Self Argue-mentation

Well, I'm back here again, and by 'here', I mean I'm nowhere. I'm back with my mental avatar in my subconscious projection of my mind. My monochromatic chimera of a room that is as detailed as I remember my bedroom being that's combined with an unfamiliar, yet nostalgic, other room appears unchanged.

That chart that I struggled to read filled out. I don't know why it was difficult for me to put together that it was the periodic table, but it felt like something was keeping me from figuring that out. However, a few of the elements are incorrect, and others don't even exist.

What in the world is technetium?

A radioactive transition metal. Wait, no. Wait, yeah… That's right. How do I know that?

"I need to get out of here," I mutter to myself. I don't know what's happening outside, and I'm just sitting here busying myself with elements.

My eyes slowly fall onto the door. "Guess I have nothing better to do." Getting up, I walk over to the door and prepare myself for the screwy geometry I encountered last time.

I inhale.

"Well, this is new."

What once was a series of halls that bended and twisted straight from an abstract art piece has transformed into a simple room with glowing blue circuits travelling the floor and a golden elevator opposite my room's door. A single potted plant sits in the corner, proudly displaying itself as the only furniture present.

"My mind cleans up nice," I compliment myself as I press the elevator call button.

The doors immediately open and shut behind me as I walk in. "Okay, then," I murmur and look around at the interior. The elevator has bright lights coming down through a wire frame above me as if natural sunlight is coming down the elevator shaft. Fine gold detailing flourishes with flower patterns.

"Maybe I should take up botany as another hobby." I don't particularly recognize any of the flowers, and thus, their meaning is lost on me.

Or maybe they don't mean anything, and they're just pretty to look at.

Even the oak baseboard has flower detailing… Anyway, the only thing, or rather, things that ruin the aesthetic is the smorgasbord of buttons and plaques the fill nearly every square inch of the elevator. It's like something out of a chocolate factory.

"No, wait. That's stupid. Why would any factory have an elevator like this?"

It's all a moot point anyway since most of the lights aren't lit up, have no words on the plaque, and pressing the button like a frustrated toddler doesn't do anything.

The few that do have words, are lit up, and will probably do something if I press them are more interesting anyway.

Memory Vault will probably take me back to that library with my many memories. It's just a guess.

Penthouse seems interesting, and, as I hold my finger close to the button, I'm overwhelmed with the feeling that I'm already there… I'm already there? That penthouse is more of a studio apartment at most! I want my money back!

Headquarters is the only unfamiliar place, and probably what my subconscious deems most important for my conscious mind to interact with… Am I insane?

Leaving idle thoughts behind, I jab my finger into the Headquarters button. The elevator shakes slightly with a touch of gravity before the doors slide open. I peek into the oddly lightened room ahead of me, taking in what my subconscious mind deems appropriate for a "Headquarters".

Apparently, the answer is "Mad Scientist funded by a military industrial complex". It's a rectangular room, though I have a feeling that isn't permanent, with the short side being the elevator. Steel grated flooring with soft blue circuit lights pulsing slowly and dark red veins glowing softly. Consoles with various LED buttons and dials that give me the distinct feeling that they do nothing unless I push them with intent.

TV screens provide most of the illumination as they cover almost every square inch of the wall like a production control room at a broadcasting facility. Most screens are identically sized with the notable exception with the one at the opposite end of the room taking up most of the wall by itself. Some screens are black and empty, others showing solid neon colors, static, or that TV technical problems screen with the colored vertical lines.

Most of those screens extend upwards into the vast darkness above me. However, a few do have some notable information such as my heart rate or stomach contents.

I walk over to the large, imposing screen to find a mouse, keyboard, and many of the aforementioned decorative buttons. I look for the biggest, reddest button, jabbing it with my finger with the intent to turn on the console.

"WELCOME, ADMIN NICOLE," flashes across the screen in an old terminal font. The text clears to be replaced with, "REDUCED POWER MODE ACTIVE. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO?"

I type the help command, hoping that my brain comes with an instruction manual, and I'm unfortunately met with the first 100 A-commands representing page one of…several billion.

Since my time on this planet is limited, and for the sake of my own sanity, I'm making the executive decision to type random commands and hope that my intent can transfer through my keystrokes.

Well, I guess it's prudent to see if I can wake myself up. I am in reduced power mode of all things.

I type, "power."

"INVALID COMMAND…"

I roll my jaw, dreading the incoming pain. Maybe I should start with a peek around?

I type, "options."

Thankfully, the terminal doesn't repeat the same message and instead actually prints out several options. I'm tempted to go into stuff like adrenaline settings, or pain tolerance. I do stop for a moment to stare at the grayed-out menstruation settings before temptation and curiosity drag me towards abilities.

The new screen is rather short, with only two actual options, but it could grow. PSYCHIC and AURA are both present and disabled. I move the text cursor over to the enable option and press enter.

"INSUFFICIENT PERMISSIONS…"

"What," I hiss. "I'm the admin—I'M THE OWNER! IF ANYONE HAS PERMISSIONS IN MY HEAD, IT'S ME!"

I grip the console, annoyance washing over me as I slowly simmer down, feeling the disappointment as a childhood dream of having special powers dies once again. It's spark only kept alive by the existence of the Octillery Arms.

Calmly, I back out of the abilities tab and scroll down the options, ignoring anything else that might tempting.

Finally, on the literal last line, are the wonderful power settings. I quickly blitz through them to find "EXIT REDUCED POWER MODE" and press enter.

The screen clears again, then turns off. Then, one by one, every other screen turns off, leaving me in complete darkness in my own mind.

Suddenly, the central console powers back on, with a mysterious advancement in technology by a couple decades as I'm met with a GUI. A simple white box with dark gray border and black text. The only things that make me pause are the gold X with the ends connected by arcs and the text itself.

"Are you sure, Nicole? You might not like what's happening outside."

I stare up at the screen, resisting a compulsion to kneel down and prostrate myself to the terminal.

Instead, with heavy steps, I reapproach the mouse and drag it over the yes button.

The text is replaced with, "It's your choice. Be safe."

Then the screen goes black, leaving me in darkness once again.