Chapter 25: Sojourner, Pt 3
Rays from the dark orange sun peek through the thinning clouds, as the sun itself moves ever closer towards high noon. Along with it comes the intense heat, which still radiates through the thick cloud cover. The drainage canals on either side of the highway are almost clear - only thin amounts of water line the bottom, along with whatever detritus the rain carried along with it.
Similarly, the forest floor has numerous small puddles where its soil dips lowest. The ground there is no doubt rather damp, but thankfully no longer half-flooded. That means that if things get too hot out on the asphalt, then at least you've got the forest canopy to bring you some shade. Even if you'll have to trudge through the mud.
Not that you have to resort to it - you're practically at your destination.
You follow the long offramp down towards the service station a few dozen meters away. Hopefully there's some food and decent shelter there.
From far away, it looks like any usual highway gas station. It's relatively small, and only has a couple of pumps - one pair in front of the shop and another to its side. The shop portion also appears to be split into two, with half of it being a storefront and the other half a garage. There's also a five-spot parking area with a derelict car in the furthest corner.
From what you can see, the place is workable. There's plenty of shade from the sun, and there could still be some food inside. You can just see a bunch of snacks lined up on the shelves, along with drinks in the coolers.
But as you get closer, your Scan and Telepathy pick up a mind inside the shop. A human one.
Whoever it is, their thoughts and emotions waver and change almost randomly. But it's nothing like the wild shifts that the Crazed go through, though it feels similar. These thoughts seem to intensify significantly, then waver drastically over the course of a half dozen seconds.
A bit like the ebb and flow of waves on a beach. But perhaps rather more forcefully, as though driven by a storm's wind.
You immediately get on your guard and minimize your surface thoughts. Not only that, but you withdraw much of your psionic energies to make you seem 'smaller'. A part of you wants to crouch down and sneak towards the service station, but the other part tells you not to bother.
You're walking openly down a flat-ish highway offramp. If they haven't seen you already, they might have sensed you psionically a while back. There's no point in hiding at this point. Then again, they haven't seemed to have moved or shifted from their position, nor have they changed their mindset. It's very likely that they haven't noticed you physically or psionically.
Though the person's energies make it seem as though they're Crazed, none of their impulses are violent or extreme. They just swing wildly from one to another with deep intensity. A part of you can definitely relate to that.
You decide to relax your guard, and re-extend your psionic energies outward. Almost as far as you can reach. It gets to a point where it brushes up against their lashing energies, but gently. You want to let them know that you're here.
Still, you keep a hand on your pistol just in case they react poorly.
And boy, do they react. You feel alarm sweep from their mind, and can practically feel them jump up in surprise.
Then you see them - her - run out of the shop, then glance out in your direction with wide eyes. Though you're still a few dozen meters away, you can tell that she's in some kind of casual outfit, merely jeans and a shirt with a service apron hanging down her front. Of course, her clothes are grimy and partially-torn from extended use.
Her face is a bit smudged, probably from a lack of bathing. And her hair is a bit of a tangled mess. Both her hands and forearms are absolutely covered in soot or grease - whatever it is, you can't really tell. But it's more than enough for her hands to look completely black.
You peel back your Third Eye just a bit, just enough to see what her Thread looks like. And although the Flows out here are thin and weak and drift aimlessly, her Thread whips against it as though it's being thrown around by an unseen psionic storm.
You can easily feel her anxiety rise up higher and higher the closer you get. Her psionic energies whip around wildly as a result.
Basically, she seems like a Wild Crazed. Or at least, Semi-Crazed.
"What'cha want?" she screams at you. "Stop right there!"
You stop walking, as requested. Then you bring up your other hand and raise your palm up to her. The other is still firmly on your gun, which she can't see thanks to your poncho.
"Just passing through," you reply. "Not meaning any harm at all to you."
Her thoughts thrash all around her, plain for you to sense. They seem to crash and tumble into each other, creating new thoughts out of the broken piece of the older ones. It seems her mind is constantly in motion, unable to concentrate on the task at hand.
No, it's worse than that. Her thoughts aren't chaotic or random, not truly. There's a number of them, yes, but her mind doesn't scream with a million voices. It's more like a half dozen voices come up to the surface one after another, and it's almost cyclic. The same or similar thoughts and thought patterns emerge every so often, each one carrying their own unique emotion.
You see her eyes flit slightly left and right as your words tumble around in her head. Almost like she's re-translating your words into ones that she can better understand.
There's too many of her in there, Noir thinks.
And then it dawns on you that Noir is exactly right. It's very likely that her mind's splintered, with each splinter fighting for domination over her thoughts. They're wrestling each other for time to think over your words. As though they want to be the one to make the call as to what to do next. Now that you see it, you can practically feel her inner conflict as it thrashes everywhere.
Seeing as she has overwhelmed herself, you decide to push through the muck.
"Honestly, I came here looking for a spot to sleep during the day," you continue. "I prefer to travel at night, since it's so damn hot while the sun's out. So, I'm wondering if-"
The woman jumps up in alarm, as though you've said something mightily offensive, then angrily shouts at you before you can complete your request.
"No! You can't stay here!" she screams. "This is my place! I live here!"
You purse your lips in mild annoyance - you're tired, you're hot, and you're hungry. All you want to do is have a seat and a snack and a snooze. Preferably out of the sun. This place is the last place for a long while, and you're not exactly prepared to sleep out in the forest quite yet. But now this crazy person is in your way, and there's no way to get her to see logic. Her mind's too chaotic for that.
Before you get irrevocably irritated with the situation, you realize that you aren't exactly helpless here. You've got powers you can use after all. If you can help take down a pack of full-fledged Crazed, then dealing with a half of one ought to be easy, right?
As with the Crags, you diffuse a sense of calm and ease with your Surge. You do your best to help influence her emotions and bring them down from their chaotic storm. But to your surprise, nothing you do works.
Her energies simply whip around as they always have, seemingly impervious to being pushed or pulled, much less change.
You try a different tack. Though you keep exuding calm, you try something more practical. You realize that this is what you've been saving up for - a possible trade. You've got plenty in your backpack for all sorts of people. Surely you can trade some of it for a good day's rest, right?
"I could maybe pay for a place to rest," you offer, undeterred. "I've got some goods with me, and-"
She interrupts you again before you can finish. But instead of using her angry voice, her entire demeanor shifts. Now, she flashes you a wide smile, then walks towards you with welcoming gestures.
"What? Pay? Don't be silly!" she says mirthfully. "You can absolutely stay the night. Or day, you said? Sure, whatever you like. My home is your home."
She waves you over more vigorously, which compels you to take a few tentative steps towards her. You can sense her splinters fighting each other, even now. But it seems this particular splinter is holding fast against the rest.
As you walk closer, you get a better picture of her. She looks like she's middle-aged, but with a few gray strands in her wild hair. Her face is indeed smudged with what looks like grease and dirt. Both her hands are absolutely caked in it, though it lessens gradually up her arms.
You don't know the last time she washed them, and a part of you wants to offer her some water to wash with. But you decide against it - a storm had just occurred. She could have washed herself anytime she wanted.
She clearly chooses to remain like this, so there's no point in you bringing it up or making offers.
The sharp smell she carries invades your nose. It practically pierces through your senses, and causes you to reel back slightly. It's somewhat sulfuric, like Crag innards. But it's sharper.
By the time you make it to her side, her demeanor shifts yet again. The happy and joyful splinter fades, and is replaced with something else. A kind of fear flashes on her face, which remains there as she very slightly withdraws from you.
"You said you travel at night?" she mutters. "Why at night? Are you one of those nutso's who kills people when you get picked up in their cars? I keep hearing stories about that, and you better not be one of those people."
She takes a step back, but you respond only with a calm resoluteness. There's no telling what she'll do or how she'll react next, so you figure you need to be as collected as possible. And you need to use simple logic from this point onward. For your own good.
"I don't think hitchhiking's a thing anymore," you reply. "Haven't seen a single working car for years now. So yeah, I'm not that kinda nutso."
"Issat so?"
"Yeah, that's so."
Her face suddenly flashes in anger - it seems that splinter is back. You wonder how much time that one gets control of her. It occurs to you that her splinters are a little more chaotic now that the two of you are talking.
"That doesn't mean squat!" she yells, practically in your face. "You could still be a murdering psychopathic nutso for all I know! Just 'coz there aren't cars don't mean you can't be one of 'em!"
I don't think we should stay here, Noir thinks.
We don't have too much of a choice, you reply. Next service station's 30 kilometers away - that's an entire day!
"Listen to your cat!" the woman shrieks. "Nutso's can't stay here!"
You squeeze your gun's grip reflexively, which makes you realize that your hand's still on it. You keep it there, unsure about the future.
Her splinters alarmingly come and go with little regularity, and you can't tell which one will come next, or if she'll suddenly burst into a fit of violence. Worst of all, you don't know if any are hiding on purpose, like any murdering psychopathic splinters.
"Look, I'm just a traveler alright?" you say with a long sigh. "I'm not a murdering nutso, or a psychopathic nutso, or a murdering psychopathic nutso. Just a regular old nutso."
Her eyes squint as she tries her best to read you, to unfold your words. Her demeanor changes again and the anger seems to melt away, but not all the way. You get a general sense that all her splinters are unified in agreement, but only for a moment.
"What kind then?" she asks, a tone of distrust in her words.
You shrug.
"The kinda nutso that travels alone and talks to other nutso's," you reply.
She stares at you for a moment with wide eyes. It looks like she's about to get offended - after all, you just insinuated she's a 'nutso' herself. Not that you're wrong, of course. And if any of her splinters are self-aware, then she would know that, too.
She bursts out into a barking laugh, then smacks your upper arm playfully.
"Yeah, alright," she says. "You're good. You can still stay. Just don't try anything."
You give her a weak grin, unsure how to handle her rapid shifting splinters. But you try to relax anyway, and follow her as she walks towards her shop.
"Oh, and I'm sorry about me," she says, almost cheerily. "I get cranky sometimes. Don't mind when that happens. Just tell me to shut up. That's what I do."
Chapter 26: Sojourner, Pt 4
You follow behind the Semi-Crazed woman, as she gives you a rather colorful tour of her service station home. It seems rather standard, and the kind that you've seen a thousand times before, passively. It's the kind of place that's so ubiquitous that it's also unremarkable. They're almost invisible.
The service station building is, by your estimation, about 10 meters by 15 meters. Little more than half of it makes up the mechanic's garage, which has an open front. The slightly smaller half is the storefront itself, which normally has a glass front.
Though this one has long since shattered and swept away. Instead, there's an awning made from an advert banner hanging over the open window front. Despite its modest look, it certainly seems to provide ample shade.
She leads you through the open doorway, whose actual door has long since been wrenched off. You can see where it has literally been pulled off: the aluminum frame that makes the doorway is somewhat bent and warped where the hinges used to be.
You notice that the floors here are still slightly damp from all the rains. There are clumps of wet dirt and debris in every corner, and along where it meets the walls. Even the dirt-covered welcome mat is positively soaked. It squishes as you step on it.
Clearly, this place was mildly flooded during the rain storm.
Although the woman's splinters are still changing, all seem aligned on inviting you inside. Even the angry one. At least, for now. She waves an arm at the few shelves standing in the store with a bit of pride.
"Welcome to my shop," she says. ""Long time ago I used to help lots of travelers like you. Fill up their cars, or their bellies, whatever they needed. Then set 'em on their way. Been a while since the last customer came by. So it's nice having you here now. Anyway, have a gander. Lemme know if you want anything, and I'll ring you out."
You glance at what appears to be shelves filled with empty packages of food, candy wrappers, snack bags, and so on. Each and every one have been folded or flattened, then laid down in attractive angles or stacked neatly on each other.
It's the same in the two drink coolers in the corner - every single drink has long since been opened and consumed. But the empty bottles and cans are still in place, ready to be sold.
Seems your eyes fooled you when you spotted them earlier, and make a mental note not to fully trust your eyes ever again.
"Maybe later," you reply. "For now, I just wanna rest up. Been a long few days, gotta be honest."
"Oh alright, that's fine," she says, somewhat deflated. "I understand. Food later. You could stay in the back office, I suppose. I stay there sometimes, when I've gotta work extra. Books won't balance themselves, yannow?"
She points towards the back wall, or rather at the office behind it. A door off to the side reads STAFF ONLY.
But before you can take a step towards it, she bursts out in defiance of herself.
"No no no! That's my office!" she yells aloud. "That's where we count the drawers! We can't have customers back there!"
She smacks the side of her head a couple of times, as though to hammer that point home. The strikes get more and more vigorous, enough to make you truly uneasy.
"Ah, it's fine," you quickly say. "I was hoping to actually stay out in the garage? That way I can stay out of your way, so you can do your, um, work. In peace and all that."
"See! That's so much smarter! Think next time, think!" she yells to herself.
She then turns towards you, but with somewhat suspicious eyes.
"Yeah, the garage," she says. "That sorta works. Lemme walk you over."
As she leads to the door leading straight into the garage, she cocks her head towards you.
"And you better not take anything that's in there," she continues. "I know everything I own, and I'll know if you steal it from me!"
"Fair enough," you reply. "I honestly wasn't planning on taking anything, but if I do find something I like, could I possibly trade for it?"
The woman observes you as you step across the doorway, as though weighing your worth.
"Maybe," she says after a long moment. "Try not to make any noise while I work."
She then shuts the door behind you, leaving you to your own devices. You immediately hear her mumbling to herself as she walks away. Her mind is in momentary chaos, as though all of her splinters are arguing with each other at that exact moment. It only takes seconds after that for her mind to go back to her usual state, and they all whip at the air as they vie for mental dominance in regular occurances.
It's somewhat unsettling, like having a lawn sprinkler going off in the living room.
You turn your mind away from the woman, and instead look at the garage all around you. From what you can see, it's kind of a mess.
First things first, the floor here is damp, and like the front store, it also flooded during the rains. You can see water lines on the walls, a half a dozen centimeters up from the floor, marking where it got the highest.
There's an inspection trench in the very center of the garage roughly a meter and a half in depth. That thing is two-thirds filled with murky water and garbage, though it's visibly draining away. Very slowly, anyway.
The garage itself is rather dirty and dingy, mostly from disuse. There are old puddle stains in one corner, and a few oil and grease smudges on the tool cabinet. Dusty shelves line one of the walls while grimy countertops sit underneath them.
You clear off a counter and wipe the dust off it before you put your bags, poncho, and hat down on it. Then you go about exploring your home for the day. You poke and prod through everything, and note that most but not all of the tools have been taken.
There are also a handful of gas cans and motor oil containers in a corner. You don't really smell any gasoline, but check anyway to make sure there isn't any in here. Of course, there isn't any. Even the motor oil jugs are empty.
As you go through every container in the shop, you gather up every rag and cloth you can find. Which surprisingly, is a good amount. All of them are quite used, of course. Many are stained with grease and covered in dirt or dust or have dried up solid by whatever fluid they once soaked up.
Still, it's plenty enough that you place them down in the spot where you're going to sleep, and wipe up as much of the dampness as you can. Even the rock-solid ones eventually soften as they soak up whatever water they can.
It takes you some time and effort, but eventually you clean up a spot for yourself.
Once it's ready, you string up your poncho up along some paracord and make an angled lean-to with it. Although, instead of facing away from the outside, you face it towards it. By doing so, you hope to catch any incoming breezes down onto where you will be sleeping.
You then lay down whatever crumpled paper and newspaper that you find under your lean-to, then unroll your sleeping bag on the makeshift bedding. You snag your messenger bag and place it at the sleeping bag's head to act as your pillow. This setup is hardly the most comfortable thing in the world, but you suppose it's much better than muddy ground or bare concrete.
It's noon by the time you're done with your sleeping spot. At this point, you're ready to kick things back so you take off your boots, socks, and pants, then lay them out near the entrance. You place them in a spot that'll get hit directly by the sun, which will dry them out completely.
Just as you sit down on your bedroll and start to massage your aching legs, Noir slinks into the garage.
Scouted around a bit, she tells you.
"You find anything good?"
A couple families of mice living in the dumpster. Also an old possum at the edge of the woods. Other stuff, too. But they're kinda far.
"At least you'll eat well today."
And speaking of eating, you reach into your messenger bag and open up a protein bar. This one is only partially melted, but at this point it hardly bothers you. You're much more worried about what you're going to do once you've run out.
I really don't wanna stay here, thinks Noir. That woman really bugs me out.
"Hey, I know. Already said we don't have much of a choice though. And she isn't too bad, just kind of broken a bit. She means well."
I know, I know. But did you notice that she heard me? She explicitly said to listen to me. Means she knows I'm here.
"Yeah, you're kinda loud sometimes. You oughta practice toning yourself down a bit."
Why should I do that?
"Well, if you don't wanna get noticed or discovered, for one thing."
We should just avoid dealing with any Crazed anywhere we go.
"You and I both know that's impossible. This right now is proof. Crazed or Crags, they're just trying to live their lives, just like us. We just gotta give 'em a little respect."
You sense her sigh deeply. But you can easily identify with her, and so you sigh alongside her.
"Anyway, you know what bugs me about her?" you say. "Like how she's still alive. I mean, there's nothing to eat or drink out here."
Well maybe she's using her Temperance to keep going, kinda like the both of us.
"Sure, maybe. But how long could we sustain ourselves like that? I know I couldn't go more than a day without needing to rest up. Day and a half, maybe. At most. You?"
Days, but you're right. She's been here… a long time.
As the two of you discuss the woman, you feel her psionic energies lash out in every direction. Not because of anything you two are talking about in particular, she just flares out once in a while. It's jarring the first few times, then annoying and irritating after that. But you get used to it. Eventually.
"But then again, who knows, right?" you say after a while. "I mean, you were talking about the different escalations of power. Maybe whatever she's doing is one of the Control powers that we don't know about."
Or maybe she eats every traveler like you passing by.
The idea brings you to a momentary standstill. The stains on her hands and face could be dried blood. Maybe the reason she hasn't washed them away is because they're permanently stained.
You shake that image away as fast as you can.
"Can you not do that? If she was some kind of murderous psychopathic Crazed, this entire place would be covered in blood. There'd be bones everywhere, and maybe maggots too. But it's fine. She's alright, just don't mess with her."
I'm keeping an eye out anyway. You sleep, I'll stay on guard.
"I'll sleep in a bit. You go hunt and get fed first."
Noir meows at you in agreement, then slinks back out of the garage. You sense her presence diminish, as she goes on the hunt.
You give her some time to do her thing, perhaps about an hour. The heat rises intensely in the meantime, and you feel it waft in from the open front. But thankfully, so does some semblance of a breeze. It comes in and circles around the relatively small garage, keeping it cool. It also gets trapped by your lean-to, and creates and even smaller rush of circulating air. Just as you hoped it would happen.
When you lie down, you realize just how uncomfortable your current bed is. It is just bare concrete with a sliver of padding on top of it after all. Still, that same concrete is keeping you cooler than not. It's sucking up your own body heat, which helps significantly in staving off the unyielding heat.
In fact, it's comfortable enough that your body begins to relax more and more. The aches and pains on your legs and knees slowly dissolve as you're pulled into a dream-like state.
But it's interrupted by a wild lashing from the woman's psyche. It comes with actual screams this time around. They're so intense that it literally sounds like she's in a shouting match with herself. It snaps you out of your reverie, and injects a small amount of irritation at the same time.
You wish it's the end, but find that over the next few hours, the same wild energies keep lashing out every so often. It's so wild and so strong that it breaks you out of your half-sleep and brings you back to the waking world.
The woman's rollercoaster of emotions strikes you like a barrage over and over, each time causing you to get more and more frustrated. Now you desperately want to sleep, but the constant psionic thrashing and vivid screaming prevents you at every step.
Annoyance and exhaustion begin to overtake and smother you, even despite all of the noise. It seems like an eternity passes before you're able to shut it all out, and turn it all into background noise. You focus in on that moment of peace, and tune out absolutely everything you can.
Eventually, everything goes dark and you finally find sleep.
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