Post by Fiona McFly on Aug 21, 2018 16:42:38 GMT
Chapter I
“FUTURE IMPERFECT”
15 August 2058 + 1430 GMT
Forty years into the future…
A shadowy figure stood inside an expansive office that doubled as a studio apartment, staring out the back window and down onto the pedestrian-crowded streets of Washington, DC.
It was a far cry from the suburban neighbourhood she used to live in. There was a bundle of energy on the outside as streamlined cars and trucks with hover conversion technology flew past. Everything on the inside and outside felt brand-new and clean, from the glass skyscrapers around her building to the overall environment, which was free from air pollution.
Yet as a radio news clip began to play, she fully understood that this ‘perfect’ time came at a massive cost:
”...police are expected to hold a news conference on the accident later this afternoon. In other news...former Temporal Science and Exploration Secretary Fiona McFly is expected to unveil the newest concept in temporal travel, a state-of-the-art timeship dubbed the 'Falcon,' at the World’s Fair and Exposition which is slated for September 9 through the 21st in Arlington, Texas. Democraftic Socialist sympathizers, still upset over their army’s surrender to Constitutional Republican forces at Gettysburg twelve years ago, are expected to launch major protests during the event...”
It was a period of peace that followed the bloodiest conflict in American history.
The Second Civil War had been fresh on her mind for the past decade, a six-year-long conflict, lasting from 2041 to 2046, that saw a Democratic Socialist seperatist faction clash with Constitutional Republicans in a battle to the death over several issues that had been boiling over since Donald Trump’s election in 2016. It was fought, as historians have said, in a hundred thousand places from coast to coast, in small rural towns and large cities. The damage done during the war was overwhelming to say the least.
Over thirty-five million people were dead, and ten million more were still suffering from physical and psychological trauma.
Most of the country’s infrastructure had been decimated.
Most of its major cities, including Boston, New York City, Los Angeles, Houston, and Seattle, were left in ruins.
The woman slowly sat down in her swiveling leather chair and took a sip from a mug filled with piping hot coffee. She felt a sense of loss and longing in her heart. This wasn’t the future she had envisioned, and she wished she could have done more to set things right in her own mind. Her meditation period was short-lived as a door chime sounded.
“Come!”
Her voice, a distinctive hybrid of Irish and British dialects, bellowed out for the visitor to enter the office. Within seconds, a stately gentleman, aged 33 and sporting a black business suit with matching tie, strolled in with a tablet in hand. We can see that his right arm was missing, an injury sustained during the war.
“Madame Secretary, here are the files you requested.”
She received the tablet and adjusted her reading glasses so she could inspect the content. Nodding her head warmly, she turned around to face her subordinate, and we get a first glimpse of who this woman really was. It was none other than Fiona McFly--now aged 76 with flowing white hair, her faced lined with wrinkled dimples and scars from years’ past, most of which date back to the war and some from her previous travels as a wrestler.
Yet her determination to keep holding onto her sense of duty and honour was still present.
It had been forty years since Fiona had retired from professional wrestling, and time hasn’t been kind to her in the slightest bit. Yet in spite of it all, including surviving the harrowing Battle of Houston during the Second Civil War, she remained a public figure even in retirement from the sport she once loved. After leaving wrestling, she would get a minor to go along with her B.A.’s in Political Science and Communication, a certificate in the new Temporal Mechanics field from UT-Arlington. Her concepts and ideas during a twenty-five year career in the chosen field eventually led her to accepting a Cabinet-level position under the administration of the Centrist Party’s James Gilmore, himself a former wrestler that found his second calling in politics after his own retirement.
Sadly, Gilmore’s presidency, whose aim was to keep the country together through a centre-leaning agenda, had been overshadowed by the Second Civil War. He was killed by an assassin’s bullet shortly after the end of the war in 2047. These days, the aging Fiona had the daunting burden of continuing her friend’s vision, even after leaving the White House during the succeeding administration.
OLD FIONA MCFLY:
Much appreciated. What is the status on the Falcon?
The man in the suit smiled from ear to ear. The Falcon was based upon one of James Gilmore’s childhood drawings, an out-of-this world car-plane time vehicle that was just a sampling of his wild imagination. Fiona, along with her staff, would eventually bring that memory to life in a process that began during the war.
It would soon culminate with an exhibition of the vehicle at an upcoming World’s Fair.
“She’s as ready as she’ll ever be, waiting for you to take the wheel, but…”
He paused, blew a bubble from the gum he was chewing, and continued his report.
“...I must caution you. The time core is still in the experimental stage and needs to undergo some more tests before the exhibition.”
Fiona nodded.
OLD FIONA:
Good, but…I hope you realise I'm not waiting until the exhibition. Those files you gave me are quite…beneficial indeed. ‘Cos frankly...I shall be leaving on an impromptu mission tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t know if or when I’m ever going to be back.
The subordinate perked up his brows, knowing what the ‘files’ on that tablet actually were. They were Fiona’s retirement papers and photos from her past life, dated with a folder that read “AUGUST 31, 2018.” It was at this point when he began to suspect what the elderly McFly was planning on doing.
“Are you sure you want to go back in time to prevent yourself from retiring from wrestling!?! One little mishap and you might end up as good as dead--or worse.”
Fiona sighed, sipping from her coffee which consisted of nothing else except for milk and sugar.
OLD FIONA:
I am well aware of the danger Bobby. I’ve done plenty of dangerous things in me lifetime, and this mission is no different than what I used to do.
Bobby Gilmore, son of former President James Gilmore and now one of Fiona’s longest-serving assistants, shook his head as he took a seat on a small white leather sofa. He was a proud scientist--nothing more, nothing less--who had spent the past five years of his life developing the timeship concept under his boss’s close watch. Yet he also wanted to be the aging Fiona’s ‘voice of reason’ so to speak, thinking that she was turning senile.
BOBBY GILMORE:
On the contrary ma’am, this ‘mission’ of yours is very different from the life you used to have. What you’re about to undertake could irrevocably change the natural course of history as we know it and potentially lead to a time paradox if things go sour.
OLD FIONA:
Apparently, certain parties didn’t get the memorandum when they just happened to appear in 2018 from a future point in time to cause even more needless problems. Did you put that into your analysis?!
BOBBY:
I'm afraid not, but still...the Second Civil War happened because nobody knew whether the Socialists or Republicans were either right or wrong, and forty-five million people had to suffer for that reason. When you think about it, the conflict between the Pack and the Age of Gods during your former career could be seen as a metaphor for a much darker time in our country's history.
Fiona bobbed her head up and down as she pressed a button on her computer panel. Suddenly, the “Spring” portion of Vivaldi’s work “Four Seasons” began to play. In her advanced age, she had ditched her love of rock ‘n’ roll in favour of classical music. She manipulated the keys on her panel, running through various simulations before folding her arms.
OLD FIONA:
I’ve considered all potential alternatives, and sadly...I don’t have much of a choice. In all honesty...I’ve spent all this time languishing behind some desk ‘cos I gave up me desire to take risks after Rowan MacDonnough ‘killed’ me, and...I need to ensure that everything is on the up and up.
Bobby facepalmed.
BOBBY:
With all due respect, if my Dad was still living, he’d say you were a stubborn, irrational, and illogical dudette for taking on a mission like this, and right now...I firmly believe you are allowing your own personal experiences to influence your judgment.
Fiona chuckled slightly, then gazed up at a large gold-framed painting of her former employer, a clean-shaven former President James Gilmore, with a curt smile on her face as she noted a wrestling title belt on his shoulder.
OLD FIONA:
At least your father got to live his lifelong dream and become a wrestling champion as well as President of the United States after his retirement.
Fiona paused for a moment, then turned her attention towards a smaller portrait of how she looked when she was younger, holding a small plaque in her arms.
OLD FIONA:
I never got that chance, and I’ve spent the past forty years punishing myself whilst wondering what might have been, what I could have done. All ‘cos I decided that it was too risky to stop a war that should have been prevented before it even began. I...I cannot live a life like that anymore. That is why I must undertake this mission.
Bobby grumbled, his expression turning long and stoic by the second.
BOBBY:
I empathize with you. What that gal did to you in 2018 was a helluvan insult to the sport you loved, but still...I’d be very careful if I were you. If your mission succeeds, you might not even be in this timeline. If it fails, the lesser of the worst case scenarios might see you getting a visit from the FBI’s Temporal Crime Investigations Unit upon your return to DC. After all, what you’re planning could be considered a clear violation of Section One of the Fox-Lloyd Outatime Act--
OLD FIONA:
(interrupting)
“No one may, at any time, utilise a vehicle intended for temporal travel for the express purpose of interfering with the natural course of historic or other events. Violation of this directive is punishable by a ten-year prison term and $5,000,000 fine.” I am familiar with that law; it was enacted under your father’s administration.
Fiona placed her coffee mug on the desk and stood up. She paced around the room, a scowl developing on her face, as a part of her ‘former’ life came out into the open.
OLD FIONA:
But pardon me for being rather…blunt. I could fucking care less about big burly, sanctimonious rules and regulations. I mean, good Christ...did rules and regulations apply to anyone else--on both sides of the war, heroes and villains mind you--when they subjugated and destroyed countless lives just ‘cos they thought they were doing what was right!?! Think about that Bobby…I’m 76 years old now, and I’m CERTAINLY not getting any younger with each passing day. What the bloody hell do I have left to lose?!
Bobby couldn’t help but muster a sheepish smirk as he watched his boss head towards her window. It was a shock to him upon seeing the normally mild-mannered Fiona swear, but in his mind...that was, indeed, the ‘wrestler’ talking and reliving her days in the sport.
BOBBY:
I gotta admit, for an old lady you still got plenty of spunk left.
OLD FIONA:
(giggling)
That’s what years of keeping your arse fit and your boobs from sagging will do to you. After all...the best way to live a long life is to stay physically fit!
Bobby laughed out loud as he stood up, prompting Fiona to clear her throat.
OLD FIONA:
Anyhow...you and Nikki have 24 hours to finish the testing process on the time core. I want the Falcon ready for bare when I arrive at the hangar bay.
BOBBY:
We’ll take care of it ASAP, and...well, any woman who hasn’t lost their determination to make things right, we will not disappoint. She’ll launch on time ma’am..and she’ll be ready.
Fiona didn’t even look at her subordinate as he took his leave and departed. She pulled out a small sepia toned photograph from the front pocket of her blouse and looked at it. It was a picture of her and the man that was her husband, Jack Gaither, that was taken fifty years ago--during the summer of 1998. It was one of a few momentos of her ‘old life’ she had kept preserved through the decades, a memory that defined who she was back then, a high-spirited and cheeful lady that saw good in everything that happened.
She yearned to be 'that kid' again.
OLD FIONA:
What would you do, Jack? I...I could really use your advice.
~TO BE CONTINUED~
“FUTURE IMPERFECT”
15 August 2058 + 1430 GMT
Forty years into the future…
A shadowy figure stood inside an expansive office that doubled as a studio apartment, staring out the back window and down onto the pedestrian-crowded streets of Washington, DC.
It was a far cry from the suburban neighbourhood she used to live in. There was a bundle of energy on the outside as streamlined cars and trucks with hover conversion technology flew past. Everything on the inside and outside felt brand-new and clean, from the glass skyscrapers around her building to the overall environment, which was free from air pollution.
Yet as a radio news clip began to play, she fully understood that this ‘perfect’ time came at a massive cost:
”...police are expected to hold a news conference on the accident later this afternoon. In other news...former Temporal Science and Exploration Secretary Fiona McFly is expected to unveil the newest concept in temporal travel, a state-of-the-art timeship dubbed the 'Falcon,' at the World’s Fair and Exposition which is slated for September 9 through the 21st in Arlington, Texas. Democraftic Socialist sympathizers, still upset over their army’s surrender to Constitutional Republican forces at Gettysburg twelve years ago, are expected to launch major protests during the event...”
It was a period of peace that followed the bloodiest conflict in American history.
The Second Civil War had been fresh on her mind for the past decade, a six-year-long conflict, lasting from 2041 to 2046, that saw a Democratic Socialist seperatist faction clash with Constitutional Republicans in a battle to the death over several issues that had been boiling over since Donald Trump’s election in 2016. It was fought, as historians have said, in a hundred thousand places from coast to coast, in small rural towns and large cities. The damage done during the war was overwhelming to say the least.
Over thirty-five million people were dead, and ten million more were still suffering from physical and psychological trauma.
Most of the country’s infrastructure had been decimated.
Most of its major cities, including Boston, New York City, Los Angeles, Houston, and Seattle, were left in ruins.
The woman slowly sat down in her swiveling leather chair and took a sip from a mug filled with piping hot coffee. She felt a sense of loss and longing in her heart. This wasn’t the future she had envisioned, and she wished she could have done more to set things right in her own mind. Her meditation period was short-lived as a door chime sounded.
“Come!”
Her voice, a distinctive hybrid of Irish and British dialects, bellowed out for the visitor to enter the office. Within seconds, a stately gentleman, aged 33 and sporting a black business suit with matching tie, strolled in with a tablet in hand. We can see that his right arm was missing, an injury sustained during the war.
“Madame Secretary, here are the files you requested.”
She received the tablet and adjusted her reading glasses so she could inspect the content. Nodding her head warmly, she turned around to face her subordinate, and we get a first glimpse of who this woman really was. It was none other than Fiona McFly--now aged 76 with flowing white hair, her faced lined with wrinkled dimples and scars from years’ past, most of which date back to the war and some from her previous travels as a wrestler.
Yet her determination to keep holding onto her sense of duty and honour was still present.
It had been forty years since Fiona had retired from professional wrestling, and time hasn’t been kind to her in the slightest bit. Yet in spite of it all, including surviving the harrowing Battle of Houston during the Second Civil War, she remained a public figure even in retirement from the sport she once loved. After leaving wrestling, she would get a minor to go along with her B.A.’s in Political Science and Communication, a certificate in the new Temporal Mechanics field from UT-Arlington. Her concepts and ideas during a twenty-five year career in the chosen field eventually led her to accepting a Cabinet-level position under the administration of the Centrist Party’s James Gilmore, himself a former wrestler that found his second calling in politics after his own retirement.
Sadly, Gilmore’s presidency, whose aim was to keep the country together through a centre-leaning agenda, had been overshadowed by the Second Civil War. He was killed by an assassin’s bullet shortly after the end of the war in 2047. These days, the aging Fiona had the daunting burden of continuing her friend’s vision, even after leaving the White House during the succeeding administration.
OLD FIONA MCFLY:
Much appreciated. What is the status on the Falcon?
The man in the suit smiled from ear to ear. The Falcon was based upon one of James Gilmore’s childhood drawings, an out-of-this world car-plane time vehicle that was just a sampling of his wild imagination. Fiona, along with her staff, would eventually bring that memory to life in a process that began during the war.
It would soon culminate with an exhibition of the vehicle at an upcoming World’s Fair.
“She’s as ready as she’ll ever be, waiting for you to take the wheel, but…”
He paused, blew a bubble from the gum he was chewing, and continued his report.
“...I must caution you. The time core is still in the experimental stage and needs to undergo some more tests before the exhibition.”
Fiona nodded.
OLD FIONA:
Good, but…I hope you realise I'm not waiting until the exhibition. Those files you gave me are quite…beneficial indeed. ‘Cos frankly...I shall be leaving on an impromptu mission tomorrow afternoon, and I don’t know if or when I’m ever going to be back.
The subordinate perked up his brows, knowing what the ‘files’ on that tablet actually were. They were Fiona’s retirement papers and photos from her past life, dated with a folder that read “AUGUST 31, 2018.” It was at this point when he began to suspect what the elderly McFly was planning on doing.
“Are you sure you want to go back in time to prevent yourself from retiring from wrestling!?! One little mishap and you might end up as good as dead--or worse.”
Fiona sighed, sipping from her coffee which consisted of nothing else except for milk and sugar.
OLD FIONA:
I am well aware of the danger Bobby. I’ve done plenty of dangerous things in me lifetime, and this mission is no different than what I used to do.
Bobby Gilmore, son of former President James Gilmore and now one of Fiona’s longest-serving assistants, shook his head as he took a seat on a small white leather sofa. He was a proud scientist--nothing more, nothing less--who had spent the past five years of his life developing the timeship concept under his boss’s close watch. Yet he also wanted to be the aging Fiona’s ‘voice of reason’ so to speak, thinking that she was turning senile.
BOBBY GILMORE:
On the contrary ma’am, this ‘mission’ of yours is very different from the life you used to have. What you’re about to undertake could irrevocably change the natural course of history as we know it and potentially lead to a time paradox if things go sour.
OLD FIONA:
Apparently, certain parties didn’t get the memorandum when they just happened to appear in 2018 from a future point in time to cause even more needless problems. Did you put that into your analysis?!
BOBBY:
I'm afraid not, but still...the Second Civil War happened because nobody knew whether the Socialists or Republicans were either right or wrong, and forty-five million people had to suffer for that reason. When you think about it, the conflict between the Pack and the Age of Gods during your former career could be seen as a metaphor for a much darker time in our country's history.
Fiona bobbed her head up and down as she pressed a button on her computer panel. Suddenly, the “Spring” portion of Vivaldi’s work “Four Seasons” began to play. In her advanced age, she had ditched her love of rock ‘n’ roll in favour of classical music. She manipulated the keys on her panel, running through various simulations before folding her arms.
OLD FIONA:
I’ve considered all potential alternatives, and sadly...I don’t have much of a choice. In all honesty...I’ve spent all this time languishing behind some desk ‘cos I gave up me desire to take risks after Rowan MacDonnough ‘killed’ me, and...I need to ensure that everything is on the up and up.
Bobby facepalmed.
BOBBY:
With all due respect, if my Dad was still living, he’d say you were a stubborn, irrational, and illogical dudette for taking on a mission like this, and right now...I firmly believe you are allowing your own personal experiences to influence your judgment.
Fiona chuckled slightly, then gazed up at a large gold-framed painting of her former employer, a clean-shaven former President James Gilmore, with a curt smile on her face as she noted a wrestling title belt on his shoulder.
OLD FIONA:
At least your father got to live his lifelong dream and become a wrestling champion as well as President of the United States after his retirement.
Fiona paused for a moment, then turned her attention towards a smaller portrait of how she looked when she was younger, holding a small plaque in her arms.
OLD FIONA:
I never got that chance, and I’ve spent the past forty years punishing myself whilst wondering what might have been, what I could have done. All ‘cos I decided that it was too risky to stop a war that should have been prevented before it even began. I...I cannot live a life like that anymore. That is why I must undertake this mission.
Bobby grumbled, his expression turning long and stoic by the second.
BOBBY:
I empathize with you. What that gal did to you in 2018 was a helluvan insult to the sport you loved, but still...I’d be very careful if I were you. If your mission succeeds, you might not even be in this timeline. If it fails, the lesser of the worst case scenarios might see you getting a visit from the FBI’s Temporal Crime Investigations Unit upon your return to DC. After all, what you’re planning could be considered a clear violation of Section One of the Fox-Lloyd Outatime Act--
OLD FIONA:
(interrupting)
“No one may, at any time, utilise a vehicle intended for temporal travel for the express purpose of interfering with the natural course of historic or other events. Violation of this directive is punishable by a ten-year prison term and $5,000,000 fine.” I am familiar with that law; it was enacted under your father’s administration.
Fiona placed her coffee mug on the desk and stood up. She paced around the room, a scowl developing on her face, as a part of her ‘former’ life came out into the open.
OLD FIONA:
But pardon me for being rather…blunt. I could fucking care less about big burly, sanctimonious rules and regulations. I mean, good Christ...did rules and regulations apply to anyone else--on both sides of the war, heroes and villains mind you--when they subjugated and destroyed countless lives just ‘cos they thought they were doing what was right!?! Think about that Bobby…I’m 76 years old now, and I’m CERTAINLY not getting any younger with each passing day. What the bloody hell do I have left to lose?!
Bobby couldn’t help but muster a sheepish smirk as he watched his boss head towards her window. It was a shock to him upon seeing the normally mild-mannered Fiona swear, but in his mind...that was, indeed, the ‘wrestler’ talking and reliving her days in the sport.
BOBBY:
I gotta admit, for an old lady you still got plenty of spunk left.
OLD FIONA:
(giggling)
That’s what years of keeping your arse fit and your boobs from sagging will do to you. After all...the best way to live a long life is to stay physically fit!
Bobby laughed out loud as he stood up, prompting Fiona to clear her throat.
OLD FIONA:
Anyhow...you and Nikki have 24 hours to finish the testing process on the time core. I want the Falcon ready for bare when I arrive at the hangar bay.
BOBBY:
We’ll take care of it ASAP, and...well, any woman who hasn’t lost their determination to make things right, we will not disappoint. She’ll launch on time ma’am..and she’ll be ready.
Fiona didn’t even look at her subordinate as he took his leave and departed. She pulled out a small sepia toned photograph from the front pocket of her blouse and looked at it. It was a picture of her and the man that was her husband, Jack Gaither, that was taken fifty years ago--during the summer of 1998. It was one of a few momentos of her ‘old life’ she had kept preserved through the decades, a memory that defined who she was back then, a high-spirited and cheeful lady that saw good in everything that happened.
She yearned to be 'that kid' again.
OLD FIONA:
What would you do, Jack? I...I could really use your advice.
~TO BE CONTINUED~
Well howdy there pardner.