I know for a fact that I have yet to complete the sixth chapter of the obviously internationally popular saga Cities of Eternal Rain, so I thought perhaps I’ll slake my obvious horde of a reading audience’s thirst for prose penned by my hand with this short story.
The premise of the story was based on a writing contest that was about what exactly a character would do if he had but two minutes until the end of the world. Most wrote about some emotional drama between family members, or perhaps about the main character in question coming to terms with his inevitable demise. I didn’t write any of that madness. No sir, I chose a different path. Curiously, I didn’t win. It couldn’t possibly be that I wasn’t what you would call a stellar writer was it? Poppycock! It was obviously rigged by the Illuminati.
Anyway, bad jokes aside, here is the story below. Please enjoy at your own risk…
Winston Thatcher and Rod of Ragnarok.
“Two minutes until launch,” came the voice on the overhead radio, echoing the halls of the Space Station Jotunheim, “Repeat, two minutes until launch.” Up in one of the cramped dirty vents was a special agent, Winston Thatcher, who was determined to stop the launch, knowing that if he failed, the Rod of Ragnarok would be launched ending his beloved home world that he called Earth. Hearing the announcer through the echoes of the vent at first sent chills up his spine, but by now he was simply mouthing the announcer once more. He knew that if he screwed up, he would simply dial his wrist-warper back to this two-minute mark and try again. Already his rewindings were more than he could count on both hands. On one of his more egregious attempts he was stabbed, and bled profusely when he started the rewind sequence.
“Two minutes until launch.” He then was found out by the trail of blood drops from his unpatched wound, prompting him to rewind.
“Two minutes until launch.” He then made a break for it and, running past a multitude of security guards, tried to rig the Rod of Ragnarok to explode, only to dislodge it and watched as it went hurtling towards earth. He activated the rewind sequence once more.
“Two minutes until launch.” He then tried to jam the maintenance doors that kept the Rod securely in its place, only to fly out the doors, barely able to activate the rewind just before he would die of asphyxiation.
“Two minutes until launch.”
Now Winston, stuck in a vent all battered, bruised, and nearly short of breath, was running out of ideas. Of course, he could just rewind over and over again, but he couldn’t do it forever; eventually his body would succumb to the needs of food, water, and sleep. In fact, every time Winston rewound his precious two minutes, the only benefit he received was the return of his battered body to his position in the vent. Everything else, like his need for food, sleep, water, age, and his need for medical attention would stay the same.
As he sat in the vent, Winston began to recall the there was a critical detail mentioned in the briefing. He sat there wondering exactly why he ended up day-dreaming during the briefing. He knew that his mission would decide the fate of the world, but he had previously completed a rough, near fatal mission with barely a day to recuperate. The man giving the briefing was so boring in his presentation; this guy that Winston listened to had a record of being able to put toddlers to sleep because of how badly he droned on.
He ended up opting to go for the bridge this time; perhaps he might try to stop the launch there. While gaining his second wind, he pulled out his map of the Jotunheim and plotted his route to the bridge. Steadily climbing his way up to the top, Winston did his very best to silently make his way. He began to hear voices, and that was a sign of one thing—he was nearing a hallway with what he could guess were at least two voices. He did his very best to climb as quietly as possible, overhearing the conversation that was happening.
“I still can’t seem to shake that feeling, John.” One of the guards said.
“What feeling?” Replied the other guard.
“Well, what’s going to happen after we drop the Rod?” the first guard continued on, “I mean what’s the point of trying to rule the world when you’re just going to do what that rock did with the dinosaurs?”
“I hear the boss is gonna plant his special new trees.”
“This isn’t helping…”
“They’re just trees.”
“Have you seen these trees?” Said the first guard becoming a bit more passionate, “The shape and colors of the fruits of these trees is weird. And I could’ve sworn that I saw a guy high on one them!”
“Have you had enough sleep?” The second guard said faintly as Winston finally slipped past. He made a mental note to investigate those trees in question; whatever they were, they meant nothing good. His curiosity was ever rising as he was ever climbing upward toward the bridge.
“One minute until launch,” Came the announcer overhead, “repeat. One minute until launch.” Like the two minute warning, Winston was just as annoyed with the one-minute warning. As his ears were begging for something new, he finally reached the grate that was across form the bridge door.
Winston took out a special acidic crayon and slowly injected small amounts of the acidic compound. “A drop here,” Winston said, “A drop there, and a drop—yeouch!” Winston found that he accidentally dripped a drop on his forearm, and bit his lip hard, trying his best not to yell out his agony. He really didn’t want to rewind again, and hear that stupid, stupid announcement! He observed the patrols for a few seconds, and when everything was lined up, he made a dash for the door. He took out his stolen key card, and quickly unlocked the door to the bridge. Now the big problem was that Winston had less than a minute to stop a giant, soul-crushing, world-ending, football-field-sized, death rod that made atom bombs look like child’s play, and he was going to do it by tilting the Jotunheim off-course. The problem came when Winston finally entered the bridge: There were millions of buttons, and several attendants overseeing the operation.
Winston snuck past one of the attendants to get to a better position, one that would put him within equal distance with every position in the room. He then took out a set of five electric disks, each about one and a half times the size of a quarter. He squeezed one of the disks, and it glowed green; he had five seconds to get rid of it. So in knowing this, he threw it at one of the attendant’s legs. He did the same with the other disks by chucking them at the other attendants. One by one, they all collapsed as they were electrocuted by these tiny little disks. Winston knew he only had five of them and he knew that he had to use them wisely. He was also tired of repeating the same damn two minutes, and wanted to finish this stupid mission once and for all. Based on Winston’s current plan, he probably made the right call.
There was only one problem: The last attendant, as he fell over, still had enough constitution to press the button to alert the nearest security center. Winston could only smack his own face with his palm as he knew that things were going to get more complicated. He heard a beep in the corner, and found its source: a phone intercom, and Winston decided to answer it, possibly against his better judgement.
“Uh, bridge operation,” Winston said, trying to sound professional.
“Yes, this is Jotunheim SC-04. We detected a security call in your area. Is everything okay?”
“Oh yes, fine and dandy, just like candy!” Winston blurted out, trying to hide the inward cringe that came with the realization of how stupid he sounded.
“Right,” The man on the phone said, unamused, “I’ve been studying the security footage, and I don’t see anyone pushing the alert button…”
A lump of warm clay landed in the trunk of Winston’s suit. He knew that hacking the security system would bite him in the ass later. To be honest, though, he had very little choice. It got him this far; now his smokescreen was potentially compromised, and worst of all he just used his five stun disks, which don’t come back after rewinding time. He was so close and yet so—No! Dammit, man, he thought to himself, stop being so negative! You’ve saved the world once, now do it again!
“Hello?” Cried the voice on the other end of the line, “I asked you for your ID number?”
Winston tried to reestablish exactly what the current conversation was about, saying, “Uh, what now? My ID?”
“Yes, your ID,” The voice said condescendingly, “The number you had to memorize in basic training? Remember?”
“Uh, well,” Winston thought, trying his best to get out of this one, but his brain finally failed him and he simply spewed out, “3.1415926 Uh, dash 3.”
The result silence on the other end of the line was so deafening, that Winston’s warm lump of clay got warmer. The tension was made worse when the silence was finally broken.
“Really?” the voice said, disappointed.
“What?” Winston said, playing dumb.
“Number one, pi is not a designation because, number two, we don’t have decimals in these numbers. Number three, we don’t have dashes in our numbers, and we only five digits. I don’t know who you are, but we’re coming up there and you had better have a good explanation when we do.”
“No, no, no, no!” Winston said trying to throw a bucket of water over a gasoline inferno.
*click*
The voice hung up. Winston discarded the intercom phone, and searched the different consoles for the rocket controls to move the Jotunheim out of alignment. He found two joysticks labelled “alignment.” This is it, Winston thought and he excitedly fiddled with the joysticks. He felt the ground move-a good sign, but just when he thought he had saved the world, the announcer over the intercom said “fifteen seconds to launch,” and as if to personally spite Winston, “All component in perfect alignment. Ragnarok Rod is green.”
Winston widened his eyes, in panic, and then looked down on the console. There was a knob set to the bridge area only. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?” Winston yelled in a childish fury, as he furiously beat the console like an angry gorilla who was denied a banana for the fiftieth time by an asshole of a zookeeper. He said a number of *ahem* ungentlemanly things, and then the door to the bridge opened, with ten guards, all armed with spiked, electric batons standing in the doorway. They all looked at Winston like they were going to have so much fun, and one of them yelled out, “GET HIM!” Winston anticipated the incoming deluge of pain when—
“Two minutes until launch.” Winston sat back in the relatively peaceful vent, feeling anything but peaceful. He tried his best to practice the technique that his third anger management teacher taught him (his first two were hospitalized by Winston himself—don’t ask him about it!) while trying to repeat his near success. But just when he was about to receive his mental second wind, or rather his twentieth, he heard an announcement over his earpiece.
“Warning,” came his digital “helper” in her most obnoxiously soullessly voice, “Low battery. Three charges remaining.” That’s when it hit him. Winston knew he had forgotten something! That was exactly what caused his last mission to be so damn difficult. That boring man who gave the briefing even reminded him to bring a charger. God, that man could bring a coffee addict on thirty-nine espressos to sleep! Oh, well, screw it, Winston thought, as he continued his mission.
He followed the same path that led him to the bridge and this time, he did discover that the attendants were out cold because of his non-rewindable disks; it wasn’t all peachy though, because the alarm was still active. Winston knew this was go time and that his window of opportunity was shrinking. He went to the console and, in applying the appropriate settings, he began to turn the silo. He was indeed sick of the announcer, but it made him happy to hear the announcer’s alarm in his voice, “Attention, attention! The rod silo is out of alignment! Repeat, the rod silo is out of alignment!”
Winston finally was satisfied; that is, until he heard a *click* from the bridge door opening. He made a dive to hide, praying that he wasn’t going to be found underneath the control panels.
As the security guards came in slowly scanning for the intruder, Winston was hiding behind some cardboard boxes filled with paperwork, doing his best not to move or make noise. Then his nose began to tickle.
Don’t you DARE sneeze, Winston telepathically told his nose. He tried his best to hold it in for about thirty seconds, but alas his nose didn’t care, and thus his let out a loud, “ACHOO!”
“Hey, I heard something!” A guard hollered, “It came over here!”
Winston could hear the spine chilling footsteps that were headed towards his direction, when—
“Two minutes until launch.” Winston finally cracked.
“I GOT IT THE FIRST TWENTY-NINE THOUSAND TIMES, YOU INSUFFERABLE SAD EXCUSE FOR A SON OF A BITCH!”
“What was that?” A Guard said in the distance. Winston accidentally used his outside voice, and he knew it. While it felt good, it certainly did not help his disposition. Oh, well, he thought, hoping they would not investigate.
“I think it’s coming from the vents” Another guard said, “Get me a grenade. We’ll smoke ‘em out!” That’s when Winston knew he blew it, and then—
“Two minutes until launch.”
This was it. He had no more rewinds. Winston knew that his chances of winning the lottery were greater than returning to the Earth, and he didn’t even buy a ticket! He sighed, accepting the fact that if he was going to save the world, then it was going cost him his own little world. So he went out, one last time, hoping that there was a God, a heaven, and a chance to go there; because if there wasn’t, he was about to say goodbye to a lot of good things.
THE END.