The Old Improbable Island Wiki

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RELEASED TO PUBLIC | DATE OF REVIEW: 19.02.2098 |
AUTHORITY: WIPO | AUTHOR: M. HACKER |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Engines of war
move inexorably toward certain houses
while citizens sit safe in other houses
reading the newspaper, whose photographs
make sanitized excuses for the war.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: UNCLASSIFIED| DATE OF REVIEW: N/A |
AUTHORITY: N/A | AUTHOR: UNKNOWN |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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The sets are rolling regular and the onshore wind blows her overgrown forelock out of Dex's face so she doesn't have to. She knows both Z and Elias would frown if they knew she'd decided to surf alone with her wrist as it is, and it's not that she doesn't care. It's that the cast is an enemy intent to stop her enjoying life, and fuck that, she thinks. If she wipes out, she'll fall well, and even though she'll soak the hell out of her cast, she can dry it thoroughly afterwards.

She hefts her surfboard, her good arm bisecting the belly of its painted fishbone design, and she turns a slow full circle. She's looking for exits, spypoints, places for enemies to hide. It's a hot day, even with the sea wind, even for her. She sets her board down and sits facing down the beach to pull off her boots, unwilling to turn her back on the wall behind her. Not until she's in the water.

Gripping a honeycomb-shaped chunk of beeswax, she rubs circles on the deck from nose to tail like Z taught her, then she unsheathes a screwdriver hidden next to the knife in her boots. She decides to ping Z now- - if she waits until she's in the waves she'll either forget or Z will somehow hear what she's doing. The call's a welcome-home-dear kiss on the side of the lips, nondescript in its familiarity. Z hasn't learned to be suspicious of it yet and her response is sincere in its sweetness.

In the clan hall lift, Tyr is fiddling with his sleeves, pulling them down over his wrists, brushing fingers over the pale ghostscars of Z's teeth. He takes a deep breath in time with the not-so-distant waves, and lets it back out. “Right then. Ready when you are.”

“Still there. By-by herself,” Ebenezer mumbles. He replaces his spectacles on his nose and tucks his moderator's monocle into one of his many-penned pockets. “Seem-seems the time for it. Ready, then.” The lift comes to a stop. Ebenezer wrenches the door open and steps out first into the cavern.

Tyr follows quickly after, drawing up next to Eben, his boots thudding quietly on the stone. The wind plays havoc with his hair and he reaches futilely to brush it back into place. His eyes are fixed on Dex on the beach. Ebenezer doesn't wait for him and starts out through the cavern, into the sand, making an arrow-straight path to Dex.

The two approaching figures weren't there before she lifted her t-shirt over her head, and she gasps at the surprise. Clannies, she tries to reassure herself, having just come that way, but it's not until she can distinguish Ebenezer's uncomfortable sand-in-my-shoes stride that she can pick out Tyr with him. Glancing impatiently to the sea, Dex sighs and pulls her shirt back over her head. They're not here to surf. A wave crashes and sizzles up the sand.

Tyr glances at Eben as they draw closer. Tyr tries to smile, and after waiting for Eben to start the conversation, he takes charge. “Hello, Dex! The waves look.. good?”

“Hmn,” Eben adds.

“Where's your boards?” She eyes them up and down. Stiff, the two of them. Eben even more than usual.

Tyr rubs his neck. “Not here to surf. Which is a surprise, I'm sure, given Eb's passion for it.”

Eben hmns again, sneering.

Another wave. Missed. She follows the line of Eben's sneer to the length of herself, and looks back at the two of them, puzzled. “What'd I do?”

Tyr looks at Eb again, sighs, and turns to Dex. “We were talking to Haccadine - - “

“The new guy. He's cute, if a little..” She woggles her hand.

“Attacked!” Eben spits out.

“Shitwhat!” She starts shoving her toes into her boots. “What the fuck you doing here! How bad? Where is he?”

Tyr glares at Eben. “He's fine - - but he. Ah. He told us about the.. conversation he had with you in the pub.”

“Oh?” She pulls her foot out of her boot again to stand her ground while her heart races, not remembering the knife as much as the panic that preceded it. Another wave breaks.

“You attacked him! You-you-you-you attacked him with a knife. Anoth-another contestant. An-an-an applicant to DICE! He's- - you! Dex! That's- -I can't.” Ebenezer lets out a sharp lungful of air and whips both hands back through his hair. “St-stupid. That was stupid. You've been-you've been very stupid.”

She disguises her imbalance by reaching down to move her surf-leash out of the way. Taking a slow breath as she straightens so that her voice is solid, polite, she responds, “Is this how you speak when you're moderating?”

Ebenezer grits his teeth, glare boring into Dex.

Tyr purses his lips. “I asked Haccadine what he was doing before you attacked him. He said just talking - -“

“Like we're just talking?”

“Yes, and no-one's pulled a knife yet! So I don't know, maybe he insulted your socks or your mother. You want to tell us why just talking led to you threatening a clanmate? Again?”

“You think I'd pull a knife on someone without a good reason, Tyr?” She focuses on Tyr, because Eben's anger only threatens hers to boil over.

Tyr's voice is quiet. “You're going to ask me that?”

“Yeh, I just did, and I'm also asking myself why you two, two members of .. what's everyone like to call it? A family?” She shoves her feet into her boots. “Why you'd both come down here and jump on my ass about this, rather than be remotely.. well, fuck being worried, 'cuz Dex can take care of herself, but you assume that - -“

“That's what I'm worried about! Yes, you can take care of yourself. Or Z - -“

“Nothin' to do with her.”

Tyr grits his teeth. “I came down here to find out what on earth would prompt you to pull a knife on a guy in a pub. I came down here for a reason. Not -” he scowls at Eb, “To start making accusations. But fine. Assume you're being attacked, like you always do.”

She's speechless and frozen mid-reach for her surfboard.

Eben speaks up again, voice tense with forced calm. “Why-why don't you explain why, then?”

“Socks or mother?” Dex mocks, trying to hide the hurt that lays under it. They killed my mother, she thinks to say, but decides it's more punishment to keep it from him. She catches his look at Eben and straightens with a deep breath, deciding to give him another chance. “So what Haccadine say, exactly?”

Tyr takes a deep breath. “He said you were in the pub. That you were talking. That he said something about where he was from, and you seemed interested, but then you got all twitchy. You pulled the knife, and you almost cut him, but you didn't. And then you bought him a drink.” He lifts his chin. “And he told us that it was settled.”

“It is settled. It's all cool.” It's a baldfaced lie because it's not at all settled, not anymore. Haccadine must have lied to her. No Crew would narc her out like that afterwards. “Unless he's upset?”

Ebenezer snaps, “Are you g-going to explain your half or not?”

It's the exasperation in Tyr's face, and maybe, maybe even in Eben's dumbass sharp fumbling that makes her recognize anger borne of worry- - she's notorious for the very same. “Yeh, okay. Yeh, I'll.. try.” She chooses her words carefully to say no more than what the cameras would have picked up that day in the pub anyway. “He said some things about where he's from,” she starts and makes a point to speak slowly and to look at the nearest camera mounted on its loudspeaker pole, “that were quite unbelievable - - shocking. I had to make sure he is who he said he is. I wouldn't have hurt him.”

“Who else would he-would he be?” Ebenezer's eyes squint narrower and his arms fold tightly across his chest. With a sharp, disapproving shake of the head, he says, “Violent. Knife-a knife's violent.”

She takes a deliberate pause to glance up at the camera again. “He'd be someone that needs a knife at his throat.” She squints though the wind has died and the sun's behind her. “Yeh, knife's violent. This whole place is sometimes, isn't it.”

“That's true. But some of it's more violent than other parts.” Tyr watches her, his forehead creasing.

Eben's gaze follows Dex's to the camera. He studies it for a silent moment before frowning back at her. ”Hmn.”

“I understand now why you came to me about this. Really. I overreacted when he,” she juts her chin at Eben, “came at me like one of my old probies. Didn't pull my shank on 'im though, you'll note, so I'm not entirely a hair-trigger with a rage on 'er, yeh.” The left side of her mouth slants into a smirk.

Ebenezer's scowl only deepens, leaving Dex to exhale sharply through her nose.

Tyr sighs. “No, you didn't knife Eben. Well done.” He tilts his head. “I'm just worried. Because I should be surprised to hear you've pulled a knife on someone. And I'm not.”

Her lips flatten. “Okay.”

He takes a step forward and says softly, “There's enough shit out there trying to kill us without us trying to kill each other. Maybe you had a reason this time - -“

“That's enough,” she says, matching his murmur. “I'm leaving now, if you'll excuse me.” She's fighting tears by the time she's reaching for her board. “Bye now,” she says louder, facing away from them, to the cliffs.

Hesitation.

Tyr steps out of the way and she walks up to the cavern.

Wary of scratches or dents, Dex leans her surfboard gently against the stone wall near the elevator. Her hands don't shake or tremble as she unscrews the fin and tucks it behind the board. She winds the leash neatly around her knuckles, which aren't white from gripping, then slips the loop off. Standing, she pats the board, a relaxed see-you-later instead of a fuck-you fist crack. Eben and Tyr, she notices, have walked south, so she takes the elevator to cut through halls to the north clan district exit.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 01.04.2098 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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”Hmn,” Cooper says, sounding a lot like Ebenezer as he lets the shot linger over her shoulder as she stands in front of her surfboard, while he queues up the next cameras. By the time she's out of the elevator, she's moving too quickly for him to catch a good closeup, but he's not worried. It was a great scene, he thinks. It'll divide Spandex's fans, which is always positive for ratings, and they'll gain some of both Ebenezer's and Tyr's fans, wondering why they're both so riled up about her.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 01.04.2098 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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In her own camera room, Terry's already on the telephone with Jules. Though they usually work together in one camera room for the bromance scenes, Terry insisted on having her booth to herself for this scene. So Tyr won't distract me, she said at the time, but what she meant was, So I can take your cameras if I want my angles.

“I didn't realize you had that one! So sorry, Jinx-dear!”

She digs her hand into her popcorn bowl and crunches a mouthful while Jules speaks. She washes it down with soda before answering, “Or that one either. Really, Jinx. In the heat of the moment, it's hard to tell who's got what camera. But wasn't it all so lovely? My lad was so uncharacteristically angry and yours, thank goodness he was there to soothe that storm.” Something about the intonation of that last statement carries her eyebrow waggle through the phone.

She lets out a giggle and bullies on ahead before Jules can get a word in. “Now, I'd really love to stay on the line, but I need to go over footage, dear. Catch you at lunch. Ta-ta.” Clik.

Narrowing her eyes at her screens, she asks, “Why are you both so riled up about her?”

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 01.04.2098 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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“Edith 'Ed' Tijoux,” Gannet murmurs to himself as he writes the name down. He underlines it twice, sets down his pen, and replays an archival clip of her last day on prime time. Her original handler was canned. The file says that she was unprofitable - - too serious, too solitary, too intense to make good television. Contestant is highly intelligent, lacks evident sense of humor and creativity. Asocial, motivated by independent projects and goals, highly driven. Known mercenary.

The footage plays. A Joker of middling height and middling looks lingers with a dead-eyed expression at the edge of the square in AceHigh. She watches the usual chaos of the Outpost without much reaction. Few people seem to notice her, though she's noticed them. Eventually, something catches her attention in the alleyway behind her and she slips away to investigate.

Gannet looks again at the file. Initial lack of control over Improbability neutralization has stabilized to nuanced, long-range control; contestant seems to prefer not to exercise the ability without incentive (i.e., rapid disengagement from a fight or other self-defense, threats for personal gain, etc.). Consistent and speedy regenerative healer, tremendous endurance. Above average strength and marksmanship; poor sprinter.

“Ed,” he says again, studying her sensibly close-shaved head. She has little dents in her skull. Pockmarks, maybe from weapons. “Where are you, are you still a Joker..” He swivels to begin a search through live feeds.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: UNCLASSIFIED| DATE OF REVIEW: N/A |
AUTHORITY: N/A | AUTHOR: UNKNOWN |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Dex doesn't walk much. She runs or swims or climbs or jumps or skateboards, but today, after she's cut through the crowded outpost and veered northeast from her loft, after she's made it past the well-travelled trails that fork towards the more northern outposts and dwellings, she slows. She notices the pale yellow of a dry hill behind a nearby red cedar where the needles lay underneath like bedding, the widening of the riverbank she's following and how its stone teeth grow bigger and sharper as she gains elevation, and the way the forest holds it breath every time a dry twig cracks under her boots. She notices the way her left eye twitches as midday sunlight strobes off-and-on as she passes under branches, and she pauses when she feels the pulse of Improbability that is always a moment behind Z's sudden arrival.

Zolotisty says she goes barefoot because she hates the feel of shoes around her ankles but it might just as well be because she loves the feel of earth under her toes. It loves her, too, and shows it in the way it guards the sound of her step. She falls in with Dex, with no remark, with one ear leaning toward her. It moms with its scrutiny, looking for scrapes.

“Twist?”

Z brushes against her hip and they stop to face each other. Dex can't tell that Z's trying to keep concern out of her eyes, but her ears, as usual, give her away. She notices a small clump of clay trying to camouflage itself in the soft beige fluff, and reaches up to rub it loose. “How much longer 'til I get my cast off? Want to swim and surf and climb rocks,” she adds when she sees Z lift her eyes to figure the math, as if the reminder will make Z say today, tomorrow, day after next.

“Soon, I think. C'n go see.” She knocks her forehead gently into Dex's. “Brought you a poemtry,” she adds when she sees Dex roll her eyes to protest, as if she expected a solid number.

Dex pulls away and steps clear of her. “There's a pond just west of here, past the ferns on the other side of the clearing,” she says, though she's thinking of a meadow eastward. Her gaze flicks up to the tree-mounted camera she noticed as soon as it picked her up yards back. In one smooth motion she unsheathes and throws a knife, severing its power cable.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 01.04.2098 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Cooper chuckles to the snow on his screen. “If I could have moved this thing, I'd have ducked, and you, dear ninja-punk, would have missed.” It's a combination of watching her closely for almost two years and his own martial arts training- - the telltale shift onto her right foot before reaching for one of her knives is so loud that it almost leaves him reaching for his volume control.

He switches to the nearest cam, even though the scene's now like playing spot the wildlife through the forest. The mic isn't picking up much but the wind and occasional birdsong. Cooper watches Z turn in place while Dex uses Improbability to climb to the camera she just took out. Even though he can't make out what she's doing, he knows she's retrieving her knife.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: UNCLASSIFIED| DATE OF REVIEW: N/A |
AUTHORITY: N/A | AUTHOR: UNKNOWN |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Gobbets of acidic saliva rain down like beach balls as a Titan leans to roar at the contestants scurrying about its toes. The droplets pock the earth into great, smoking craters. Three Mutants with a smartly constructed catapult just manage to maneuver out of the way before being drowned and boiled away. They load another projectile to fire while they have the chance. It looks like a sinister version of a thistleburr - - all bristling knives and swords instead of harmless hooks.

It embeds itself in the Titan's leathery neck. With another roar, it crouches to scrape at the offending weapon and unwittingly puts itself in range of a small contingent of Humans armed with Sun Guns, all waiting on their commanding officer's word to fire. The captain raises her arm, opens her mouth to order them to fire and - -

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: UNCLASSIFIED| DATE OF REVIEW: N/A |
AUTHORITY: N/A | AUTHOR: UNKNOWN |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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“Hello?” A young woman in medtent scrubs hugs her arms tight around her chest. She peeks over her shoulder then looks back into the camera. “You there? Make it go back and forth if you're listening.”

The camera pivots slowly, motors whirring. She wets her lips. “Look, I can't stay long, Pierce. They'll notice. I love you. I miss you.” She sucks her cheeks in, trying not to cry. “And you've gotta do me a favor, baby, please. Gotta do a favor for all of us, okay?” She pauses as though he can reply. “People have to know the truth about what's going on here.” She levels her chin. “They're testin- -“

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 01.04.2098 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Ed's in the bag despite Monroe's protestations that she's not hot enough - - still a Joker, still alive, still not pulling any ratings. She's a sure pick if she's managed to survive concussions in the jungle without being carted off to the Failboat for medical intervention. Gannet's got her on a side screen as he reviews another likely file. It's at the top of his stack, been there for a week while he considers him. Idris Stanfield. He's iffy. The file's marked all over with timestamped updates that chronicle the downfall of his handler and his producer. They were running some sort of edgy 'push the audience' plot with what's described in the file as Stanfield's evidenced pathological behavior toward other contestants. It fell apart. Too many unpublishable scenes. Ratings plummeted and Finance pulled the plug.

He's not sure what 'evidenced pathological behavior' means, especially on the Island. Maybe they were being melodramatic. There are whiny footnotes everywhere - - despite the contestant's skillful control of Improbability and extreme camera presence, the project has been preemptively deemed a long-term fiscal loss. Someone was sore about losing their toy.

Archival footage shows Stanfield to be funny, attractive, and intelligent. He speaks quickly, with graceful movements of his hands. In one clip, he's talking to a woman in Pleasantville about how he made his glasses. They're chic. Could've come off a fashion runway. In another, he's showing just a hint of his temper. Gannet figures it probably blew into a storm, but the clip ends before anything interesting happens.

There's nobody better in his stack. Some people that might be cleverer, maybe, but none that have the personality or talent. He blows out a breath then writes the name down. Idris Stanfield. Now to find him, too.

A day back, he insisted that Monroe leave him to find the hunters. “Your job,” he said, “is to focus on studying Zolotisty and Spandex. Live footage.” No sex tapes.

Monroe's live feed of the two in the jungle cuts abruptly, all static and snow. “G-boy, hey, wassup, this kont's kakked. N'it wasn't me this time, nooit.” He slaps at the keyboard ineffectually, trying to bring it back. Toggling a few times, he finds snow on all of the screens.

“What.” Gannet looks up to his own screens. Dead. He tries a command, two, three, gets nothing, then decides it's pointless. “Looks like a service outage.”

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 01.04.2098 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Dex touches ground again and, without warning, Cooper's feed is cut. He flips through the surrounding cameras. Dead. His phone lights up moments later. Couple dozen cam-ops, he guesses, all angry about missing scenes, and all knowing exactly who to call.

Dammit, Simpert's not due in for hours, and as he flips from feed to feed, he can see that the snow stretches practically from Kittania to Ace High.

He takes a deep breath and dials the ground tech control line. They're surly sorts at the best of times, and when this happens, they like to make you feel like it's your fault.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 01.04.2098 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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She's not even due in for work today, but Ogilvy's been enjoying herself watching the unedited footage on her desk screen, when she too is left with snow. She calls up the camera status page on her computer, sees a swath of flashing red 'Not In Service', and picks up her phone.

“Gannet, where the hell's my hunting party. I'm coming down.” She clicks it off before he can respond. Her plan's to give them twenty minutes to sweat and make up excuses before she leaves her office.