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59 Raytheon switch

Dick Overtone, groomed to not feel anxiety. The Department of Stale Sciences had chosen him the first tryout for their Evil Serum. 6/6/60.

If that crazy bastard Mantell was to be believed, what would stop Kindred Tate from one day finding that modified ViewMaster, the tell-all?

Plans gone wrong, use test subjects in group homes, let them see the Trinity, the light taking people to pieces, a toy transformed nightmare.

He pieced together records since he snapped his fingers and realities flipped daddio, Mantell was dead but Kindred let Offal live, why eye?

Was he finally catching on? Nothing was linear here, so why should anyone's individual lives be anything but a roll of his brain dice?

Karin would eventually go mad, Overtone would help her along, maybe Kindred understood in his odd paisley-streaming torrent torment mind.

Overtone was above life, over the three realities he had control over. Until he thought this out, he would let Kindred play with his women.

Dick hated it when kids called him DickO in high school. At the time he still wanted to be known as Richard. Classy moniker, King Richard.

He loved Widmark in Panic in the Streets. Semidocumentray film noir, Elia Kazan. But DickO was a wormy boy, weak, dissipated, introspective.

Became a turbine technician on a Navy cruiser during the Korean War. Never got abovedecks, they wouldn't let him, he was the best they had.

A turbine is a rotary engine that extracts energy from a fluid flow. From the Latin turbo, or vortex. So DickO was a Master of the Vortex.

After the war, Overtone built an impulse turbine in his basement using computational fluid dynamics. Calculations on a paper shopping bag.

Neighbors complained after his contraption sucked the shingles off their roofs, roaring like the hounds of hell. DickO couldn't hear them.

He was deaf from spending years listening to his turbine cry. Called it his Baby. He loved spending time with his Baby. His reputation grew.

One day a man in black sunglasses came to his front door, his chiseled jaw aslant. Governmental operative, hush hush, don't get too close.

Recruited Mr. DickO to head up a Top Secret experimental project called Joy Motel. They told him that it had something to do with turbines.

Thoughtcontrol drug-assisted, mindtrip, lifeblip, come to papa. Select clientele, handpicked from prisons, nuthouses, AWOLs, streetcorners.

They gave DickO the basement @JoyMotel and he outdid himself. He handbuilt the world's most potent turbine farm, massive parallel armlinks.

One day Overtone bumped a Raytheon switch, melted a Hershey bar, gummed up the dual gate bonding mechanism, and the switch stayed active.

Imagine being in the hold of the Titanic as it shuddered and went under, then multiply that by a factor of 100. The Earth moved off its axis.

From that day forward, or backward, all bets were off. An UnterReality hole ripped a neat hole in the fabric of time, then kept growing.

DickO's ability to control his creation was severely compromised. The inhabitants @JoyMotel bounced through decades, fleas in a glass jar.


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