In central Asia the wind breathed through a bonsai forest. As leaves fluttered, chemicals excreted from their veins began to mix into a cocktail to form a language, building steam into a conversation.

Two bonsais posed a philosophical and telling story:

"We have detected an aural shift, the bitter tasting water has reached our roots and shows us sign of fracture. Some entity, other than our creator, has altered our history. Splitting and forming a wayward design, a new curriculum of fate.

There is a parasitic haven in the strings of resonance, nestled in the coils of multi modal realization. The Creator must be made aware of these bent laws. We are here to protect and exist through parallel, to help the All enforce its benevolent nature and truth. We are here to extend and patrol, to help keep a vigilant eye in the interest of control.

These winds carry a dire warning; hardships are on the horizon between the parasitic few who have ascended in history and amplified their being into seats of power so strong as to mold life it's self. These transgressions are not to be taken lightly. They give credence to a lawless bunch, to a union of beings who do not have stake in the particular roles they try to extend themselves into.

We call for the quasars in the vast to cry out in anger, for the volcanoes on sparsely populated planets to erupt in frustration. The ebb and flow of our river of All, of our one unit of reality will tremble and quake in the wake of these mournful bellows. Our Creator must be reached. It must hear of these shameful acts of assault on all that is Truth."

In a supply closet somewhere on the New Agro-Tech Appointment Securities campus, cleaning supplies began to distort around a fuzzy blob of emerging energy. Streaming from a starry vortex, Mitchell emerged in one piece with very little problems. As he exited into the corridor he assumed the form of an old graying janitor. He was glad that Tim had been excluded on this trip; not only would Mitchell had to have used a portal to escort his living companion, Tim would most likely have only proved to serve as a hindrance to his spying.

Usually busy as a rising newly renamed startup business venture, the office building had now finely settled into silence as few wage slaves remained after hours. Stalking the halls using door and wall alike as entryways Mitchell quickly found his way to several project manager desks, peering over notes and memos before he finally reached the desk of the CEO. Calling forth a clock which dropped down above him like some cartoonish sized icon of a pocket watch Mitchell willed the hands to roll backwards.

With the hands of the clock moving counterclockwise the office building seem to light up, doors mysteriously opened, items were used. As the pace quickened it suddenly slowed to a crawl. Taking a chair behind the CEO's desk he began to will the hands forward incrementally, all the while staring at the computer monitor. At times pens would be picked up by imaginary hands and memos would rewrite themselves and place them in the piles they had been only minutes before.

Mitchell always felt amused by this oddity that came with his ability to timeshift. While in the astral the time would relapse and one could see the motions of life taking place, but the souls themselves existed now elsewhere in the physical plane. Generally speaking you would rarely see, feel, touch, or hear those around you unless their auras had such a heavy presence it wouldn't dilute easily through the future present. Mitchell feared those instances the most; if a person had a powerful enough energy signature still resonating, it was possible for them to notice subconsciously in little ways. It could be as simple as the feeling of someone watching over your shoulder, to a sudden shiver up your spine. Even if Mitchell wasn't currently spying on you where you were at that moment, the ripple affect would still occur to maintain the balance of time-space.

If this extra rule had not been created at the time of existence, there would be no feasible “back door” to separate time and space. It would begin to contradict it's self and cancel everything out. Indeed, this extra dimension keeps fluidity between the two to separate and dampen that friction. Peering at memos and e-mails Mitchell began to catch on to what New Agro-Tech Appointment Securities was doing.

In the short term, they had purchased a plot of land. In the long term, they were acquiring capital and resources to build a large casino, resort, mall, theme park, theater, and concert hall. They were developing a serious venture to serve every demographic they could in hopes of a microeconomy large enough to ensure serious profitable returns. As the time advanced, the watch began to struggle to catch minute by minute. At one point, it skipped ten minutes. Unaccustomed to such a thing, Mitchell bumped the hands back a few times, each time while a new second reappeared in the time line he was trying to follow a stutter had appeared to shake the fabric of existence. Mitchell whistled as he marveled with the whole setting around him shimmer, shake, blotch, and fade. Finally the CEO's door opened and Mitchell saw a wispy figure enter and have a conversation towards the CEO, or at this point, Mitchell from the CEO's plush office chair.

The figure looked human, although a mass of a dark glowing energy existed in some crude outline inside the boundaries of the original shape.

“We have run into problems securing the labor,” the wispy figure says. “No, don't worry, it won't be much longer. We already have a few people hired--” the figure stopped in mid flight, and began to pace around the room. “Do you smoke cigars?”

Mitchell erupted out of his seat and paused the watch, then after producing his own pocket watch from the inner folds of his trench coat he set the clock back to the current reality, willing time to move forward once again in the correct fashion. “That was seriously close,” he said to himself as he raised his hand in a dismissive gesture only to have the clock melt to the floor and fizzle into the fabric of reality. “Whoever that was doesn't read right,” Mitchell tore a hole into existence and stepped through.

* * *

Forming from all points of nowhere Mitchell appeared in a long line of people. He stared at the entryway to Heaven, looking much more like the gate to a theme park than the divine afterlife. Cutting from line and moving over towards an information booth, its female attendant stared idly at a beauty magazine. Mitchell cleared his throat and the girl raised her gaze to meet Mitchell's. “I need to get through, I have to report to Lou.”

The girl rolled her eyes in a reaction to hearing it all before. “Please stand in line and wait your turn to enter sir.” She went back to eying the magazine.

Mitchell huffed and took out his notepad and pen. “Whats your name Missy, I'm going to have a word with your supervisor.”

The girl looked up with a look of defiance, almost stifling a laugh. “Sir, you're dead and this is Heaven. Please, stand in line.”

Mitchell dropped his pen realizing that the girl had not understood his request at all. He pulled out his badge and flashed it. “Look, I'm Mitchell, a Divine Detective. I need to report to the big guy to keep him updated on a case I'm working.”

The girl's eyes lit up with an “Oh,” erupting from her mouth to signal her recognition of the event. Shuffling around some papers on the desk, she lifted up a note and handed it to him.

With trepidation Mitchell poured over a letter written by Saint Peter.

Dear Mitchell,

As you are not aware of the new teleporting policy outlined in the last meeting with Michael, due to security risks we have instituted a key fob used to randomly enumerate an energy signature on the grid to verify your identity and to grant you immediate access to the corporate campus. As the coordinator of said meeting, I apologize that I had not notified you to attend. It just slipped my mind. Please wait in line and tell the booth attendant to send you directly to my office for your key fob.

Forever your Punchline,

Saint Peter

With a growl of frustration Mitchell crumbled up the piece of paper and threw it in the general direction of the nearest waste basket. “Now I know what he meant when he said fighting with tact was more rewarding than words.” Taking a spot in line, Mitchell checked the time on his watch and began to tap his foot as the line inched forward. If he was lucky he'd be there by tonight, just before tomorrow.

Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States