Arrivals in Missing Mile

Missing Mile wasn't a bustling metropolis, but it was large enough to have a neglected part of town. This suited me just fine; I prefer locations that are light on witnesses and innocent bystanders.

Driving a white van emblazoned with the Aperture Science logo, I navigated through streets lined with boarded-up storefronts and windows obscured by soap residue. Signs announcing going-out-of-business sales still adorned some of the dilapidated buildings. Those not boarded up were filled with dust and cobwebs, perhaps an occasional wire clothes rack or a lone mannequin torso standing sentinel in the emptiness.

I despise driving. It's not that I lack skill; I find the activity dreadfully monotonous. Having just driven from Michigan to North Carolina with only brief stops for restroom breaks and a quick meal didn't help my disposition. Trevor can't drive, leaving me as the only option. As the Technical Director of Aperture Science, I can't help but think I should have more minions at my disposal.

There were sound tactical reasons for keeping the team small when dealing with potential mental interference, and my staff were also preoccupied with other critical tasks. I was a victim of my own success, it seems. After over six months of operation, the Bounded Field I erected over the Enrichment Center has exceeded even my most optimistic forecasts. My increased aptitude for necromancy undoubtedly plays a role. A near-death experience and a brief stint in an undead state could have that effect, although the extent of my newfound abilities surprised me.

It's a shame Archer didn't dabble in necromancy. It would be intriguing to see if he, too, had experienced any changes. Perhaps we could collaborate on developing a necromantic spell that suits him—a haunted sword, or maybe one made of bone? But those were thoughts for another time.

Right now, Archer was engrossed in learning my favorite curse. It took me six months to master it when I was thirteen; I was hoping he'll manage it in less time. And that was precisely why he wasn't accompanying me on this outing.

To master the Spider's Kiss, one must first experience it. For that reason, I administered a small dose through a kiss—a far more romantic and intimate delivery method than simply using something like urine, a medium often used for curses involving bodily fluids. The effects of the curse would manifest as physical arousal in Archer, leaving his eyes glazed with wanton longing. However, it would make it impossible for him to reach climax without my direct intervention.

An intervention I would withhold. For him to truly learn, he had to metabolize the curse on his own, allowing it to naturally decay within his system. 

Witnessing him in such a state of wanton arousal was a torturous temptation, compelling me to alleviate his discomfort. Such are the trials of my compassion.

My pants began to feel uncomfortably tight. Clearly, I needed to stop entertaining thoughts of my partner. In this situation, it's hard to say who was truly cursed—him or me? The regular, excellent sex had seriously undermined my self-control. A brief period of separation was definitely warranted.

Before my mind wandered, I was reflecting on the surprising success of the Bounded Field I had established over the Enrichment Center. Who knew that inspiration could be so addictive? It wasn't just scientists who were hooked; even janitors were forgoing the comforts of home to sleep in the Relaxation Vaults. This situation made it necessary to designate some residential areas. Luckily, not only did I have extra mine shafts, but thanks to my toxic slime familiar's efficient detoxification work, once-contaminated areas had been made safe for habitation—after we'd removed some hazardous relics from a previous era of Aperture's research, like the infamous tumor-inducing chairs.

As we passed a sign that blared "BEAT XMAS RUSH!" in foot-high red letters, Boaz silently indicated we were nearing our destination. His knack for navigation was invaluable. Without him, who knows where I might have ended up? Note to self: develop an alternative to Google Maps at the earliest opportunity.

"We've arrived," I announced to Trevor, pulling the van to a stop in front of yet another boarded-up storefront. This one had once been a shoe store, judging by the neglected racks visible through the grimy window.

Trevor looked up his comic he'd been drawing in for the majority of our drive. "Here? Why aren't we staying at a hotel? There must be one nearby."

Exhaling audibly, I launched into a brief explanation. "Because we're about to poke at something that might not take kindly to being disturbed. If it decides to follow us, it's better if there's no one else in the vicinity. Besides, the rent here is dirt cheap. Now, it's time for you to pull your weight—help me unload the equipment."

We began unloading the boxes from the van, each filled with scientific equipment—highly sensitive EMF detectors and sensors for more exotic types of radiation, primarily. According to the data from Hawkins and our most advanced models, we had a good idea of what alternate planes emitted. Interspersed among these boxes were some of my private equipment, Mystic Codes disguised as technological devices.

We carried the boxes into the dust-covered shop, setting them down carefully.

"This place feels spooky," Trevor commented, placing a heavy box on the floor. "The whole neighborhood seems empty."

"That's for the best," I responded, checking the shop's counter. It was dusty but sturdy. "We're potentially dealing with something that can turn anyone into a killer. Fewer bystanders, the better."

After another trip to the van, Trevor asked, "Does this place even have electricity?"

"No need to worry about that; we've brought accumulators," I said, observing that his arms were trembling from the strain. I opened a box containing cleaning supplies. "Start by cleaning the counter. I plan to set up a computer there."

"I can carry more," Trevor insisted stubbornly, though his panting undercut his assertion. Honestly, Trevor was built like a twig—a rather attractive one, to be fair. With his finely boned face and delicate limbs, he was the epitome of a twink. It was surprising to know he was still a virgin, but perhaps he had other priorities.

"You're clearly at your limit, and that equipment is too valuable to risk you dropping it," I stated, perhaps a bit more bluntly than intended. Field repairs were the last thing I wanted to deal with.

While Trevor scrubbed away years of grime from the emerald-green counter, I hauled in a few more boxes. The soapy water in his bowl had turned mostly black, a testament to his labor.

"You are pretty strong," he said with a bit of grudging admiration, after seeing me carry the big box that contained our power supply. "How come. You are a scientist. Don't you spend all your time in a lab?"

"I fence. At least an hour a day," I said. Archer had been insistent that we continue our training. While it wasn't traditional fencing, I wasn't about to tell Trevor that what we practiced was more akin to Elven-style sword fighting.

I also swam regularly, but not in any ordinary pool. The pool I used was located on the Io space base, a detail I thought best left unsaid. Life on Io was another topic Trevor didn't need to know about. It wasn't just a base; it was an ecosystem of discoveries, some more awkward than others.

Our children—curious little explorers that they were—had managed to unearth various hidden facets of the Io base. For instance, they found an array of sex dungeons scattered around. While it wasn't much of an issue for the older kids, who were around sixteen and therefore old enough to understand such things, it did lead to some uncomfortable conversations with the younger ones.

In fact, I had granted the older kids access to those areas. Whether they utilized them or not was something I'd rather remain blissfully ignorant about. The younger ones, however, required a bit more tactful handling. In theory, I am a strong advocate for early and comprehensive sexual education, but in practice, I'd prefer if someone else took on that role.

Apart from the risqué rooms, the children had also discovered other, more innocuous facilities: a gym, a military training course, even a school, and a sample of nanocores.

"I have never seen anyone use a sword in person," he said while struggling to remove years of grime from the wooden surface.

"I could show you some moves, as soon as we unpack a sword," I offered.

"You brought a sword? Why?" Trevor inquired, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"I brought two swords: one of plain steel and another of cold-forged iron." Internally, I reflected on the craftsmanship of the blades. Both were forged by me, albeit not in ideal conditions. I had purchased a mass-produced modern electric forge and, with Jay and Az's assistance, installed it in the warehouse. It couldn't compare to the forge I had in Imladris, but the concept of induction forging intrigued me. "As for why—well, the previous anomaly was inhabited by hostile life forms. Carrying the same weapons is simply prudent."

"Why not a gun?" Trevor's eyes sparkled with a mixture of curiosity and excitement as he glanced toward the boxes, clearly hoping to spot a firearm among them.

"I did bring one," I began, noting his eagerness, "but that one is a bit special. Normal guns had proven less than efficient for fighting the unique fauna from the anomaly. Unlike more complex terrestrial organisms, the life forms that inhabit these anomalies don't have specialized organs. Their cell equivalents are much more general-purpose, capable of functioning as both muscle and lung at the same time."

Trevor leaned in, intrigued, his eyebrows knitting together as he processed the information.

"And there's more," I continued. "They don't have anything like blood or blood vessels. Essential materials, like nutrients, are transported directly through the flesh. We've yet to find any neural cells in these organisms; it seems their mind is directly distributed throughout their whole body. To sum it up, they're more akin to a cellular colony than a multicellular organism. That's why firearms are generally inefficient against them."

Trevor's eyes glazed, lost in too detail exaplint. I needed to bring to finished it. 

"However," I added, "they are vulnerable to high temperatures. That's why I brought a flamethrower."

 "Can I have a weapon?" Trevor's eyes darted toward the boxes again, this time with a hint of apprehension.

"You aren't trained in their use," I replied, meeting his gaze with a stern look. "You'd be more of a hazard to yourself than to any enemy. That's even without considering the potential for Mental Interference."

"Mental Interference? What's that?" Trevor furrowed his brows, puzzled.

"In simple terms, it's a form of mind control. It's actually more complicated, but diving deeper would likely confuse you more than help. But don't worry," I reassured him, "you can have a book."

"A book?" Trevor's eyes widened incredulously. "What am I supposed to do with a book? Use it to clobber someone?"

"This isn't just any book. It's special and very user-friendly, even for someone without any training like you," I explained, my voice tinged with a confidence meant to reassure him.

Trevor looked skeptical but intrigued, "And if you're the one who ends up mind-controlled?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with implication. I locked eyes with him and said, "You'll die. Even a tank wouldn't save you from me if that happened."

Trevor swallowed hard.

"But," I quickly added, "there's no need for that level of fear. My mental defenses are top-notch. If they're insufficient, we were doomed from the start."

Trevor made a rather funny face, as if he were trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. Perhaps I should have been less blunt, but he had insisted on coming along. No point in coddling him now.

I paused, giving him a chance to back out if this was too much. But he remained silent, his expression settling into a muted resolve. I left him to his cleaning and went to retrieve another box from the van. That's when I noticed an older man scrutinizing my vehicle with undisguised curiosity.

"Can I help you?" I inquired.

Startled, he turned to face me. "Ah, sorry. Didn't expect to see anyone around here. You reopening that shop? You'd be the first in a while."

"No," I clarified. "We're conducting a scientific survey. I doubt the specifics would interest you. We'll only be here a few days."

"We?" he asked, just as Trevor emerged from the shop.

"Do we have any more water? I used up all the distilled water from the cleaning supplies," Trevor interjected.

"There should be some drinking water in the van," I replied, keeping my focus split between Trevor and the stranger. "No water in the shop? That's a problem I'll have to address later, once we've set up the basics."

The man stepped forward. "You could use the facilities at Sacred Yew—that's my nightclub next door. Sorry, forgot my manners. Name's Kinsley Hummingbird."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Dr. Alexander Johnson, but you can call me Ace," I said, gesturing to Trevor. "This is Trevor McGee."

At the mention of Trevor's name, Kinsley's face twitched as if he'd been shocked. "I remember you. Fixed your parents' car once, I did."

Trevor's eyes widened slightly. "I remember you, too. You recognized my dad, but he was... ashamed of himself... ashamed of us."

Kinsley extended his arms, as if about to hug Trevor, but I noticed Trevor flinch at the prospect of physical contact. "Trevor prefers not to be touched," I interjected quickly.

"Sorry," Kinsley pulled his arms back.

"No harm done," I assured him.

"Why don't you go reacquaint yourself with Mr. Hummingbird? I'll finish setting up here."

"Please, call me Kinsley," the man corrected.

"I came here to help, not just to be a tagalong," Trevor said, his voice tinged with irritation. "I've rested enough. I can help carry more stuff."

"If you truly want to help, then you can do so by interviewing Kinsley," I suggested. "Find out about the original incident and any possible later occurrences. You know what we're looking for: strange murders, suicides, disappearances. As the saying goes: from each according to their ability."

"We're investigating what happened to my family," Trevor added, turning to Kinsley. "Any detail could be critical."

"I wanted to help you back then, and I still do," Kinsley responded softly. "But are you sure you want to dig up those memories?"

"I need to. I have to know why."

"Well, if we're going down that road, I'm gonna need a stiff drink. Good thing my nightclub has a bar."

"Just remember, Trevor isn't of legal drinking age yet," I reminded them as they walked away.

There was a workaround for the World's vexing backlash, a way to sidestep the inconvenient nosebleeds. I had crafted several Mystic Codes that required no supernatural energy from the user, a feat made easier with a working example in hand.

Near the top of one of the boxes lay a small, disk-shaped Mystic Code adorned with buttons and dials. It was designed to create Bounded Fields. I adjusted its settings to cover both the shop and the van parked outside, cranked it up to ensure maximum privacy, and activated it.

With Trevor away for the moment, I could finally get down to the more tedious aspects of the job. I retrieved a key and used it to unlock a side door leading to the storage area and the bathroom.

Upon opening the door, I was met with the white walls of the Entrance Hall. But it wasn't empty. Archer stood there in his Elven form, a faint blush tinting his cheeks, making him even more captivating.

"Finally," Archer exclaimed as he strode past me, paint bucket and roller in hand, a portal gun affixed to his belt. "What took you so long?"

"I had to make sure Trevor was occupied," I replied, puzzled by his unexpected appearance and the urgency in his voice. "Is the curse overwhelming you? Do you want me to remove it?"

"No, absolutely not," Archer said, quickly applying what looked like conversion gel to one of the walls with the roller. "I understand the level of trust you're extending by teaching me one of your family spells. But we have a situation. Two has been a very bad boy; he followed one of the androids into the Otherworld. He needs your help."

"Didn't Ten's experience serve as a lesson?" I asked, a note of disbelief colouring my words.

Archer activated his portal gun, creating an opening that revealed a corridor in the Io base. "So, are you coming?"

"Bring him here," I countered. "I can't afford to leave at the moment. I'll need to keep him under observation for at least ten hours after fixing whatever's gone awry in his mind. And since we're already using live bait in this operation, adding another won't hurt. Let's see what else decides to bite."