The Fridge Talks/Wires Crossed

 This story was written because of the following exchange on April 15, 2022:

 This story is set in an alternate version ofthe Californian Utopia. Ursalia is latin or some shit for land of bear or something. It was supposed to be a throwaway but has since featured in a couple other projects. Karats are Ursalia's currency. The San Gabriel mountain range is taller than the Everest range, and completely encircles the San Gabriel valley. Aether is the moon but habitable. Ethergen is an aetherium fraction, the same way jet fuel or diesel is a crude oil fraction. Designs are creatures(?) who share a hive mind or collective unconscious, despite being made of a menagerie of different species.

This story was written from April 16-May 20, 2022.

Foreword

 The following Exhibit is from the Personal Log recovered from PoI B2. Content retrieved from PoI’s Encephalascope via wireless accession. An unsuspecting instrument to what could have been the largest Failure Scenario 7. Responsible for the containment blunder of all Cirrus Cruiser designs. Literally killing the goose for all the golden eggs. PoI B1 and 2 are on the run, most likely together. Our FDRS has been unfortunately offline for maintenance, this is more than likely a planned-out attack. We can no longer rely on faces. Last seen headed for Los Demonios, both are considered armed and dangerous.

Exhibit E, Section 1 (Log 111)

 Damn. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the roof. Yvie dropped a brick on the roof and that crashed through into the kitchen and nearly killed me. We won’t talk about that, but one of the stove burners isn’t usable anymore. Looks funny as hell though, all pancaked like that. Alan got into Filament House Productions so that’s cool. I haven’t found out my selection yet but I’m sure it’ll be something I’ll enjoy. Oh, that’s a new hole in the wall. Bruce needs to stop drinking so much caffeine. I’ll get that patched up, but for now, I just got home from school and I’m itching to play some zombies with my friends. I patted down my pockets to make sure my student card and my tube of magnets were there. And they were. I head over to our kitchen and pull out a bowl from the dishwasher that doesn’t work. In the pantry, I find a clipped bag of easter marshmallow cereal and pour it into the plasteel bowl. Solshine filters through the blinds as the sol disappears behind the ludicrously tall mountains that encompass the San Gabriel Valley, just like this bowl encompassing the cereal I’m about to fucking demolish. I entered the common room and ate the cereal alone in there with the lights off like a goblin as I listened to music through a low-volume speaker.

 It was well into the night, and when we felt we had our fill, we hopped off. Aether floats in the aether, and now I’m feeling a pit in my stomach for eggs, so I slipped on my slides and hopped off the porch with 4 karats in my pocket. I walked down the pathways past the tall buildings until I reached the corner store and a guy just a bit older was running the place at this ungodly hour. I ask for an egg and hand him all of my karats because working this late fucking blows. I walked to turn the corner where the long side of the counter is and nearly slipped on my way there but I caught myself and no one seemed to notice. I sat on the chair in front of the metal counter and set my elbows and the counter and my head in my hands.
 There was a light drizzle out the door, darkening the sidewalk, and chilling the already cool air, the lights doused everything in a layer of blue, and Saib was playing softly in the background. This chair is really comfy and the aroma of the yolk is wafting toward me. The warmth of the pan tantalizingly warms my face and nothing else. I stare at the process of this guy folding the egg until I hear the rustle of packaging and I slowly hook my head around to see, as the cook/cashier guy raises his eyes for a moment to see if it’s a customer. Through the darker, unlit shelving, came out a person.
 Possibly a customer, it was a girl taller than me, most likely my age, and certainly a stranger. Long brown (or is it black?) hair encircles her like a cape too high. That’s a funny description. Anyhow she’s got a tray of bluefish sushi in her hand, and pasted a face looking to purchase on her head. But we’ve locked eyes and something has changed in her eyes. Boredom gone, she scans the sushi under the barcode gun before he can even attend to her and slides him a karat. She seats herself next to me, eyes the stove, and strikes the conversation:
 “How do you like your eggs?”
 “Scrambled, but anything’s good,” I reply. I had no idea where this was going but I needed a break from awkwardly staring at this poor schmuck making my food.
 “You?” I ask.
 “Fertilized,” she goes.
 “What?” I wasn’t thinking straight already from how late it was so I think I’m confusing myself. My eyes squint.
 “Come again?” I say. The fuck behind the counter smirks, he’s liking the entertainment.
 “Over easy,” she says, “soda?”
 “I don’t have any more notes,” I responded. The fry-cuck slides my egg onto a plate and glides over two glasses of mint-colored fizz.
 “Seems like strings are being pulled,” she notes, and smirks, for whatever reason. It’s 20 o’clock, and I’m too tired to be amused. The sound of the rotating fan seems to agree with me.
 “Looks like it. What brings you here, ass crack middle of nowhere?” I ask.
 “Getting a snack before I go on a road trip,” she sips some of the drink. Rings and bracelets glance the blue light off and she somehow maintains eye contact while drinking. She’s definitely off of something, or maybe she’s always high off of her own brain.
There’s a few seconds of silence as we stare at each other. I, blankly, her, still got words to spill. I forgot the chill of the rain in my bones. I rapped the side of my glass with my digits.
 “Where you headed?” I have to ask.
 “Sierra Nevada,” she says in her glass, her voice distorting. How devoid of manners. I like it.
 “If you’re curious,” she starts, “I’m a logistics journalist. I find places that have to do with numbers and planning and I report on them.”
 I vocalize confirmation and spoon the yellow salt fluff into my mouth. McDuckass pretends to not hear, but he seems to pick up on the fact that there was more in what she said and strides into the employee-only area. I’m alone with her now. We sit in silence as I finish my egg and we finish our sodas at the same time. The drizzle picks up into a light rain.
 “When you headed out?” I broke the frost.
 “As soon as I leave here. What? You tryna tag along?” she cocks her head sideways.
 Who the hell is in their right mind accepting a ride from a person they don’t know? She seems harmless and nothing bad ever happens in Ursalia. Sounds of a video game seep through the crack in the employees-only door.
 “Fuck it I’ll be back on Solday.” That was quite possibly the worst decision I can make but what’s the worst to come?

Exhibit E, Section 2 extraneous Log omitted, accessing Log 113...

 The numbers on the aetherium dispenser said 20 karats and I slid my student card through. I’ll have to pay that off by getting extra credit on my next math quiz. Whatever. Speaking of whatever, whatever was left of the breakfast we got at the Henhouse was just about gone because Insomniac here ate it but whatever. I stole a soft-boiled egg and a granola bar from the market earlier. We sped on through Juaquin Valley as I munched and conversed away.
 Over the course of the night and morning, we’ve learned probably far more than those we hold closest because we were strangers.

 So far at least. 2014 Forest Hills Drive played as New Years' fireworks lit up the sky before the sol could ever rise. According to the GPS, we were just less than an hour and a half from our destination. We winded through national park service tunnels and left the pretty light show behind us.
 “Why’d you decide to come with me?” She asks out of the blue. I thought we were going to stare at the deep orange tunnel lights but she has chosen to speak so I oblige.
 “Thought, ‘fuck it’,” I responded. This answer did not seem to satisfy her.
 “No seriously,” she said.
 “I’ve genuinely got nothing to do. Plus you’ve been acting like this since the corner store,” I admit.
 “Like what?” She chuckles softly in between her words and slows the van. Our destination is still kind of far. She opens the driver's door, with a crowbar in hand that she has seemed to keep in some hidden compartment. Adjacent to us was a maintenance tunnel door, and she tossed me a decal from the back and instructed me to put it on the sides of the van. As I did, she wedged open the tunnel door, set about some repairman-looking equipment, and some signs telling us to keep clear. Where the fuck is she getting this stuff? There’s no physically feasible way to have this much on you, with or without a van.
 “Come on, I know a shortcut,” and she jogs inside. I swivel to take one last good look at the solrise through the arch opposite the maintenance door, exposing the tunnel to the open air, and bound past the steps and into the maintenance tunnel.

 After what felt and most likely was hours contorting through a net of tunnels, we reached a closed train depot.
 “I usually bring partners here on the third date,” she said, “I’m fucking with you. This place is one I’ve reported on and is now one of the places I operate from, alongside a group of other LJs.”
 I stare at her the same way I did at the counter. She really likes to make people flustered. Has it worked on me? It better not have.
 “So you do report on places with numbers-”
 “-and planning, yes,” she finishes, “but not in the way you think.”
 “And how could my assumption be wrong?”
 “Oreonia’s got a lot of fingers in pies, and people like me are looking to get some of that filling too. We espionage and give away information to them for a slice of the pie.”
 This barely phased me, considering Insomniac’s character.
 “You okay in there? Most people I tell this to usually go off on me,” she asks. And concerned. I suck through my teeth.
 “Yeah. How come you let people who completed these tasks with you get away? What kind of information have you scrounged up?” I spilled out at once. She gives it some time as we pass by decommissioned tubes of things meant to slice through the air. Elongated egg, almost. A stack of containers is covered in a fine layer of dust, and the lighting is a few years outdated. We pass onto the tracks on the other side of the mountain and there’s an open manhole waiting.
 “All of the ‘partners’ have died before they could complete the mission,” she explained. It was as if she just beaned me in the face with a brick. I try to grapple with my mortality as she answers my next question. She stops walking and turns on her heel.
 “Keep your panties on, Alice,” clearly enjoying my dumb fucking face ajar.
 “No one says that anymore!”
 “Pretty basic things. Building schematics, a report on a design, the family of a particular person, the like. Nothing too bizarre,” she continues.
 While still processing the fact she mentioned death, I slipped the same way I did at the corner store, except this time I couldn’t catch myself. I essentially front flipped into (perhaps) a stream of bear shit.

Exhibit E, Section 3 (Log 119)

 I fired the rifle twice and I knew from the count earlier I was out. Shit. Kneeling behind a concrete barrier and some sandbags, I should be safe for the time being from the designs, but Insomniac's plan needs to kick in now or those shits are going to poach me like an egg. My headache from the fall days ago instead was kicking in, and the claws and wet slaps of their frills were getting to me, so I booked it to the next concrete barrier. I pulled out the airsoft pistol, checked the magazine, and shoved it back into the magwell. I peek behind the concrete barrier, and see that both designs are missing 2 legs, still got 4 though.
 And then I hear a rumble. Fuck, fuck, fuck, I leaped off the tracks and onto the middle platform, swinging my right arm right and firing a few times. As the designs were gaining on me, Insomniac plowed them with a commandeered train. That should keep them in for now, but nothing can ever hold designs. I fire several more times, just for my mind.
 “Haul ass, come on!” she yells at me, and I do not need to be told in the first place. My pocketpack rustles as I sprint through the train and onto the main platform. Insomniac is waiting at the elevator door with a ladder. I pick it the fuck up and hit the door close button, the echoes of my footfalls falling behind me, she extends the ladder up to the hatch and I bound up after her. Her normally brown or black hair is now gray from all the dust and shit we’ve tumbled through, and as she climbed up some it got in my face so I had to stop breathing. We clambered onto the top and I quickly pulled the ladder up as she shut the hatch. The ladder falls back onto the ground and automatically retracts into a compact package. We exchange a few shaky breaths and I unload the magazine from the rifle, reaching into the pocketpack to refill it. A water bottle rolls my way and I finish packing rounds into the magazine before I load it back in and cock the charging handle.
 “Drink some water asshole,” she finally says.
 “You too. You haven’t drunk any water since the van. That had to have been Chronoday,” I retorted. Today, by my estimation, was Nyxday. My dormmates have most likely covered my ass for my disappearance and if I get back, I’ll have a mountain of assignments on my ass. Fuck. I roll the cap open and waterfall it straight into my throat and toss the remainder to her. She throws it back, and I arc it up to her. This little exchange goes back and forth for a while until I bean her on the head and she promptly says, “Ow.”
 I exhaled through my nose, and it became a chuckle, and then I laughed, and she began as well, both of us in an echo chamber. After a minute or two we settle down, and she drinks the quarter of the water left after leaking from the crashing. The air seemed to get just a bit colder.

 “Alright this should be the place,” Insomniac notes.
 “Should?” I ask. I did not come all the way here for bullshit.
 “Yes, should. Keep your panties on,” she says.
 I shake my head and step my way through crunchy bits of rubble that litter the ground. The elevator landing was a T-junction, both sides looked like some sort of hospital. Medical shit was definitely done here, but not the usual, judging from the unfamiliar and intricate machines and equipment. They don’t even use neon lighting. I turned left and took an immediate right.
 “Watch out for the eggs,” she nudges her pistol toward what seemed to be a nest of eggs. Perfectly waiting. We didn’t need any more samples, and this was likely to be a parasite design trap. I sidestepped and kicked a dried sac of translucent something from above my feet. Strange symbols cut into the walls as my flashlight shined over them. Insomniac’s railgun cut an imposing silhouette as solight filtered through a gaping hole in the corner wall. Through the hole, I could see the forest beyond. Tall leafless trees, the ground looked kind of like mulch, some hills to the left. The room looked like it was an office before the designs got loose. Now cubicles were covered in rubble and ash and office chairs were burnt and upturned. A stream of water was lightly trickling on dangling wires from the guts of the floor above us. The scorch marks were recent, and it seems our little escapade drew quite the attention, seeing as we killed several people, and let out designs, while damaging government (was it even? Is this something else?) property.
 I could hear the sound of ethergen crinkling as the crystals fizzed in liquid, the military was here. Tank tracks were left in the mud, as Insomniac slowly let herself down through the hole, her rings being surprisingly useful, casting a lot of doubt that these rings were for show.
 I clutched the damning papers and eggs in my arms and quickly cast them back into the pocketpack. Cirrus Cruisers were coming in from the east, joining up with a light snowstorm peppering the hills east. I decided to be quick with it and slid down the pile of rubble in front of the hole, surprisingly smoothed over, most likely from the stream of water. A few nicks and cuts but barely anything compared to the shit that happened to me in the past two days. I can’t get it out of my head.

 My eyes crack open. It’s dark here and for the first time, I heard Insomniac sleeping, the distant rumble of munitions paired with her. I slowly rise and feel the right wall for a switch. There was something and I pull on a metal string thing that turns on this really vintage lightbulb. Lining the walls were some wireframe shelves with small wooden crates on them. The shitty yet useful lighting helped me as I stripped off the rifle, pocketpack, and plate carrier. Where’d we even find that again? Doesn’t matter now. I turned my wrist and the smartwatches we stole off of some guards read 14:01. We slept for about…7 hours. Not really slept, it was more like passing out from exhaustion.
 I stepped over Insomniac and opened the other side of the container door. The sol was out but soon being blotted out by fast-moving clouds. I looked behind me and saw several columns of smoke rising from the place we left. Airships and helicopters circled the building, I could hear the warbling vocalizations of sky designs struggling under the multiple machine guns concentrated on them. Mainly Cirrus Cruisers. Insomniac better cut a good fucking chunk of the profits, we drew quite the attention that was never to be mentioned.
 I limped over to a pile of bricks and sat down, laying my back against the wall of an old subway car. I pull out the headset from my collar and place it over my head. 2014 Forest Hills Drive is perfect for the view. The thumping of machine guns ripples through the air, and several trees collapse. A design falls out of the sky and hits the hatchling facility, crumbling half of it. Jesus Christ.
 After watching the aerial vehicles fly around for a bit, I got up and walked around some more. My leg still hurt so I hobbled over to my pocketpack and pulled out a bottle of painkillers, I downed 3 and glugged some water. I saw Insomniac slumped on the floor with no neck support at all, and I didn't have anything comfortable to prop it up with, so a block of wood was probably the next best thing. I think. I found a 2x4 lying right next to the door of the actual bonehouse and dragged it back. I lifted her head slightly and slid the 2x4 under and let her head go. Maybe my pocketpack would have done better. She didn’t wake up. I picked up her railgun from the wall behind her and brought it outside.
 Cirrus Cruisers started fleeing from the building and outward. Not good. BCA KEM I think it’s called. Chrome shotgun-looking thing, but really long, no reserve tube, there were claws next to what would be an eject slot that would automatically load in a magnet if one was fired. There were iron sights at the top, and on the side, there was an ammo counter with an option for motion tracking. Cool. Some of the magnets rolled out of her pocket and stuck to the container door. I pried 3 off and checked if the railgun was loaded.
 It was. I walked outside and to the other side of the boneyard. I walked into a train car and aimed at a mannequin covered in graffiti seated in one of the fraying seats. I took aim, pushed forward the pump, and fired. The recoil had quite the kick but it didn’t hurt like a bitch as did the rifle. I blew the chest open, and green shards of pyrone fell away. I pulled back the pump, the loading slot opened and I popped a fresh magnet in, and an extra on the claw. I aimed and-

 Fucking OW. I pick myself up from the ceiling of the train car and stumble out of the car, coughing up a storm. I hit the ground and feel myself all over. I hurt a lot but no broken bones, miraculously. I look around. It seems like an orbitillery strike just struck the place. The yard was fucking gone, and a wall of smoke rose. I walk over to the container on the other side. Insomniac was up and running, with her shit and mine.
 “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH THE RAILGUN?” she yelled. My ears were still ringing but I made out what she said.
 “I wanted to try it out!” I yelled back in response.
 “Give it to me!” she yelled. I lifted the sling over my head and threw it over the crater. The barrel ended in her hands and she quickly readjusts. Too smooth. She’s done this before. We both head inside and meet in the middle. She gives me my shit and shoves the rifle into my hands and instructs me to run through the tunnels. Before she could turn and leave I gave her the tube of magnets.
 “Just keep going, you’ll find your way,” she said, and with that, left me.

Exhibit E, Section 4 (Log 120)

 I dumped myself through the windshield. It seems the van’s actual important parts were under, rather than in front. Weird but at least not totaled. I’m lying on a concrete barrier, no, the road, I skidded over the concrete barrier. The paint on the rifle has surely scraped the fuck up. Ow. JUGGERNAUT faintly played in my ears, and my body hurts all over. My eyes fell for the second time today.

 I awoke kneeling in the middle of the highway. The Los Demonios skyline rose in the distance. The Lighthouse Tower poked through the sky. An UARA soldier was holding a shotgun to my head. Fuck you, asshole. I should have never gone to the corner store. I should have stayed home and kept playing Call of Duty with my friends until we fell asleep. Now I’m stuck with some girl I don’t fucking know two states away from home. I most definitely have zeroes on my missed assignments. But that doesn’t matter with these bastards flying around. Fuck. I’m staring down the barrel(s) of a shotgun, and that cloud is starting to look far less than a cloud and more like a Cirrus Cruiser. The twirls of mist collect into one point. I saw the pits of its eyes become more clear.
 “Any last words?” the UARA guy asks, distorted through the mask.
 “You’re corny as hell,” I said. His trigger finger moved to the trigger. The fire selector was on both barrels at once. I wonder what kind of shells I was about to have for dinner. Until Insomniac burst from the treeline. She rolled forward on the asphalt and pulled the railgun trigger faster than the UARA soldier could rotate his gun toward her. She loaded the tube of magnets in it. God that is not a picturesque sight. I turn away in disgust, tales of the railgun never lie, especially now with the smaller magnets. It was like an actual shotgun but worse. His body armor stood no chance. Insomniac clips the zip ties binding my arms together and grabs my wrist, hauling me forward.
 We were not hanging around long enough for a Cirrus Cruiser to come at us. I made the mistake of looking back. Its misty arm was stretching toward me. I hit the ground running. The highway was going downhill. We didn’t stop, except for the times we tripped and ate shit because our legs were finally giving way. My arms were covered in blood, but the rifle saved me most times.
 By the time we hit the normal streets we had thrown our weapons away and were out of breath. We walked, slightly jogged, and stumbled through several more blocks. We finally stopped at a pathway bench as we tended to our wounds. It was in the middle of a commercial area. Storefronts faced each other and the grass strip extended for as far as we could see. There was a sidewalk and road to the right of us ahead. We quickly pulled medical supplies from our pocketpacks. Rubbing ointments and pouring liquids over our scrapes.
 “Sorry I couldn’t make it in time,” she said softly. I was just as tired as I was three days ago. I almost didn’t register it but I finished wrapping my forearms in bandages.
 “I’m still here, no?” I ask. I swallowed three more painkillers and downed a whole bottle of water. I tried to lean back but there was no part supporting my back and I fell backward.
 “Ow,” God, I need to piss. She stifled a laugh.
 “Yeah,” she says in return, finishing up adding some biomechanical parts to her legs that’s 2 limbs now that’s been half cyborged, “Or else I’d be losing my mind to shock.”
 “Would it be enough proof to say I need to piss?” I question.
 “Yes,” she says with conviction.
 “Alright then,” and I kick off the bench, roll off my back, walk into the grocery store behind us, and into the restroom. I stood in front f the urinal for a concerning amount of time but at least I no longer had the weight of all that piss sloshing around my abdomen. The sink water is too hot for handwashing but I can’t complain. It was almost industrial in here and I liked it. Brick stalls that were clean, lighting from behind the mirrors and other obscure coverings. Reminded me too much of a Costco. I flick around my hands as I use the washing machines here to clean my clothes for a minute. I walk out the automatic exit doors in completely clean clothes. I stepped into the grass and walked until I reached the bench and lay in the grass.  “How much for this particular job, considering we got it done?” I ask. I really wanted the money if I went through all of this trouble. I dig through my pocketpack for the briefcase of damning papers. I flip open the latches and check to make sure the eggs weren’t damaged. Spotless. The air was less noticeably chilly.
 “Quite a lot. No one knows designs better than Ursalia,” she responds, hands clenching the edge of the bench as she leans forward. She blocks out the blinding light of the sol. With an upside-down view and my hands on my chest, I laugh. And drifted into a much-needed sleep. As I fell out of consciousness, I could hear the grass slowly start glowing, for the sol dipped under the horizon.
 She dumps my shit on my legs and I yelp in pain as I hit my head on the bench.
 “Come on, we need to go,” she tells me and is already off in the other direction. I start to sense the cool air again. I squint my eyes from the burning wind and my face feels too smooth. I’m still groggy. I could really go for a hot meal right about now. Maybe a proper shower. The sol picked up in front of me. I was under the bench. The grass’s glow was starting to fade. Holy shit, she let me get a full night of sleep. I slide out from under and turn around.
 I slip on my pocketpack and follow her, more hobbled, down the streets of Los Demonios, to the bay, and the sol warms my backside. Her scalp cape is a rat’s nest and the pain in my leg is ebbing away thanks to the painkillers. The sea breeze graces us with a faint smell of fish and the shop signs glow less bright, still glowing blue. I turn the volume up on the HPod and Dayglow was playing. Nothing bad ever happens in Ursalia.

4868 words excerpted from original 6098.