As she wrote down the instructions preparing her arrangements for tomorrow, she was apprehensively looking forward to falling asleep, having vague sensations that last night’s dream had ended in disaster. Sure, she could’ve simply foregone the Rarebit, but the cheese was just sitting there, just begging to be eaten. If she didn’t eat it, someone else would, and she didn’t want to be responsible for someone else’s nightmares. Better to suffer in their stead instead.
Dozing off, she vaguely recalled how the events of last night ended, but fatigue overtook her faster than her regret did and she was
walking alongside the Archeologist, who was in a recapitulationary mood. “...pressure plates have been pressed, so it’s now safe to venture to the next room.”
Wait, this wasn’t where she left off! Unlike last night, she’d completely forgotten about being in a dream, and so had the Archeologist. Both of them had slipped back into their natural roles, with her reverting back to her demure obedient personality, following the Archeologist’s unreasonable demands without question. Neither of them had any memory of their monstrous forms, and neither of them found it unusual that the eight pressure points had been successfully triggered without having any memory of how it happened.
She was about to voice a protest, until the Archeologist swiftly turned her direction, his facial features taking a scary expression. “Critical comment?”
“N-no.”
“Good,” his face reverting back to his natural handsome arrogant state. They made their way deeper into the Temple until the two of them reached the next destination. “Here we are. The Chamber or Records.”
It was a large antechamber with a predetermined path lined across the floor tiles that gave the impression of an ancient obstacle course, and unlike the other rooms in the temple, was filled with visible moving spikes.
“You don’t have to worry about dying here. Death is not a deterrence.”
“What do you - ”
“Here, I’ll show you.” And the Archeologist openly fell into a spike-filled pit, his body becoming riddled with holes puncturing his seemingly invincible form. On one hand, she was horrified, and on the other, she was relieved, until she realized she had no idea how to get out of this veritable deathtrap. All these conflicting emotions were rendered moot when the Archeologist showed up next to her, looking none the less worse for the wear. “See, perfectly normal!”
“But - I saw you die - ” she looked down at the pit, only to see the body had mysteriously disappeared.
“We’re fortunate this kind of temple cleans up after itself. Other temples aren’t so considerate, leaving corpses lying around, resulting in having to die thousands of times just to cross a bottomless pit.”
“What do I have to do?” she asked, already resigning herself to her fate.
“Oh, it’s nothing difficult,” he explained, walking across the room, ignoring the lines on the floor and situating himself at the other end. “All you have to do is cross this room of traps in a specific pattern, touching these numbered plates as you go, until you reach the other side where I’ll be waiting.”
“If it’s so easy, why can’t you do it?”
“Somebody’s got to be pressing the button at the opportune time! And it might as well be me.”
“That hardly seems like a fair division of labour.”
“Who’s got a doctorate in doctorology?”
There it was. That was his go-to quote for shutting down any further discussion. After all, he had an ology, and she didn’t, even though the methods he’d gone to acquire that title was highly suspect. “I’ll go.”
“Perfect. Oh, by the way, try not to get too addicted to dying.”
“What?”
“Get going!” he said, pushing her forward. She was certain she would be caught in one of the many traps, and was sure she would be irreparably damaged beyond recognition if she made the tiniest mistake, so she cautiously made her way around doing her best to dodge the obstacles as best as she could. She was sure there would be some kind of dreadful penalty if she got killed, so did whatever it took to avoid getting hurt in the slightest. She was certain that impending doom would be peeking somewhere out of the corner where she wouldn’t see coming, yet seemed to be getting through without much problem. The longer she remained unscathed, the more nervous she became, certain that at any moment, she would have an undeserved death after surviving for so long. The thought of having to repeat all the steps she’d gone wasn’t something she was looking forward to.
But no traps caught her unawares, and she managed to touch all the plates without much problem. By the time she made it to the other side, she was amazed at how well she’d done. Even the Archeologist seemed surprised.
“Not bad for a first time! But I’m sure you can do better.” And then he stabbed her, bringing her back to start.
And then she woke up.
Ugh. It looked like she’d have to do a two-parter. It was one thing to have an ongoing dream. It was another to have a dream that would have a similar theme from last night. The whole point was the lack of predictability! What would she have to look forward to now?
She opened her eyes and found she was encased in darkness. This wasn’t much of a deterrence from her morning routine, since she already knew where every needed item was, all of them purposefully close by, and started by washing her body, changing her clothes and eating breakfast in her cramped quarters.
This lack of lighting wasn’t due to the power going out, but from the conditions of her current situation she’d set up the night before. She’d assembled a large enough packing crate with a written address she’d carefully laboured over, painstakingly making sure she got every letter right. Then she placed the box outside the front entrance with all the other mailing packages, got inside and waited to be picked up as she fell asleep.
This mailing route was made popular when a curious customer asked how much it would cost to deliver a package weighing a certain amount equivalent to a human being to a tropical island? Theoretically speaking. The customer’s boldness was only further endowed when told about the discount services allowed for allowing multiple packages in bulk. The next day, a series of heavily weighed boxes with proper postage was neatly placed right at the postal service entrance, with the curious customer curiously nowhere in sight. In fact, he and his entire family seemed to have mysteriously vanished overnight.
Poof.
As it turned out, this transport system proved to be immensely popular, and the risks were raised higher with the removal of air holes. The only problem was, it was TOO popular, and there was a bulkload of heavy packages to be delivered on a timely fashion, which wound up clogging the pathways that were normally reserved for smaller mailing routes. The whole dilemma could’ve been easily resolved if the proper channels were enlarged to prevent jamming, but people were more likely to use a flagrant method if it meant they were getting away with it.
And then, the interior that’d laid dormant for so long finally started to move. She felt the perpetual motion of being carried, the vibration of the transport system ferrying her across, the rough handling of her fragile form with other packages. The most maddening part of this delivery system was not being able to see any of the outside elements influencing her situation. She was continuously tussled and tossed within the confines of her self-imposed cell, unable to exert any influence on the outside forces with no regard for her well-being. That was fine as long as she got to where she was going. After much tumblous tossing and turning, the extraneous forces that’d been carrying her along finally stopped.
This was one of the suggested plans for allowing the Scientist access inside, but that was fraught with its own perils. Every imported package mailed towards the Building was inspected for their contents before being delivered, so even if there were secret compartments or multiple boxes within, the Scientist still would’ve been discovered. Not to mention there was a large backlog of mailed visitors still waiting to be allowed inside.
Gaining direct access inside the Building would’ve made her later than usual even if she used the express route which was way above her affordable price range. What the Girl did was much simpler. Rather than mail herself inside the Building directly, she mailed herself a few streets away from her worksite. From there, she only had to wait until her box was opened before thanking the confused recipient and making her way out.
At least, that was the plan. There was the persistent danger of no early arrivals coming by to open the alluring large package just inviting to be opened. In these instances, she waited for any vibrations of determined movement. When the length of time exceeded her patience and the ground felt level, she would attempt to bust out with a handy crowbar she’d packed inside, among other items including breakfast. (No point in arriving on an empty stomach when she could eat along the way.)
She cautiously pried a slot away to get a peek outside, gauging her location and hoping her sight of vision wasn’t obscured by other boxes. It’d be disastrous if she wound up surrounded by boxes impeding her exit. To prevent this, she’d labeled the outside container with warning signs of HIGHLY RADIOACTIVE, FLESH EATING, SENSITIVE COMBUSTIBLE and VERY CORROSIVE which were more effective than if she’d written HANDLE WITH CARE. Even so, she was still carelessly jostled about without much care.
Taking a look through the eyehole, she saw to her relief that the other packages were not only a safe distance away, but that no one else could be seen. It was a mystery why no one bothered to come close or open her package. Once out, she took hold of the box she was in, and carried it, passing other large containers that could’ve been carrying inconspicious items, knocking their exteriors, declaring “The coast’s clear” along the way, just to be safe.
She’d only gone a few strides, when a Courier sifting through the mess took notice of her actions.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to take that!”
“This is MY mail! It’s addressed to me!”, she responded with indignation, holding her identification up. The tone was enough for the Courier to leave her alone after doing a perfunctory name check. This was important, since if a proper investigation was done, they’d realize that she didn’t actually live anywhere near these addresses. She kept her cool as she was being scrutinized, only relaxing her guard when the Courier’s attention glared over her shoulder and asked, “What’s going on over there?” Once he was distracted by the sudden movement of other mailed containers waking up, she’d make her escape.
As expected, she got there five minutes late.
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