by Agster, Joe
Riding down the elevator he ponders where there is such a place, a place full of crowds. Then the light bulb goes off in his head, that massive outdoor complex with the big wheel: The Sparq.
As Friend arrives at The Sparq, he determines it’s much busier here now than when he last visited. Looking at his watch he sees that it displays 16:44. Hundreds, if not thousands of people are gathered in its various shops and restaurants. As the day begins to give way to night, the big wheel lights up in amazing color, providing the perfect backdrop for the buzzing atmosphere.
Finding a lookalike will be a challenge, but most definitely within the realm of possibility given the amount of people to choose from. Friend ponders on the math of it. Start at 100%, then considering everyone male, and the number goes down to 50%. Someone about his age, in their 20s, with average height, someone within four of five centimeters of his, now down to 5%. Slender, dark brown hair, similar facial structures, with or without a stubble beard like his, and were probably down one tenth of one percent. One person out of every thousand, he determines. If ten to twenty thousand pass through here in the next couple hours, that’s maybe ten to twenty. Not a needle in a haystack, but close.
After an hour of passing through almost every shop, spa, restaurant, café, and bar, he finds no one of note. Was the math wrong? He settles himself to a bench, overlooking one the fountains illuminated in vibrant colors, thinking of the next move. He sits, watching, waiting, wondering.
As he stares into a nearby Mexican bistro, he spots someone… finally a possible match. He gets up and casually walks over to get a better view. The outdoor seating area where he sits is spacious, with heaters between the tables to keep its patrons warm. The place is fully occupied, not a single table being empty, as typical for this time of day during dinner. With a closer view he determines this is the closest he will get to a match. The man he sets his sights may not be as nearly as good looking, and his beard is a bit thicker, but he should do.
Now that he has found a lookalike, how is he going to obtain his identification card? Steal it? Just ask him for it? That’s when the idea hits him, the answer being in a large souvenir shop he had sauntered through about five times in the past hour.
He pushes through the thick crowds inside the large souvenir shop, a vast shopping space with endless racks of merchandise decorated with words and images of Las Vegas, until he reaches the toy section. Among all the dolls, plush toys, and dinosaurs is a crucial item that just might work: a law enforcement badge.
He made a curious observation during the last iteration. The protective force they call the police, it seems, uses intimidation to keep the populace under control. And they do it by flashing these metallic stars they call badges. The cop he encountered flashed it repeatedly at Steve, then at Friend. It was intended to strike fear in them, to terrify them into submission.
He can recall the badge he saw in stunning visual detail, the seven-pointed star, the blue embossed lettering, the golden enamel finish, even the badge identification number. But as he sifts through these toy badges he can’t find one closely mimicking that badge that he saw. He settles for one that is similar enough, but with six points and a slightly darker gold colored finish. It is crude and clearly made of cheap plastic, and not as shiny either, but it should do.
He makes his way to the payment booth and makes his purchase. He takes it out of its wrapping and affixes it to his wallet. The thing is silly, he tells himself, not fully understanding this society’s need for symbols. He deliberates on what he should say, stressing the need to sound official and full of authority, to be forceful. He thinks back to his interaction with that cop, then to some of the holographic television presentations he’s watched during his time alone, and feels he’s got a faint grasp on it.
He walks into the bistro dining area toward their table. The man sits with two young women, both about his age in their early twenties. They seem to be enjoying themselves as they are toward the end of their meal, slowing sipping their drinks in merriment. Heart racing, he makes his approach. He pauses at the man, quickly opening and closing his wallet to flash the badge before it can be studied.
“Sir,” he asserts his voice, with a lower and pronounced tone of authority, just as he saw during the holographic presentations. “I’m going to need to see some identification.”
“What?” the man responds, looking worried as if he’s done something wrong.
“We’re conducting a routine sweep, checking random IDs. We’ve had reports of criminal activity in the area. If you’re not wanted, you should have nothing to fear.”
He looks at Friend with a mix of concern and anger, with a tiny ounce that he might be lying, questioning to himself if that badge is indeed real. But not wanting to take a chance, he reluctantly pulls out his wallet, and slowly hands him his ID card. Friend curiously studies the front and back.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to run this. Thank you for your patience.” Friend assures, walking away slowly, pretending to study it in precise detail. Once out of view, he begins walking swiftly, hoping to escape before the man realizes he’s been duped.
That worked! He cannot believe it, but succumbs to a bit of guilt over it. He quickly eases this by reassuring himself that the man probably won’t need it by tomorrow night, and definitely not in six days. Besides, above all else, remember the mission, he reminds himself. Save Cassie.
Uvia Hotel, House Lounge
It’s now 19:00 according to his watch. He makes it to the Uvia lounge right on time. The lounge is large, lit in blue and yellow, with groups of chairs situated everywhere. A large bar is toward the back, where several hologram projectors are showing sporting events. Max sits near the side directly overlooking the casino floor, and away from the music. Friend greets him and sits at his table.
“I spoke to my contact. You are in luck. He was able to provide you with four bunker cards in exchange for mine. However, they are bronze level cards. When you arrive at the checkpoint, surrender these cards and they will issue you the new ones.” Max explains, holding out a small envelope for Friend to grab.
Friend takes the envelope, brimming with curiosity but merely taking a peak. As he predicted, silver colored cards, with a series of tiny printed black numbers and some type of codified sequence of shapes. It looks very official and governmental, well, at least in their government. Also in the envelope are documents of some sort.
Max continues, grabbing the envelope back for a moment, “The bunker location is in the envelope, with directions.”
“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Friend exclaims.
Max seals the envelope, then goes on to explain, “There is something I want you to do for me in exchange. Well, let me explain. A long time ago my wife Julianna left me. It was a messy separation, when my two sons were teenagers. They’ve hated me since and I’ve rarely spoken to them. In that envelope is a long letter to the both of them. I love them very much. I’m fairly certain my ex-wife and my sons also have bunker cards, although I don’t know which bunker. Promise me you’ll deliver this—”
Max sees something that cuts off his speech, and gets up in a panic. Friend turns around to look at sees it too. About two dozen government agents, guns drawn, headed right for their location. Their jackets have the FBI letters clearly emblazoned on the front and back. The FBI is highest ranking law enforcement order in the land, as Steve explained. And probably just as dangerous.
Max gets up in a furor and starts walking swiftly away, still holding the envelope. Friend follows as they quickly retreat toward the back of the hotel. Friend is familiar with this section of the hotel, as they lead to the banquet areas where he met Steve. But he is unsure of Max’s strategy of escape. Max, meanwhile is thinking of the only place to escape, the parking garage. Because of Max’s slower speed, the agents are in close pursuit, and closing in fast.
“In there!” Max screams, making his way through a glass door that leads to an adjacent stairwell. Max takes to
the stairwell and races up, clearly winded and slowing even more. The agents barge in, yelling commands to stop.
Just as Max makes it to the third floor he stumbles to the ground, but Friend already much farther ahead. The agents swarm Max easily, cutting off all possible escape. Friend hides behind a large SUV and out of view, but peeking to watch the events unfold. Friend feels sorry for his friend Max, but also yearns for the envelope that is still in his possession.
“Doctor Maxwell Reagan Pond!” The lead agent calls out, commanding and pointing his gun directly at Max. “You are under arrest for violating United States Code, Title 18 Section 798 of the Espionage Act, disclosing top secret information. Stay down and put your arms outward where I can see them!”
Max instead stays frozen, ignoring their commands. In the tense seconds that follow, Max looks for a getaway. He didn’t come this far to be stopped. His mission is too important. The parking garage falls into a breathless silence as the stalemate persists, onlookers shoed away by the agents. Just then, a loud and throbbing alarm goes off, from a nearby car.
Max gets up, pulling a gun of his own that is holstered from his rear, tucked under his pants. He fires the gun upwards, not to hit anyone, but to stun his pursuers just enough to escape. He turns and runs, but just before he can take cover behind a car, bullets fly out, striking Max in the chest, shoulder and stomach several times. The thunderous popping from the bullets knocks Friend back and onto the ground, but from under the SUV he can see Max bleeding profusely. He uses his last bit of strength to pull the envelope from the inside pocket of his light brown jacket, clinching it with his bloody fist. He then becomes motionless.
The lead agent orders the others to seal the area off, while he and two more tend to Max’s now dead body. They then back off and he orders to one of the agents, “Find the accomplice!” That accomplice being Friend.
Friend spots Max’s gun underneath the next car where he attempted to hide, but in close proximity. He sneaks around the back, against the back wall and keeping low, before reaching the other side of the car. While they are not looking, he whisks the gun from the ground, stands up, and points the gun right at the lead agent’s head, standing no more than two meters away. His close range is enough to get off a clean shot before they can return fire, the agents realize. Yet they follow their leader’s calm.
“Identify yourself!” Friend demands, his arm slightly shaking from the shock.
The lead agent, tall, dark, with almost black slick hair, stares back at Friend with a look of disgust, his arms raise in the air. “I am Special Agent-in-Charge Stewart. And you are…?” he demands back.
“Why did you kill my friend?” Friend asks sternly, with a crack of nervousness in his voice.
“Your friend here is a traitor, NOW PUT THE GUN DOWN!” Stewart asserts, taking charge in defiance of Friend’s gun, sensing that Friend has no experience in a standoff situation. Stewart reminds himself that he’s had guns pointed at him countless times by the most hardened of criminals, and this person is not anything like that.
Friend senses that he is losing this battle of wills, as five or more trained agents have their gun sights squarely on him. In an act of desperation, Friend fires the gun in the air just as Max did. The agents all return fire, the hail of bullets knocking Friend to the ground.
Friend lays flat on the pavement of the parking complex, bleeding out fast. Remembering how he was healed by the strange man and how that man explained he could do it himself, he attempts to do the same. The agents are all standing around him watching. He puts his hand over the wounds and focuses hard, with what little strength he can muster, his vision starting to blur. He feels something, a tingling, a tiny feeling of healing, but it is too faint. Things are getting hazy and he slowly loses consciousness. Then he bleeds out and dies.
8
Iteration 5
Friend reflects on what went wrong. Max is being pursued, probably from the moment he checks in to the hotel. Then in every instance as he has done in the past, he attempts to flee, and fails. This much is clear. But Friend can’t stop thinking about something else: the healing power… it is there, it is real. Sure it didn’t work in that moment, but between his encounter with the strange man, then his attempted self-healing, he clearly possesses some type of supernatural ability. He then recalls that conversation again, and the specific word the strange man used: timelooper. But despite the strange wonder of all of this, he is dauntlessly committed to his mission to reach the bunker with Cassie.
Now that he knows that Max will arrive at the hotel at 15:28, Friend doesn’t need to waste his time waiting in the lobby. Instead, Friend walks around the hotel, looking for any sign of an FBI presence, specifically their leader, Special Agent Stewart. Stewart is tall and filled out in an athletic build. Early forties, he estimates. He has a commanding presence for sure, but what makes him stand out among his peers is probably his wit. He knew that Friend wouldn’t shoot him. A man who commands such a large army of highly trained agents is no fool.
Friend buys his clothes and travels to the Uvia resort. As the minutes close in on 15:28, there is no sign of any FBI activity. No one that even resembles an agent or a cop is watching, much less in the building. The coast is clear, up to this point at least. So what is tipping them off? They closed in on their position right after 19:00, whereas before, Friend is able to meet him much later in the sushi pub, closer to 21:30. Friend can only deduce that by him making contact with Max as he goes to his room, he is triggering an event causing the FBI to appear sooner.
Max receives his room key and makes his way to elevator, with Friend in close pursuit. The two men step into the elevator, almost identically as the last time. Friend remains silent this time, avoiding small talk, waiting until the elevator gets close to the 25th floor. Max appears to be consumed with worry as usual, intensifying as the door opens.
“Dr. Pond. We need to speak immediately. Don’t worry I’m not with the government. I want to help you.” Friend declares to him as he leads him to his room, as he already knows the location.
Max barely comes as ease as both men arrive at the room door, keeping quiet throughout the frantic stroll. His thought process is mostly the same as the last encounter: he has no choice, and he wants to avoid as much heat on him as possible. But he is left wondering who this man is and how he knows his name.
“Help me with what exactly?” Max wonders.
“Let me in and I’ll explain,” Friend replies.
Max obliges reluctantly, waving Friend in before he shuts the door.
“Before we begin, I believe you are being tracked. I’m not sure how, but—” Friend notifies him as he stutters, as he watches Max pull out his device.
Max looks at it in astonishment. It’s supposed to be a prepaid device, untraceable. All his other electronic equipment is off. Max tears through his belongings, clothes, some documents sealed in a large envelope, all in denial. But how? He bought the phone in L.A. just hours ago. Then it comes to him. Oh no, I turned it on, halfway to Las Vegas! He chides himself for being so stupid. There’s such a small sample size of visitors, with prepaid phones, with such a route. Max, realizing his mistake, puts the device on the dresser.
“The device,” Max explains, “they are tracking it. Damn. I bought it outside of Los Angeles, and turned it on earlier on my way here.”
“Let me take it then, I’ll get rid of it for you,” Friend suggests.
Friend introduces himself and goes into his pitch again. He needs bunker cards to save someone important. He already knows how they work, gold, silver, bronze. He already knows that Max has silver cards in his possession, and that he has no intention of using them. He knows about his FEMA contact.
“How do you know all of this?” Max intently wonders.
Friend, not a fan of being deceitful, decides to give him the full explanation.
“Brace yourself for what I’m about to tell you.” Friend gives him a pensive look, explaining. “I’m been living t
he same six days over and over.”
Max sits in disbelief, a typical reaction Friend receives. “You expect me to believe this?”
Friend passionately tries to convince him, continuing, “It’s how I know you’re being pursued. It’s how I know about the bunker cards. It’s how I know you left your post at NASA. You’ve told me about your ex-wife Julianna, your two sons. As a matter of fact, you are planning on giving me a letter later to your sons in exchange for helping me.”
“Okay, okay. So you’re telling me that an alternate version of me already agreed to give you my bunker cards?”
“Yes.”
“You know it’s strange, but somehow I believe you. It’s feels like… fate.” Max sits on the bed, looking toward the window with a contemplative look. “Let me do what I can. I need to meet someone in person shortly. Take this device. Turn it on once you leave here, somewhere far away. Meet me back here in the room, 21 hundred.”
“Thank you Max,” Friend replies, taking the device and exiting the room.
Friend finds his way over to the Sparq. He turns the device on and leaves it in a nearby planter with thick green bushes. He then turns to his next task, obtaining the ID. Now that he’s done this once, doing it again should be much simpler. He buys the fake toy badge, approaches the lookalike man, and demands his ID. The lingo Friend uses is slightly different and the expression on the man’s face is similarly off timed, but the result is the same. Friend makes off with the ID and escapes before being caught.
Now comes the hard part: convincing Cassie. Friend arrives early at the Metropolitan hotel, and once inside the Vyxx club, it gives him a few minutes to plot a strategy. He has already decided that trying to recreate the events from the first iteration is senseless, so he’ll need a new tactic. His watch reads 20:20 as he takes a seat at the bar, giving him the best view of their soon to be table.