PRIME::[I,II,&IV](III)
“There’s eight strangers in my room,” said my cat suddenly.
“Thirty-nine,” muttered my other cat with a bored expression on her face. “There’s always one you see,” she added, “who demands to see a tangible response from somebody outside the box.”
“The hanging man,” I asked, “he still screaming.”
“Indeed,” nodded the wolf.
For a long moment I sat and considered the evidence before me. Only as I sat and considered the images my other minds were throwing me I once again began to loose hope that I would ever be able to construct a coherently valid explanation of what was occurring.
“It’s a sub-space inversion,” said my cat, “back-linked through your core identity matrix which is currently trapping one man’s mind in a static warp shell framed roughly around the time you pissed off to Edinburgh.”
“Fuel source,” muttered the wolf, “keeps the peeps at the BBC spinning.”
“I have it on good authority,” I admitted, “that the screaming will last for another week.”
“Point resolution protocols,” apologized my other cat, “we will not stop until your part in this has been asserted before the eyes of the public.”
A wave of emotion rippled through my minds. And, for a moment, I found myself falling down the trackways of my inner being. Doing whatever I could to draw sense out of the moment. For a moment I considered how it could be that the constraints that bound my future sense could be slipping. For a moment I was elated. Then I was concerned. The same emotions rippled through my mind again. And in the gaps between realities I recognized my own sense of self. A fragment of displaced consciousness. Something I’d cast forward two days ago. Something I’d only agreed to because a being of higher order had asked me for a favour.
“You’ve been framing in the now,” said the wolf, “for about fourteen months and released another prisoner about eight months back. It’s the wobbles you experienced when prisoner zero escaped that caused you to do it. Evolve through a fixed frame I mean,” grinned the wolf, “not release me.”
“Two dead cats,” muttered my cat, “his father’s shadow,” she added indicating the correct demon with a thought, “and a dwarf-star alloy container.”
“What’s the Matter,” I grinned towards the generalized vicinity of the wolf, “cat got your tongue.”
“Fecking Dwarf,” barked my other cat with some degree of hilarious intent.
