"… What's up with public libraries?"

"Nothing! But people are afraid of, you know, leaving their houses, so."

"… So they're only dangerous insofar as you're going out into the city?"

"Yeah. People prefer getting their books home, or anything else, really. Delivery's pretty big here, compared to Earth."

"Could be pretty tough for the delivery drivers, if there's risk going around places."

"Risk's really not as high as people think it is."

"… Is it on the order of a car crash?"

"Yeah! Yeah, like that."

"Well it's something I'd rather not be a risk, but that's not possible, and it's not that high."

"Yeah, but whenever it happens the media blows it up. So."

"Library is probably safe enough then."

"Yeah. Couple other jobs I got you could be interested in, though."

"Like what?"

"I got one job as a cab driver, one as secretary, and one as customer service. Cab driver pays the most."

"What sort of hours is it?"

"I suppose it depends? It's pretty variable, depends on what people need and stuff, but like between eight and twelve hours per day probably."

"Do you have, like, minimum wage here? Is it similar to back in the States, does this pay much above that…?"

"We do, and cabs are way above minimum wage. You, ah, need to either be very good or very crazy to drive in the City, is the going theory."

"… I can definitely drive? I passed first time, my instructor was happy with my progress? I'm not sure I'm 'very good' at it, though – depends on your criteria?"

"'Able to deal with the City's insanity' is the criterion, really. There's a reason it pays well."

"I am not used to the City's insanity? But I dunno, seems like people might on average be pretty panicky here."

"Yeah, exactly! ...it would be a good idea to renew your license though."

"Different DMV thing here?"

"Yeah."

Nod. "Rachel, cab driver in the impossible city."

He grins. "Anyway, the receptionist has your documents and stuff, so if you want that one just tell her."

"Where would the secretarial job be? Same for customer service?"

"You'd work from home for both."

"What company or companies? Is it shady, do I not want to go work there because they have a horrible reputation for employee treatment or something…?"

"What? No, I wouldn't get a job like that for you! The secretarial job is for some manager at a marketing company, customer service you'd be dealing with customers calling you about their computers for a local electronics company."

"Oh, huh." Pause. "If in a week's time I decide I don't like whatever I pick, do you think I can swap, or…?"

"Uh, maybe. You'd have to talk to your employer about it."

Nod. "I think the cab driver job could be good to – get me a look around the city? And this is probably only temporary anyway, so getting more money is better…"

"That's the spirit!"

"Thanks."

So Hollister leaves her to check out of the motel.

She does that, and after a small amount of dithering, does in fact pick the job as a cabbie.

It's probably going to be quite a learning curve.

Is Sadde around, for her to get their contact details? Just, you know, in case.

Yeah! Contact deets!

Then Rachel fetches her few items from her room, gets her new address, and to her new place she goes.

They ironically call her a cab.

That motel was shabby. Her building is... whatever shabby becomes after fifteen years and a punch in the gut. The building has fifteen stories, but the elevator has thirty buttons, and the landlord explains only the odd ones take to real floors—except for the twenty-third, which doesn't actually exist.

Okay, well, at least she has accommodation, she supposes?

She thanks the landlord and makes her way to her room.

Her apartment is small, containing only one bedroom and a kitchen area rather than a proper kitchen, and largely unfurnished: a couple of chairs, no sofa, nothing electronic, a desk in her bedroom and the plainest of double beds, a small wardrobe, a mostly empty bathroom.

At least she has her phone! She'll just have to go shopping with the small funds that she has and then with her paycheck after her first… week, or month, or something of work.

On Monday, she has to show up at the local DMV.

She does so! She even has her old license in case they want to see that for some reason, and she is ready to… take a test or whatever.

Actually she will need to take some driving lessons.

… Right, okay.

She still remembers a lot of the trival things called 'important' from when she learnt on Earth? How to check tire pressure, oil, coolant, that sort of thing? And she remembers the road laws – she does in fact know how to drive legally – assuming they're similar-ish…

Similar-ish, yes, but can she take a 130-degree turn?

Is… does she… why? She, uh, not instantaneously if it's an emergency thing? Or if, just, you know, like a skew T-junction, with a bit of practice… probably?

Good then she will be having this practice, this isn't Earth where roads make sense.

Uh-huh.

Okay, well, she'll get fun practice. Whee.

She will! Also since she's gonna work with this she'll need to go through commercial driving lessons.

Yep. Okay, uh, do they have any idea how long this is going to take…?

Well, given that she used to drive on Earth, couple weeks at most.

Great.

And so about ten days later she has a shiny new driver's license.

She also has some stuff for her apartment! A few small things. And she passed her driving test, so, woo.

She might have a small party but, like, no friends, and no money with which to do it, and her lodgings are not the nicest, so, yep, no party.

Her weird Sideways-y feelings don't follow her anywhere, anymore, but she starts getting some nuance from other feelings—ones she either didn't have or never realized she had before. They follow her whenever she talks to anyone, and give her some intuition for what they're like and what they want. They follow her into unfamiliar situations, and they're like alarm bells of various flavors telling her to pay attention to this or that.

… She's not bad with people, but she's not really used to guessing this much about them.

And then it's her first day of work.

She arrives bright and early, or, y'know, whatever – depends on the weather for how bright it is.

She is however feeling prepared for her first day! (She thinks.)

Here's her car and the taxi app, does she have a map app? Here, have three. Go forth and drive.

Sure!

She spends a few minutes getting acquainted with the map apps – redundancy is probably useful, and she doesn't want to be learning how the app works when she actually needs to use it – and then looks at the taxi app!

They recommend she also just drive around, some people won't use the app.

She will do that too! There are probably standard locations people wait for taxis as well as, like, people just hailing taxis…

Indeed! But she'll probably have to figure those out on her own.

Are there any bus loops? Typically taxis can be found near bus loops.

There indeed are!

And any people looking for taxis if she drives into it…? Or clear taxi stops, sometimes those are present.

She feels like she really should have had a better information pack than this but whatever.

See, the problem with an information pack is that the City is not constant enough for it to be worth it. Downtown's more stable but even there a new zig can be added to the Zag whenever.

Here is, however, someone who needs a taxi.

She pulls up and lets them in!

"Hello."

It's a harried-looking woman. "Yes, hello, good morning." Got up late, most like. Harried, has places to do and things to be, but is doing good work. More worried than strictly needs to be. "Can you go to this address, please?" And she shows Rachel a piece of paper with said address.

"Sure!"

Map app?

Map app! Lots of zigzagging.

Thrilling!

She pays careful attention to the road and the directions both.

Antsy. Nervous. Excited. Something good coming, but could be bad. Depends on her. She's thrilled.

Rachel continues to try to pay attention to the road, rather than pondering the reasons behind the woman's nerves.

The woman's nerves continue singing behind her in these alarm bells Rachel is learning to interpret, and eventually they reach her destination: a tall building with lots of windows, very pretty and very incongruous with its surroundings. Businesspeople walking here and there, looking busy and important.

Rachel quotes the fare.

The harried woman pays and leaves the car, her cloud of anxiety and excitement trailing after her.

Back to looking around for people who might hail a cab! (Like the people in the area, she'll wait a minute and see if anyone approaches.)

Here's this busy-looking businessman. He is probably very busy.

Wonderful! "Where to?"

He gives her an address and starts reading a document while he puts a seatbelt on.

Why today, why now, it could've waited, could've been later. But alright, he'll deal. He always does. It's why he was hired. Why is she taking so long?

Rachel was just waiting for the map to load and for him to belt up, is all.

The path is fairly short and straightforward.

For the City. Which just means there are no curves at angles greater than ninety degrees.

Aww. How nice of the City.

She takes the curves rather neatly, especially after the training on worse ones.

Not bad not bad here's their destination here's your money yes thank you bye bye.

– Next person?

Next person is a ping on her taxi app!

Ooh, fancy! Rachel tries to get directions to them.

The taxi app is helpfully hooked to the mapping app and gives her directions!

...it is rather close to the edge of the City.

How close? She doesn't recall being given regulations on what sort of zone she should cover…

That's because she wasn't! And it's pretty close, yep.

… Okay well Rachel is probably going to, like, see if she can quickly get some information about 'how close to the edge is how bad' and if that close is more than like, just a little bit worse than the rest of the city, she will consider the process for maybe ignoring it!

She'll find a lot of very alarmist websites and news decrying the state of disrepair of buildings there, and how people turn cubist all the time, and there are buildings that are missing floors—Rachel's building is not actually much farther from the edge than this person.

Sure, then, Rachel will come pick the person up. Since. She lives near the edge anyway so like okay this is awful but comparatively not that bad.

Ish.

It's a teenager. "Zag," she says, and gives Rachel an address.

Craphole. I live in a craphole. Moment in the sun, just a moment, then back to the craphole.

Rachel puts the address into her map app, makes sure the teenager has her seatbelt on and then starts driving.

Oh, good, getting out. Much better out here. One day. I'll live here one day.

The Zag is a much nicer bit of the City! Rachel is quite happy to be moving away from the edge!

She is not bouncing on the seat but she totally could be.

Rachel hopes it's happiness?

Yeah it is. Bounce bounce.

That's nice!

Rachel is mostly focusing on the road, though.

This does not really dampen the emotions she's getting from the girl.

Eventually they arrive, and she pays and bounces away.

Next up…?

App!

The woman she picks up has her small children with her and is taking them to see their grandmother. She's chattering happily about them and about her while they doze against her arms.

Aww. Rachel likes kids. She chats happily back.

Her map says she should take that street.

She should not take that street.

She doesn't take that street.

Then she frowns and looks at her map app, hoping it reroutes fine.

It does.

The woman stops talking and frowns. "Why did you detour?"

"That's not a good street," responds Rachel, quite naturally.

"It's not? Why?"

Rachel frowns a little. "I thought I saw something." Pause. "Sorry about that, shouldn't be much further this way."

The woman frowns and goes quiet.

Then they arrive, and Rachel quotes a price lower than the one for the route she took.

That's only fair.

Well she won't complain, then. Off she goes!

Now to look for another customer!

… And maybe drive past that street again sometime.

It sure is a street!

Nothing horrifying lying down it?

Okay. She'll just ignore the weird street then.

Nothing that she can see, except for the feeling of dread she gets there.

She has a few more passengers before lunchtime, with various ringing bells and weird feelings.

Hopefully none of them are a really bad kind of feeling?

Nope, they're person feelings and place feelings.

She is glad they are not bad feelings.

And then she takes her lunch break. Fortunately, she brought lunch with her today.

The rest of the day proceeds much as the morning did. She doesn't have a time when she needs to stop working; she gets a rate proportional to how much she drives, and if she wants she can do it long into the night, as long as she returns the company car when she's done.

She does not think she will do it long into the night! She thinks she will stop after a reasonable amount of time – oh, at around dinner time, let's say – and then go grab some food and go back to her apartment.

At night, she receives an email.

Hey! How're you doing? Settling in? How's the new job treatin' ya?

- The Avenue

I'm fine, thanks! Had my first day today – it went fine. Apartment's okay, too.

Cool! Anything you need?

Know any meetup spots, things like that? I haven't actually met many people since moving in, not sure what sorts of clubs there are around.

There aren't many in meatspace, because of the whole "people don't go out much" thing. Everything's online. And by the way, you might want to install, and he gives the name of an unfamiliar messaging app. Better than emails.

… So she does that!

<TheAvenue> Hello, there!

<RStephens> Hey!

<TheAvenue> Anyway, it's mostly online, yeah.

<TheAvenue> Lots of people videochat, and the most prestigious schools are also online.

<RStephens> I guess I will look into online courses, when I get around to that, then! Any other social media things you know of…?

He dumps a bunch on her.

So she goes to explore a couple of them and thanks him!

The following morning her car is waiting bright and early for her.

So she goes looking for a customer!

Her first customer of the day is yet another busy-looking businessman.

Isn't that surprising.

He presumably does not seem up for a chat?

He is not up for a chat. He piles into the back seat, briefcase in both hands. The bluetooth in his ear yammers away while he yammers into it. He does not put his seatbelt on.

She waits patiently.

Soon the case in his lap is open, and files are coming out, the seat being used as an impromptu office desk. "I don't care what Resources says, our copyright should still hold. We're a legal extension of..." A glance up at Rachel, through the Plexiglas. "Synergy building, Hammerhead Block. ...yes, that's my point, they can't annex it because we've got the rights to the original works. I don't care what they think they're entitled to..."

He still has not put his seatbelt on.

"Seatbelt," mouths Rachel, pointing to her own. "Please."

"Just goddamn go," he says, annoyed. "What? No, not you, I'm in a cab. Look, the account is registered and fully legal, so there's no reason..."

… Nah, she's not really happy being spoken to that way, so she's gonna wait for him to put his seatbelt on or go.

She points at her seatbelt again.

He looks at her annoyedly, but rather than pick everything up and find another cab he puts his seatbelt on. "Now go."

She does! The map app is quite convenient.

—feeling of dread—

She slows the car.

The street is somewhat busy and the cars behind them start honking and trying to overtake her.

… She is not speeding up until she can work out what's wrong.

She checks her mirrors.

There seems to be nothing wrong.

"Hey, lady," her passenger says, knocking on the Plexiglass. "Some of us need to arrive on time, it's a straight road, just go."

Except she should turn left right the fuck now.

– Left.

She wakes up to chaos: a several-car pileup due to what appears to be an entirely new building that decided to insert itself in the path she was going. The previously straight street neatly routes around it now, but most cars did not have enough advance warning to avoid crashing, and the ones that did were the ones farther behind, who could see what was happening. Her passenger's unconscious but seems otherwise unharmed—still breathing—except his folders and documents are all over the place.

It takes a moment, but then she makes a pained noise.

Another few moments and she's looking around for her phone. Carefully. Very carefully.

There are already sirens, not too far away.

It was a rather large crash, and her ears are ringing.

Except it's not her ears. The undefinable alarm bells she's been hearing ever since she arrived in the City are a cacophony of not-sounds, not giving her even the limited information she's been learning to glean. They merely ring.

She doesn't – she needs to get her phone. Where is it. Phone.

Probably fell from the dashboard somewhere.

She looks around her seat, notices the seatbelt still restricting her and takes it off, then feels around on the ground below her seat.

There it is.

Okay, so, first aid app – what does she do to ensure she's probably safe to move around, is there any clear thing she needs to do, are her ears still ringing—

"Hey, dude?"

No response.

"Dude?" she repeats, louder this time.

Down and out.

– Can she see anything out her window? Or passenger window, since she isn't looking for pulverized car and-or person, she's looking for what's happening around her.

The ambulances arriving, and the pileup, and the blood pooling on the concrete.

She might be able to spot a familiar face rushing out of one of the ambulances.

– Well at least she doesn't have to call 911.

She shakes her head a bit, trying to clear the ringing, and then considers getting out of the vehicle.

… Probably not a good idea? She doesn't want to be the idiot who's injured and walking around at the scene of the accident.

Probably.

Probably a good idea. The accident continues having happened around her.

People seem busy.

A fire truck arrives.

Several cars crashed head-on against the new wall, and the building that was imported and caused all of this also contains: people!

Rachel stops looking out the window, and instead tries to focus on her breathing.

After a few moments of this, she starts checking herself over for injuries.

Bruises—pretty much everywhere. She might have a cracked rib and/or collarbone, it's not totally clear.

… She tries to focus on her breathing again, this time doing it more carefully.

A paramedic eventually goes to her car. "Ma'am? Sir? Are you awake?"

The passenger still doesn't reply.

"I am," she responds. "Passenger is not." Pause. "Couldn't wake him."

"Okay. Please don't move, ma'am," he says, and then opens the door to try to remove the passenger from his seat.

He wakes up suddenly. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You were involved in an accident, sir. Please remain calm."

She tries to stay still and calm.

Looks out the window, once, briefly. In case the scene has changed.

It has not.

Quietly sitting in the driver's seat, then, not staring out the window.

The paramedic tends to the passenger, and eventually comes back for her.

She tries to point out where she's feeling the most pain. Carefully.

Tries not to panic too much.

The paramedic gently touches some parts and asks some questions and declares her to probably not be severely injured, but she'll be taken to the hospital for observation anyway.

She tries to put on a brave face for the paramedic – wound hurts but she's probably the least hurt of the lot – and then nods and follows their directions.

Can she see Matt? She doesn't really want to interrupt his work, but – this reminds her she should probably try getting in contact with him, sometime.

He doesn't seem visible right now, but he could be any of the various responders on-scene.

The paramedic puts her on a stretcher and then into the ambulance she goes.

She feels slightly ridiculous, going on a gurney thing like this. But oh well.

Unfortunately no one cares.

She's soon taken to the hospital.

Where she presumably gets poked some more.

Yes, and there she discovers she has a cracked rib but no more, and she's declared alright and sent back home with bandages and instructions to rest.

… Second day of the job, too.

She calls up the agency and explains she was in the – uh, arrival crash? Or something? She isn't sure if there's a name for this sort of thing.

Yes, yes, they are aware of this, it was all over the news and the City can't stop talking about it, she has some days off to recover.

Thanks.

So she stops off at a supermarket on the way home, grabs a few snacks, and goes back to her place.

Looking at the outside of the building, it seems just as dilapidated and run-down as it has the past few times she's looked at it. Somehow it's also more frightening.

A couple of hours later, she looks for Matt on the first app Hollister sent her.

He seems to be there!

… Looks like he might be posing for the camera. One mutual friend: Hollister Avenue.

She sends him a contact request and then messages Hollister:

<RStephens> Seen the news today?

<TheAvenue> Yeah, everyone has. Why?

<RStephens> I was there. I'm fine, though, fortunately.

<TheAvenue> Oh! ...wait were you the cab driver who managed to miraculously predict the crash?

<RStephens> 'Miraculously predict' is overstating it.

<TheAvenue> The ten or so cars behind you disagree.

<RStephens> Oh.

<TheAvenue> How'd you do it?

<RStephens> I didn't think I did.

<TheAvenue> How'd you know to turn left?

<RStephens> I just did?

<TheAvenue> Okay but how?

<RStephens> I just guessed. I dunno.

<TheAvenue> Well, I'm glad you're okay anyway.

<TheAvenue> You're not gonna go back to work tomorrow, right?

<RStephens> Bruised ribs.

<RStephens> So no.

<TheAvenue> Okay.

<TheAvenue> Take care of yourself, you hear?

<TheAvenue> And if you need anything call me.

<RStephens> Will do. And thanks.

<TheAvenue> No prob.

<TheAvenue> It's what I'm here for.

So she sets up watching a movie.

About an hour later, it looks like Matt accepted her friend request!

She messages him to ask how he's doing.

<HuZ93> Busy day

<RStephens> You were on-scene, right?

<HuZ93> Yeah?

<HuZ93> It was busy

<RStephens> Yeah. I was in a taxi.

<HuZ93> In it? You okay?

<RStephens> Yeah, just missed it. Bruised, but that's it.

<HuZ93> The cab that swerved?

<RStephens> Fortunately.

<HuZ93> Who was driving?

<HuZ93> It's in the news

<RStephens> I was driving – lucky to turn.

<HuZ93> Oh

<HuZ93> Yeah

<RStephens> Anyway, see you later – got some stuff.

<HuZ93> See ya.

So she gets back to her movie.

About twenty minutes before it ends, she decides to stop watching it and turn in for bed early.

She has a couple of days off before she's notified that the passenger that was in the car with her at the accident is suing the company.

… Why?

Careless driver.

… She was careful enough not to drive right into the building.

Yes but see he got hurt.

She hopes he realizes he's being kinda ridiculous, soon.

Well... uh... so about that...

… Yes?

Well it turns out she's kinda fired.

… Right.

Okay.

Yes so very sorry for that good working with you bye now.

She messages Hollister to let him know about this. In case he has anything he can do about it.

After a pause—which could be interpreted as him swearing a lot for a long time, who knows—he sends:

<TheAvenue> I'll find you something.

<TheAvenue> But it's just typical, discounting on the rookie.

<TheAvenue> You saved that guy's life, he'd be pie without you.

<RStephens> Makes sense, from a business standpoint. I guess.

<RStephens> But thanks.

<TheAvenue> Yeah, don't worry.

<TheAvenue> They still have to pay you some for injuries while working.

<TheAvenue> And they definitely can't claim you were responsible for that accident, they'll pay up.

<RStephens> That's good, at least.

<TheAvenue> Yeah.

<TheAvenue> Sorry about that.

<RStephens> Not your fault.

<TheAvenue> Yeah, I know, but still.

<TheAvenue> I'll find you something.

<TheAvenue> Anyway, I gotta go, duty calls.

<RStephens> Have a nice day.

She starts looking things up on the internet – presumably there are job sites and things, could be a good idea for her to look herself.

There indeed are some! Most jobs don't require you to leave your house, and the ones that do pay correspondingly better. There are also the suggestions Hollister gave her when she left Orientation.

… She'll look into the secretary job?

Here's an ad for it. The interview can be done via video or in person, although the former is preferred.

She doesn't really have anything prepared. Or know what to say.

She looks around a bit more to see what sorts of skills they might want. If she's a secretary does she need to be on-site, will they just be doing video-calls to interact with her, what?

Just video-calls, she will need to pick up the phone and be polite and organized and know some math and spreadsheets—they don't have Microsoft Excel here but something similar that can read those file formats—and that kinda stuff.

That doesn't sound too hard to deal with…

She looks the company up online a bit, tries to get a picture of their reputation.

It's a publicity company, not the biggest but going okay, has been growing a lot these past couple of years, nothing obviously unobjectionable about it, tends to focus on food and medicine ads.

Medicine ads like for drugs?

Yep.

Well, she's not super thrilled about ads for drugs on, like, TV, but she doesn't have particularly strong qualms against working for such a company and it's not even clear that's the type of publicity they mean…

It's mostly website ads. Is she going to apply?

… She is, yes.

Good. She has an interview in three days.

Oh, wonderful! (Ish. Probably.)

She does not really have much money, though, so in the meantime she will be rationing herself.

The following day she gets a message.

<GenderBender> Yo.

<RStephens> What's up?

<GenderBender> Hollister set me up as a sort of aide at D.o.R.

<GenderBender> How're you doing?

<RStephens> Got caught in the accident, actually!

<RStephens> And I was driving this guy – taxi cab – and he seems to be a bit of a dick.

<GenderBender> Seriously?

<GenderBender> Are you alright?

<GenderBender> And why a dick?

<RStephens> I'm fine, yeah, mostly. And he is suing the company so I am out of a job.

<GenderBender> Wow what a jerk.

<RStephens> Little bit.

<RStephens> Anyway – how's DoR?

<GenderBender> Boring as all heck.

<GenderBender> But I get to meet people, which is fun.

<GenderBender> And Hollister's taking me with him when he goes meet n' greet.

<RStephens> Sounds sort of good, at least?

<RStephens> I'm looking at the other jobs he suggested.

<GenderBender> Good luck with that.

<GenderBender> I'm sorry about the dickish passenger.

<RStephens> Thanks.

<GenderBender> Anyway, I should get back to work now.

<GenderBender> Talk to you later.

<RStephens> See ya.

The dark man laughs as the hordes of psyches march towards the festering smile of the nightmare child. What’s wrong, he taunts? Everything falling apart, nothing making sense? But isn’t that for the best? He embraces the thing which shreds and gnaws at the edges of your mind because it pours the vile venom of horrific power into the ego which inflates it to sizes that are not recommended by your pediatrician, and eventually the nightmare and the dream become one and the same and fearlessness is identical to ferocity.

The azure youth watches impassively as the thousands fall in slow motion, tumbling down the sides of buildings and the edges of chasms and through the cracks of society, bouncing off the walls and leaving bloody smears as they plummet in the infinite abyss of nothingness. What’s wrong, she asks? Hopeless and bleak in the face of knowing you are nothing? But isn’t that for the best? She embraces the nonexistence of the oblivion state because it snuffs out the candle flame that burns and induces pain and passion and encourages you to endure, time out, retreat, it’s better to surrender than to lose.

And then there was the third option.

And then there was the third child.

Her herald has designed the hardest road of all, paved with the blood of suffering and trauma, flesh burned bright in ovens of existence before being hammered flat into ceramic red bricks of hemoglobin, the living testament of the ones who live, who with shining lucidity reach out and seize life with both hands, despite the horror, despite the sorrow, despite the weirdness you want to avoid because unfortunately the weirdness is everywhere and there is no avoiding it, no escape, no retreat, the only way out is through, to turn yourself into something new, to turn left, to answer the door because your guest has been knocking for a good three minutes now and you’re being a rude little thing.

She's awoken by a knock.

Tilting upright out of the dream, she looks around, confused, then recalls the words of the dream, the sounds accompanying the words, and – moves sideways, gets up out of bed, then glances around for her clothes and gets changed.

A brief moment later, she opens the door.

The first thing she notices is the very, very large man in a suit standing there and occupying her whole field of view. And her whole doorframe.

The second thing she notices is the very, very small old lady standing in front of him and grinning up at her, wearing a ridiculously vintage looking dress, with wrinkled skin and a hair bun. Like someone's grandmother from a salvaged 50s celluloid comedy.

"Hello, dearie," she rasps. "I've come to offer you a job."

"– Uh, hello," says Rachel. "Sorry, who are you from?"

She barges in, uninvited, as if it's the most normal thing in the world, and even has a look around. "I'm from the Happy Acre Orphanage. My name's Grandma Scarlett—with two T's, like the actress or the character," she notes, then turns around to look at Rachel again. "It has mythic resonance. Mmm. A bit of a sham, I suppose. But if this world is a sham, does that make it any less real? Who's to say what's real and what isn't? The answer, of course, is us. No other answer makes sense."

Rachel blinks, then stands aside in case Mr Mountain wants to come in too.

"… Is this a religion?"

He does in fact come in, and carefully closes the door, but then... well, looms, is probably the best word for it. Except... oddly softly, as if he's trying to make himself as small as he can and that just happens to not be quite enough.

"Religion? Nonsense, dearie, it's an orphanage." She eases herself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and gestures for Rachel to do the same. "Don't mind Jeb, missy, he's just not one for talk," she adds. "And he's a big softie, really—though he worries about my safety whenever I need to leave the farm. I visit the city so rarely these days, it's a treat for both of us, really. My word, how this place changes each time I visit! Oh, I don't just mean the buildings, but the people. So many new faces..."

… Rachel sits in the indicated chair.

"I'm not sure what a job at an orphanage would actually entail."

"Mm. Well. I have side businesses too, you could say. A delivery business. The business of deliverance. Which is why I'm here today. You are a delivery girl, yes? You deliver people?"

"… I was briefly a cab driver? For two days, so, no, not really."

She shakes her head. "Really, it doesn't matter to me; I know in my heart you're the right woman for the job. But I think I've led you to the wrong conclusion. You wouldn't be delivering people, dearie! I have packages that need delivery... care packages, of a sort, handcrafted at my home sweet home..."

Reaching into her purse, the woman withdraws an iPad. After some fumbling, not particularly good with the touchscreen interface, she calls up a map.

"My orphanage is here, in the Outlands," she explains, pointing with shaking finger to a random spot on a random highway through the highly random rural landscapes beyond the city. "A bit far away, I know, but it's home. You would be making deliveries from my home using a box truck, traveling to various places in the Outlands, in the Suburbs, and even in the City itself. Quite a few stops, quite a distance. An ongoing task as well, week by week, plenty of deliveries to make in the months ahead. I'm afraid it’s a long haul, in and around and through... but the pay is above standard for the trucking industry, I'm told. Are you keen?"

Keen keen keen good job good vibes good girl good guy say yes say no what will you say indecision... The bells sing in her head, suddenly much louder than the background buzz she's been getting used to.

"– I think I'm legally obligated to tell you about an accident I was involved in. A few days ago, the major one with that new building."

The woman clicks her tongue, in sympathetic disappointment. "Well, that's the City for you. So dangerous. But no matter, I'm sure this is meant for you and you are meant for this. What do you say?"

Danger, the bells chime. Destiny and the road, a fork to face, down which road will she go?

"… That the guy who was in the taxi is also suing the company I was at, and I was fired for that reason?"

She tries not to panic too visibly.

"The past is the past, don't let it stop you from embracing the future!" she insists. "I won't insist if you really don't think you should do it, but I think you should."

"I – how did you even find me?"

"Oh, we have a friend in common," she says, smiling.

"… Hollister?"

She shrugs. "A charming young man, isn't he?"

"I guess, yeah? I didn't get a chance to know him too well." Pause. "I'm not really sure about the job."

"Oh? Is there anything I can do to assuage any doubts?"

"… Tell me you don't plan on firing me after I fall victim to mysteriously appearing buildings?"

She clicks her tongue. "You shan't worry about that, dearie, I wouldn't be so unreasonable."

"What sorts of – things – would I be delivering?"

"Jeb, if you please...?"

Now the wall of meat moves from the doorway. But not before fetching a cardboard box, which had been set just out of sight for the big reveal. Despite saying PAPER TOWELS 6 UNITS on the side, odds were low it held paper towels. Repurposing things is common enough in the City, after all, including containers. Jeb opens the box, then holds it out for Grandma Scarlett. She carefully reaches in, and withdraws...

Well, that makes sensible sense, at least.

"These teddy bears are hand-sewn by me, with love and care," she explains, setting the adorable flopsy stuffed doll on Rachel's kitchen table. "I produce one batch every week. It's been a hobby of mine for over a decade now. Mmm. Not a hobby. More of a calling, I suppose. Sometimes the children help me—not a sweatshop, mind you, but they have a vested interest in this project as well. Once the dolls are complete and... prepared, I ship them out to where they need to be. That's where you'll come in. One run a week, a day or three to complete each run. Lengthy hours but in the end, it's worth it."

"Oh."

Aww.

"That's – uh, I think I can probably do that?"

it is done, the bells chime—actually, speak, in her ear. It's... a much more literal sound than it was, before.

She beams. "I knew I'd made the right choice," she says with another click of her tongue. "Jeb will transfer the relevant maps to you today. I'm not much with computers, afraid. I have a charming little rented cargo truck you'll be using, which is currently in storage here in the city; I'll give you the keys, you can drive it out to the orphanage as soon as you're ready to fetch your first week's deliveries."

Carefully, the old woman rises from the kitchen chair—Rachel will be able to hear bones creaking and hopefully not cracking. She extends a brittle hand to shake.

Rachel reciprocates, carefully, and tries not to look too alarmed.

"– Thanks."

Grandma Scarlett smiles, with a twinkle in her eye, and she and Jeb leave, as the wind whispers sealed contracts cannot be broken...

Rachel shudders a bit at that. Hearing voices… was something she really hoped she'd never experience, not if they're not there.

She waits a few moments to see if anything else is said, and when she hears nothing, goes to her window. Maybe something else would prompt it.

it's a beautiful day out, the bells chime. shame about the rain, though.

There is no rain.

… She looks around, in case she's just missing it, and then blinks and shakes her head.

Maybe she'd better have something to drink.

better relieve the thirst before it relieves you.

… She is not sure she actually wants to have a drink anymore.

She grabs some water anyway and walks back to the window.

traffic goes on and on and never back.

       except when it does get back.

that never happens.

       sometimes it does.

well, granted.

She shudders, briefly, and then, tentatively: "Hello?"

she talks to herself in vain hopes of ethereal companionship.

"… Probably accurate although slightly harsh."

The bells decline to comment.

"It would be nice if this were a magical power. Stress to the point I 'hear voices' synesthetically: not a thing I want, thanks."

you've got mail.

She jumps a little, then – looks over at her door?

she is unused to living in an apartment building falling apart in the middle of nowhere.

– Yes, yes she is, weird creepy bells that make far too much sense.

She grabs her keys and puts on her shoes and goes down to the mailroom.

There is in fact a letter for her in the box.

She takes it, frowning a little, and opens it.

It's from the taxi company, just a note of disconnection.

Oh well.

She goes back to her place and leaves it on the table.

She hears thunder in the distance.

She goes to look out the window.

Those are indeed some rain clouds!

She shuts the curtain and goes to sit on her bed and just take a few minutes to breathe.

it's overwhelming to be right.

She picks up her phone and tries to find some sort of information on the orphanage online.

It has a simple website that has no links, only a picture of what clearly used to be a farm, a large number of incredibly happy children, a younger version of Grandma Scarlett and Jeb, and a short blurb. There aren't many other references and they're mostly about this or that person having been adopted from there.

Well, that's… sort of nonthreatening, she hopes.

She passes the time until she gets some information about the job.

it's time to understand more things.

And her phone vibrates at the same time as she hears this. In fact, the sound seems to come from it.

She doesn't shiver this time. Quite.

She does, however, grab her phone, pausing the TV show she's watching as she does so.

An email from Jeb! It has maps!

Maps. Okay.

She has a brief look where they cover – just, areas outside the city proper, presumably.

… Probably quite far outside the city.

Indeed, very far. The box truck itself is in the city, but the orphanage is a few hours away.

Well, she knew what she signed up for. And she does need a job.

She puts her phone away and unpauses the TV show.

Two days later, before she leaves for work, she hears bells coming from... a corner of her room.

… Can she get any more information from them? Does the corner look – broken or anything, wrong?

Nope, it's actually just the corner where she left the teddy bear Grandma Scarlett gave her.

If she walks closer do they get worse, are they warning her?

take me with you, the bear... says, for lack of a better verb. i'm your friend.

She's not sure she trusts it.

Has it got any more to say for itself?

i'll protect you, it argues. and I'm cute.

She shudders and moves closer.

Assuming she doesn't get a horrifying feeling of dread… she picks it up.

Quite the opposite: she feels warm fuzzy happy bells.

She tries not to be too creeped out by this. The teddy can come with, she decides.

thank you. we'll have an adventure!

Gosh.

She grabs her bag and checks her phone to work out where she needs to go for the truck, then sets off.

The box truck is where she expects it to be: a private lockup, a waystation for rental vehicles intended to do the highway shuffle from A to Z. A decrepit old janitor helps her find the right storage bay, and after unlocking it with Grandma Scarlett's golden key (and a whispered what wonders hide within?) she sees a completely uninteresting truck—a battered and dirty thing, boxlike and unmarked. The sort of truck you move plumbing supplies or the corpses of unsuccessful gangsters in.

Charming.

She inspects it, making sure there are no obvious defects and taking photos of the outside for later reference, then gets into the cab and looks for some sort of information or documentation.

Then it's time for her to start driving, following the guidance from her map app.

Although she did get to train some for this kind of thing while getting her commercial license, the truck's controls are still somewhat unfamiliar and might benefit from practice.

That's fine. She knows all the technical details of the controls – no weird sticks or buttons where she's not expecting them – and so it's just a matter of using it.

So the map tells her to take Highway Nine.

Got it.

And she's driving and Highway Nine is incredibly long and then—

—there's a moment of dizziness and loss of balance—

—and she's suddenly in a sparsely populated suburban area, with prettily mowed lawns and similar-looking houses decorating the landscape.

She tries to keep control of the vehicle – weird portals or whatever the hell they are, at least she knew this one was coming – and mostly succeeds.

The change of scenery is all the starker for being so sudden. She soon starts seeing children playing around and some people outside, which is nigh unheard-of in the city proper.

And she notices a blinking light on her dashboard: the CB Radio.

She turns it on in case there's anything relevant. Or something.

She hasn't actually used a trucker radio before. Hardly surprising.

The previous driver preprogrammed a handful of buttons to various bands—PUB, BEARS, SIDEB, LAWL, TRFF—but none of those or any others seem to catch anything but static, and the microphone itself is dead.

your people don't live here, the bells sound.

It can go back off, then – hardly affects her at present.