Free The Solution by TA Williams

things co nsidered, taking down the machines was accomplished quite minimally, Randal thought.
    Then a Black Cat executed an unexpected tactic. The soldier jabbed a cylindrical stake into the floor, engaged a switch, and a piercing frequency belted.
    Ultrasonic pain slammed and blood began dripping from Randal’s ears and he couldn’t control his thoughts. Vision fuzzed like trying to look through waterfall.
    Suddenly a shadow darted toward Randal coupled with the violet, singeing glow of plasma. Convinced his grizzly end had finally come, Randal was certain he’d been outwitted, which Randal would freely admit couldn’t of have been terribly difficult to do.
    Suddenly there was snag in the gears of time, or reality.
    E verything stopped when a presence of such awesome and terrible force was felt just as much as heard.
    Randal wasn’t harmed. This wasn’t his final windup, after all, but an inception of something larger than himself, into something much larger than himself. It was like time had a glitch, Randal believed, and he was then standing at the threshold of the corridor looking onto a nightmarish unreality. The stench of blood, guts, and plasma boxed and punched at his senses. It took all he had to keep from vomiting.
    Randal’s perspective had totally changed. The damaged RMS were now but green blips on the filters of actuality; the Black Cats were gore-covered skeletons locked in midair like slow-motion wraiths, wearing functional spectra-goggles. And it all happened faster than Randal could keep up with.
    Randal understood at once what he observed was not the whole truth but a fraction of truths crammed together to form an illusory state. But then again, how could he really know what was real or fake anymore, the way his life was going. But it felt real, realer than his name. The main question he wanted an answer to is, once again, why he was here. He got the notion that he’d not hear a straight answer for while to come, if ever. That was life these days.
    Randal briefly contemplated the carnage in front of him. Before he could make any progress a swell of cool air came like a wave and brushed across his face, as if washing the blood and dirt away. But soon the coolness turned into jellyfish-like stings on his skin. He was certain this dreamscape wasn’t manufactured, but only misunderstood.
    The hurt abruptly stopped, and from the darkness in the lobby, Elizabeth walked toward Randal. She was deathly pale, dark circle under eyes, hospital gown soaked with sweat. At a closer look, her form appeared to be a daunting emulsion of a thousand images; she was a thousand different angles and viewpoints at once; yet Randal conceived her as a singular being, smelling of tulips and rain.
    Randal was overtaken with both dread and awe. He wanted to run, but he stood transfixed, unable to move.
    Her green eyes shown vividly and certain as she said, “Reality has a virus, and I’m it. You’ll have to stop me, or I’ll slay you all.”
    The scenes before Randal skip ped a few beats, palpitating, then, sped up to near normality. The dreamscape corroded and ended, letting another indisputable truth filter through at the Vintage Hotel. If havoc had an appetite, these were the leftovers. Corpses, ashes, and air stained with violet light.
    Christopher M said , “You’re lucky! You almost got smoked. I saved your ass there, twinkle-toes. We aced three more Black Cats. Got their gear.”
    Alex Treaty, Georgia and Plum Charlie kneeled beside Randal. All the Black Cats were dead and the RMS shut down. Randal concluded that his aversion to his circumstances just reached a severity of monsoonal proportions. 
    “I hate you,” Randal said .
    Christopher M volleyed, “Step in line. Everybody that knows hates it, and if you know, you know—then you will hate.”
    Alex Treaty said, “We’re leaving. Now.”
     
    ***
     
    I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” Mr. Spires said lowly. “I’m so sorry.”
    Elizabeth came to as a