Reality Heist by Geordi Riker (e manga reader .txt) 📕

me a glare, “And don't even think about getting into trouble when your ability first manifests. If we have to go through all the trouble of fighting our way through miles of security just so that at the last possible moment we slide, forget it.”
“Says the one who enjoyed every moment of the raid,” Dutch says, appearing in the doorway, “Team meeting. We need to go over what we are all going to do tomorrow.”
“I vote water park,” Jesse quips.
Dutch takes a sip from his bottle, “Idiots.”
Him and Jesse leave as Ky starts nagging me, “Your clothes are filthy, so I brought your back pack in earlier. Change into the clothes you were actually supposed to wear here, and keep your back pack with you at all times from now on. Jesse says that you can't sense when the Slides are about to happen, so if you don't have your backpack attached to you, you might lose all the goods in there. And with the collective luck of the group, the next dimension that we end up in is gonna be a stupid one where you can't take a shower before showing some goon your card.” With that little tidbit, she flounces out of the room.
I change quickly, savouring the feel of the soft material. No idea what it's called, but it just became my new favourite. The soft, loose white shirt is belted about my waist with a brown woven belt. Skin-tight black pants made of some sort of fabric like spandex leave me lots of room to move. I pull on the hiking boots positioned by my bed, stand up, sit down again and pull them off. I dig around in my backpack until I come up with the missing sock, pull it on, stuff the boots into my bag, shove the tablet into a different pocket, and wobble towards the door bootless.
Hard to believe that I had just spent, according to them, a couple hours training. If they had seen me, would my movements have been a blur, my talking indistinguishable? Or would they be sucked into the same time flow as me, experienced the year I spent with... her.
Hiyori. I can't forget that name. When will I be able to talk to her again? There's so many more things to ask her about. Before stepping out side, I try to focus on the Motes, the little tiny crystals I can now see swirling around the room. Nothing happens. At all, not even a single one changes its course, or colour, or shows any other sign that my will is making an impact on them. “So much for all that training,” I sigh as I pull the door open. Ky is waiting for me, and leads me down the wooden stairs. “Did we move or something? I ask, surprised at the sudden change of scenery from the marble floors and fountains and paintings to this plain hallway.
Ky laughs slightly, “No, we're just in the servants' quarters. Simply because they're closer to the kitchen. Honestly, what's the point of having a place like this if we can't get a little crazy and use it to the max? Sometimes I just don't understand the motivation people have for getting flashy stuff if they never use it. Like owning sixteen cars. First of all, cars are a ludicrous idea. All that gas and vapours and loud noises just to get someone to their next destination faster than they can run. Why would people want to be able to go further than a place they can travel to in a day?”
“Um... I don't know,” I reply slowly, trying to understand what she's trying to get at.
“If it were all up to me, we wouldn't need all the junk stuff people have these days, things that keep them from hunting and gathering.”
“Yeah, well, over the years, we've developed more efficient ways of getting the food we need, like raising livestock and growing plants to eat. That gave us time to explore other things.”
“Should have dedicated that time to finding more food,” she growled, “Either that, or training to fight.” Her tone of voice felt almost condescending.
“Just what are you trying to get at?”
“Oh, nothing,” she shrugs, “Other than the fact that you have no fighting skills whatsoever.” It felt like a slap.
“Hey, that's not my fault. It's not like I planned to get sucked into this whole 'trans-dimensional' mess you guys all seem so comfortable with,” I snap back angrily, “You can't expect me to be the craziest conspiracy theorist out there that believes that aliens are going to abduct me to set me up in some arena where I have to fight for my life, and therefor train accordingly.”
“What did you expect would happen?” Ky demanded, her temper rising, “Don't tell me you never noticed how much Pressure you had? No one can go through life with that much and not know it. You must have had some sort of sense, at the very least, that you weren't going to end up in the normal job places that most people from your generation were headed for. Don't stand there and deny it, you had the sense that you didn't really belong to your time, didn't you?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about!” I snap. “Just because your world has always been insane doesn't mean mine fits the same pattern.”
“Really?” she snarls, “Not at all, eh? Let me take a wild, uneducated guess about your 'sane' world has been like. You kept to yourself, chose one, maybe two, people that you let close. Other than that, you shut yourself off, never let yourself care much for anything. You developed some skills in areas that didn't require any sort of teamwork. You made an appearance of trying to fit in, maybe even with some success, but in the end, you deemed everyone different from yourself.”
“Thanks for the free psycho-analysis,” I bite out, cutting her off, “If I ever care for your opinion, I'll ask for it.”
Ky spreads her hands wide, as if to say 'point in fact'. “Not my fault. It's the way everyone of us was. Each of us cut ourselves off from our worlds, on purpose. We never made an effort to be a part of the bigger picture. It was like we knew that sooner or later, we would just be torn away from it all anyways, so what would be the point of getting too attached?”
“Whatever.” I hitch the backpack higher up on my shoulders, trying to let her know that I wanted her to just drop it.
“Well, fear not, because all of us are like that, so we all have something in common. Social awkwardness.” She grins at me. The sudden mood swing is weird, as if she hadn't flipped out at me at all just moments before.
Skip looks up as we enter the kitchen. The rest are already gathered around the empty table, and all glance up as we entered the room, except for Amaar and Dutch, who were busy arm wrestling. Their arms were tightly locked, their red faces pulsing as each tried to find just a little bit more strength to topple the other, sealing their doom. Amaar was losing, Dutch slowly pushing harder and harder, twisting Amaar's arm further and further.
Jesse grins at me, “The winner gets the better blanket in their room.”
“Seriously?” I raise an eyebrow.
Dutch's head snaps up at the sound of my voice. “The blue one is way better,” he growls, “It doesn't have the stench that the other one carries.”
“They smell exactly the same, Dutch,” Ky chides, “I should know. I've got the best five senses out of us all.”
“That's not what I meant. The one leaks out more black Pressure than the other one. I'd rather not have to deal with that sort of stuff more than I have to.” His gaze flicks to me, but turned back to the arm wrestle so fast that I almost missed it.
“Stuff gives off pressure?”
“It does if it comes from a filthy Black place,” Dutch growls at the same time as Chase chimes, “No. Those two idiots just wanted something to do while they waited for you to show up. Took you long enough, by the way.”
“Well sorry. I'll try to not black out so that you guys don't have to waste time looking for me. It must have been horrible,” I snap.
“Good. As long as I have your word that you won't repeat this sort of incident in the future, I'm content,” Chase smiled, as if he actually meant it.
“Dibs playing winner,” Ky calls out.
Amaar glances up at her, and that's all Dutch needs to slam his arm hard into the table. He grins at Amaar massaging his arm, “Got'chew at last, I did.”
“No fair, I call interference, followed by immediate rematch," Amaar protested.
Skip brought the meeting to order, “Shut up! I don't care when you two sort this mess out, as long as it isn't now. Despite what delusions you may be carrying about in your head, we have actual work to do. If you two want to be a part of it, shut up. And if it really matters to you who gets the bloody blanket, there's the door. Take it somewhere else.”
Dutch just takes a swig of his bottle before passing it across the table to Amaar, who simply passes it off to Chase. Chase shrugs, chokes down a swallow, corks it, and tosses it back to Dutch, who hugs it tightly to his chest as if it were more precious to him than anything else in the world.
I take a seat next to Jesse. Ky wedges a chair in between me and Skip, “Okay, let's get to it, Skip. You're the one holding us up here. Let's get to the part where I get to beat something up.”
“If you would shut that enormous trap of yours, the meeting would be half over already,” Skip retorted good-naturedly, “Here we are, in this beautiful rendition of the Palace of Versailles, albeit on a smaller scale, but that can't be helped. Our objective is to steal the painting “Circ Bleu” from the local museum. Apparently it's something of a little gem of an artwork, then again, how would we know?”
“So, what's security like?” Jesse asks, leaning forward.
Skip shrugs, “Dunno. The idiots in charge left a lot of the details out. Then again, they always try to make it challenging, don't they?”
“So, who's on for espionage?”
“Well, I figured two love birds who were both art students at the local university could benefit from a trip to the local museum after the way their instructor went on about contemporary art being so 15th century.”
“Sweet deal,” Ky grins around me at Amaar, “Hope you studied up. There's going to be a test on it.”
“Actually, Ky,” Skip interrupts, “I was thinking more along the lines of Jesse and Brandee. Jesse needs to go in to get a visual.”
“So? I'll be his girlfriend,” Ky grins.
“I'm pretty sure you look old enough to be my mother,” Jesse chirps, unobtrusively backing away from the table to gain more space between him and Ky.
She glowers at him, “Fine line, Sticky, very fine line.”
“Wait,” I interrupt, “Does that mean that I have to go?”
“Check out the brains on Booze,” Dutch snorts.
“Dang it all,” Chase explodes quietly, “Who told him?”
Amaar guiltily raises his hand, “Sorry. It just sort of slipped out.”
“What else just sort of slips out of that big trap of yours, genius? Don't answer that, I don't want to find out that Jesse is actually a twenty foot brainless monkey with a computer program to make