The cane felt like a crutch, but it kept him upright. He passed a dog, and it barked a friendly, sharp hello. He tapped his response back with the cane, rattling the fence gently. The little animal was delighted by all this noise and ran giddy circles, still barking, as the man continued.

Currently, I was sitting by a viewing port at the top of one of the most important buildings in the base: the solar decryption tower. I was surrounded by plush leather from earth. They really built these original buildings with superior sensibilities than anyone would bother with these days.

I took a swig of Mountain Dew, wiped my hand on my sweats, and leaned a little bit forward. Someone was coming into range. I clicked; signals raced and a virtual bullet flew into a virtual chest. Strangely, I felt it in my chest.

Blades. Arrows. These I withstood, but the hooves were too much for me. Thunder that kills. I lifted my head. At the end of the meadow, through the deep grass, I could see shadows moving beneath the trees. They were amassing for another assault.

The waiter returned to my table, croissant and espresso at the ready. I took a bite of the croissant. I could feel the chocolate melt on my tongue. The espresso would be too hot for a sip, but I brought it close to my face, breathed in deeply, and savored the warm acidity of the aroma.

All night long I had been walking through the densest fog I’d ever seen. It billowed and wrapped itself around everything, padding the world, deadening sound, and rendering eyesight almost useless. My lantern shone bright, but the fog revealed nothing.

The temperature was grey too. I was just cold enough to be uncomfortable, yet not cold enough to merit wearing thick stockings or a heavier dress. I held the attaché case close. Bright blue, it alone represented an escape to another world where sun and light reigned supreme.

Jungles are dangerous at night. At all times, really. Everything in a jungle is vying for resources in order to stay alive, and it takes incredible focus and ruthlessness to pull it off. As I like to put it, everything in the jungle wants to eat you.

The coins themselves were nondescript. Pitch black, like you were looking into glass, but they were definitely metal. They were always ice cold. It felt like they absorbed heat somehow. I tried to take care of them as well as I could, but they didn’t seem to scratch easily.

Dear diary, even with the weather being as bad as it was, the views are worth it. The passes are up above the clouds. I didn’t cover much distance today, but I did climb a lot of elevation and it seems like I’m above the storms for the most part now.

I held dinners and galas and other events where I displayed the differences between various methods of cultivation, purely for the benefit of the public. I labored tirelessly in the education of the youth. I have to admit, I got a little bit too wrapped up in it all. For a while I was called the king of flowers. Looking back, I am certain that I let it go to my head.

I blinked and there was water everywhere. I was in a pool, back home. Inflatable camels and palm trees all around me. I had a huge drink in my hand with a ridiculous, tiny umbrella. I could smell the sugar and the alcohol as I lifted it to my mouth, tilted my head back.

The view from the top is majestic. I feel like a bird, careless as it surfs across the myriad gusts of wind. There is a young man who instructs me in the safety precautions—don’t do anything stupid, don’t try to get hurt, keeps your arms by your side—and then I am in the water. It’s ice cold, and I can smell the chlorine.

The streets are narrow, but they open up into wide squares and quadrangles. Everyone is speaking different languages. My hands are sweaty. My pace quickens, then slacks, then I turn sharply and try to go in a new direction. They all lead back to the same square, somehow. Or maybe every square is alike.

The water was like glass today. Our boat had been sitting for about an hour, I could see down into the swaying weeds. There were plenty of sunnies darting in and out of the strands, and the occasional hunting pike lurking in the shadows. Watching from above felt like seeing a forest from the sky. This must be what eagles feel like.

The tall one hopped easily from a wall to a post, then stood surveying the endless city lights. Buildings stretched upwards around them and off into the distance: endless Tokyo. Lights and the smell of food and sounds of traffic jumped to attention in lulls of the wind.

I was close enough that I could tell where the speaker was. I knew the route that would get me there quickest, but I slipped behind a looming, blue-tarped heap of abandoned metal. I heard low voices. The two men I’d been following. I knew it. I rounded the corner in a flash, pistol at the ready.

I had bent over to smell a perfectly-aligned shrub of red roses when I heard a discomforting rustling behind me. I turned around with all the decorum required by the situation (but not a drop more) and found myself face to face with a huge, shaggy wolf.

I started to smell morning. What few plants there were prepared for the coming heat, and the scent of the ground changed ever so slightly as the sparse foliage pulled in any last vapors or droplets of water.

Several tedious minutes of scraping later and we ran into a problem: one of the beams in the wall was blocking us from getting at the painting.