers and scubamen and sea creatures and underwater speakers that played plinky music, General Midi kinda stuff. The subs are all gone but some of the paper maché sculptures are still down there. I call up Mark Brown on my cell and talk for a long time about something. At the end of the conversation I tell him to remind me to tell him about the time I worked in Ghost Walker next time we talk.