Tomorrow is Never Promised

**Titchborne**

Waking up in the real world is incredibly depressing. You can never quite get the taste of that awful gruel out of your mouth and you are inevitably cold and dirty. Hovercraft bunks have a long way to go before they can even begin to compare to the comfort of one of those great big beds in the Boss' Chateau. My chiropractor says I have a sensitive back and I should avoid torture racks like the bunks on my ship. Does it matter that he only thinks he's a chiropractor or that's he has only ever examined my virtual back? I don't think so; and I prefer sleeping in the simulation anyway. I guess that's what got me in trouble.

---

I'm strolling down the red carpet with a member of the Spice Girls on each arm. I'm surrounded by celebrities and photographers and they all want just a second of my time. One quick interview, one more picture. I pose graciously, spinning my lovely dates to show their best sides, when everything shatters into tiny pieces. I wake up once, then again. My heads spins as I try to figure out where I am and what's going on. Am I awake or still dreaming?

---

I can never figure out why I dream about fame and fortune. It's not the life that I chose. It's just not in the cards for someone like me. Yet still I dream. Maybe I've chosen the wrong path. Maybe I just really want to date a Spice Girl.

---

I look around and see nothing but chaos and destruction. Twisted steel and sparking conduits surround my jack-in chair. Red emergency lighting bathes everything in a hellish glow. Where is my operator? I pull myself out of the chair and go looking for my answer. The way to the bridge is dangerous. Live wires hang from the ceiling, spitting their fury. The angles are all wrong. Everything is cocked up at a 60 degree angle. I carefully climb up the gangway. I make it to the bridge, tired and confused but otherwise unharmed. The gravity of the situation becomes apparent very quickly. The bridge is smashed, a battered piece of the sewer wall where the front windshield should be. The computers are destroyed, and as I survey the wreckage I find the answer to my earlier question about my operator. Crushed. Still in the pilot seat.

---

I wonder how I keep getting myself into situations like this. I'm a careful person. I try and avoid taking unnecessary risks. So how does it happen? Why is it that I'm always flirting with death? Maybe I shouldn't ask questions like that. Maybe I should just be glad that the flirting hasn't turned into a death-grip. Yet.

---

I pick my way to an emergency hatch. I turn the wheel and pull with all of my strength. Unfortunately, I'm not as strong in the real as I am in the simulation. It's hard, but I know I'll die in here if I can't get this hatch open. I fetch a piece of twisted metal and use it as a lever to pry the hatch open. I'm free. The wreck isn't any prettier from the outside. My ship is wedged up into a corner of a tunnel, smashed beyond all repair. I briefly wonder what caused this, before wondering how I survived. The thoughts are brief, because I have a fair bit of survival to go before I can log this as another Titchborne adventure. I'm stranded in the tunnels with no idea where I am. Help could be on the way, but how long will it take to arrive?

---

Sometimes I marvel at the society-that-was. The sewers are so huge, the cities they served must have covered the Earth and scraped the skies. We did so well as a species for so long. How did we let it all come to this? Such a waste.

---

Days pass. A Sentinel swoops through the tunnel and I hide in the wreckage. It pauses briefly, scanning the wreckage. It passes me by. Better things to do, I guess. If anyone knows where I am and cares to come get me they're taking their sweet *CENSORED* time. I get hungry and I search for something edible. Everything is dead down here. I can't find so much as a rat. I thought they were plentiful in sewers. Not in the real I guess. I scavenge the wreck and come up with some essentials. A jacket, so I won't freeze to death; a working zap gun, in case I run into another Sentinel; a bag full of the slop that passes for food on a hovercraft. The gruel is dry, but it's better than starving to death. I pick a direction and start walking.

---

I've always hated walking. Way back in the pod, I was always the type to take a cab to the corner store. A friend invited me out for a hiking trip in the mountains once. I begged him off, saying I had too much work. About a week later I saw a news report that he had gone missing. Bad luck for him, good luck for me. Too bad he still owed me money.

---

Freezing and exhausted, I make my way toward an unknown destination. Telling time without the sun is impossible. It feels like days, but it could be weeks. I don't sleep. I try to take short naps, but vibrations in the tunnels always wake me. The gruel gave out long ago, and I feel myself getting weaker. It's getting harder and harder to keep myself going, but I know that if I stop I'm going to die down here. It doesn't help to have no idea where I'm going. The way the tunnels curve and intersect, ascend and descend, I could be going in circles for all I know. Still I press on, pushing my atrophied muscles to their limits. As I feel myself starting to lose consciousness, I wonder if I'll dream about the Spice Girls when I die. What I wouldn't give for a scotch and a cheeseburger.

---

Fate and mortality are such crazy concepts. To think that it really doesn't matter what you do, you are going to die one day...it's mind-boggling. I guess the most important thing is to enjoy it while it lasts, because tomorrow is never promised.

---

I'm strolling down the red carpet with a member of the Spice Girls on each arm. My first thought is that I'm dead, and this is all I could come up with for an idea of heaven. Pathetic. Before I'm consumed with self-loathing over my lackluster conception of eternal bliss, I wake up. I'm underwater with a tube down my throat. I'm in a tank of some kind, surrounded by strange faces. I'm on a hovercraft. I'm saved. I just hope the ship's owners are understanding to the Merovingian cause. I'm sure we can work out some sort of deal.

**MxO-Insertion**

If anyone should have information regarding the whereabouts of this liaison, do make contact with one of us Merovingian operatives.

A reward may be in order, though don't waste our time with nonsense.

**Othinn1**

Sweet. These kind of stories from LESIG are always appreciated. ^-^

**MxO-Insertion**

Othinn1 wrote:

Sweet. These kind of stories from LESIG are always appreciated. ^-^

(( Yup. Was a good read! ))

**Hanzyl and Gretyl**

Indeed Insertion, lets get Titchborne home and safe. Use all resources available to accomplish this and i'm sure we shall be rewarded.

(( can i go to a party with you Titchborne? Cause thats right up Gretyl's ally. ))

AlphaCoder

Titch! My friend, my Liason, we'll get you back, don't worry. Just hang in there so you can walk out with your head held up high.

**Manatik**

Be safe Titch, help is on the way

**nighthawk**

You can count on us. Just keep your wits about you for now.

**MxO-Insertion**

Well, I don't suppose anyone can share any valuable information on his whereabouts?

...Systematica, I'm still awaiting your response that you so kindly promised before attempting to shoot my brain out onto the floor.

**Systematica**

Exile operative Insertion,

You will soon receive an answer to your concerns directly from your liaisons. I am positive that you understand the attempt on your RSI is basic Machine Law protocol.

Efficiently,

Systematica

System Liaison Officer

Shadow Griever

at least she didn't step on you with her Averos later on, Insertion...

**Manatik**

Hang in there Titch Im coming for you

BrazZz

hold on my Friend ,

we chasing BettyBoom to resuce u my friend.

Tasvyder inform us about all new changes.

My thoughts beeing with you

oh titch dont give up in shame and sorrow !!!!!!!!