A faeet the faces that you meet

  In EP’s absence, Gradie noticed a ge in himself. That radie, who’s life was now melted to the parking lot of a half-empty mall in some millionth alterexas, fell away from him. Like waking up from a dream. The fragments of that life, the other office, that other apartment, dissolved into somethihan memory. Like a daydream or half-remembered imagined sario. Stale thoughts that crumpled and fked to pieces in the rushing wind of experiehat was the Otherworld.

  Would all his selfs fade like this? How did anyone ever bring back memories from the Hardworlds if they disappeared this easily? He thought back to the meeting at the clubhouse, and found the versation uedly clear. Each word reserved, and the whole day, from getting in Michael's Jag to the drunken nap he pool, stu his mind while the other memories faded. Why?

  Disappointedly, he found himself missing them, their fidend ease. Less than a minute ba the Otherworld, and he was already floundering in fusion.

  But, as the memory of EP’s toud gre and echoes of her voice rose again in his mind, the one remembering them asserted himself. The spirit was here, now without a self to shade him.

  All right the’s get to work, Hardworlder.

  He sed the glittering surface of the Allworld and his mind got lost in the chaos. How was he supposed to find the office?

  “You want some help?” a voice said in his ear. He looked around, but saw nothing but empty void.

  “Down here.”

  There was a fsh on the surface of the p, a small blinking light.

  “See it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s the office. See you soon. Oh, and wear a mask.” He felt the presence leave his head, and a terrifying thought occurred to him. Could anyone speak right into his mind whehey wanted? How did anyone ever get any priva this pce? Another question for Michael, unfortunately.

  He rolled forward until the humming orb of the Allworld vibrated in his fad took off towards the blinking light. The Allcity rose up and slowly revealed its texture, like a reverse optical illusion unfooling his mind. Things jumped out at him as his sensation-smacked brain fit them inth categories. Crafts. Hotel/dos. Shopfronts. Giant self-tained spiritual pygrounds. Restaurants?

  This time, his flight was trolled, ated away the thinking speaking adverts with ease. As he swooped by a mirror-faced tower, he saw himself briefly. A bck blur just like all the others. A risen spirit. A freed soul. He ughed into the rushing nonair and flew faster than sound towards the blinking light.

  It was intoxig, watg all the strahat had nearly driven him insane just a few days ago fly by like a mirage. Like any go, he quickly wanted more, and racked his brain for ways to go faster. He guessed that his speed was limited only by his imagination. His perception. If he went higher, farther away from the surreal cityscape that betrayed his speed, it might be easier to visualize increasing it.

  He took off at an upward angle. In a moment, the sky had gone bd he was rushing off towards a distant curve of darkness. A few seds ter, the light on the surface fshed again, hundreds of miles closer.

  “Don’t fet to make a mask.” The voice returhen snapped off.

  He stopped dead still. The voice had been such a sho the first pce that he had fotten about the mask. But what was the point? He had already been to the offid hadn’t worhen. Must be aest.

  All right. Whatever it takes.

  EP’s mask, a masquerade in pearls and bck diamonds, came to mind, but he knew nothing like that would suit him. Holding his hand in the air, palm up, he visualized a hockey mask.

  Slowly, and only after he had cleared all non-hockey mask thoughts from his mind, it faded ience.

  Jesus Christ! It had taken more effort than he had expected, and he realized the only thing he had ever made in this world was the gun on the rooftop, which had e so easily, and instantly. Why?

  Looking at the mask, he k wasn’t right. Didn’t match how he felt about this new him. Too 90’s ba, maybe. It was wrong in a way that was difficult to express, in the same way it had been difficult to create. He let it fall to the chaos below. Watg it disappear, he felt a sudden sense of awe.

  “Everything you see around you was made by someone willing it ience.”

  Michael’s voice rang around him, as if the memory had returo life.

  Someone made all of this, fog their quasar-like minds on acts of pure creation, not of simple on things, but impossible objects and never imagined worlds.

  All he could manage was that mask, and it had taken so much effort he nretted letting it go. What was wrong with it? What did he want to look like anyway?

  A gss fractal tower, like a skyscraper ripped off the ground and twisted, passed by in orbit, and he caught sight of his refle. Bck clothes still glittering with starlight collected from a Texas sky that existed only in dreams. An idea crawled out of the memory. He reached up to the blue sky, closed his fist around a cloud, and grabbed nothing.

  The Otherworld must be more solid than the Dreamworlds.

  His realization gave him another idea. He flew over to the mirrored tower and ran his hand across its surface. His fingers glided over the gss, slick as ice.

  e on. I’m not destroying you. I just need a little bit.

  The tower or his mind yielded, and he peeled off a rough pne of mirror crystal. He floated it in the air over his hands and began to shape it.

  It only took a few moments. When he was dohe mask was transparent from the i mirrored oside, a trick that had taken less effort than he had expected. W with ready materials must be easier thaing from nothing.

  The gss was faceted and slightly tinted in a dark sky blue. He put it on his fad it ed itself around the back of his head. His vision was unged, and he reached up to make sure it was still there, then exami in the reflective gss it had spawned from.

  The effect was jolting. For a moment, he looked headless.

  “Did you get lost?” the voice said without even a hint of mockery.

  “Sorry. On my way,” he said out loud.

  “You don’t have to speak, sweetie. You just think.”

  A chill rolled over him.

  “Don’t worry, I ’t hear all your thoughts. Just foy voice when you think them.” The presence left his head again, and he was as fused as ever. Down on the surface, the light blinked impatiently. He took o look at himself, now just as bizarre as the world around him, and took off toward the light.

  What would your mask look like, dreamer? ime, Gradie meets the team's Speaker, and prepares for his first job. episode: Speaking