“Any sign of rebellion – which is to be expected from the start of a time transition – and a creature’s life time span is reduced in proportion to the rebellious act: not getting to work on time gets you a zing of pain and several minutes taken off your life span – one gets notification on their body incorporated TimePad.  Attempting to alter your TimePad by means of a Time agent physically disables you weeks at a time – a flu microbe or a dysentery bug in your blood stream to name a few – and sets you back a year.  Becoming a Time agent makes you an outlaw although you can get redeemable months if you agree to become a double agent, evidently.”

“This planet isn’t unlike Earth,” Labaguette remarks.

“All insubordinate creatures’ bodies altered by time particles morph into sand, bit by bit and that visibility makes you live your life in the shadows, hiding, like your freshly deceased friend, who found alternative, lucrative and fraudulent ways to trade, when your body transforms into a muddy like yet more sustainable appearance.  Time creatures can affect anyone else’s longevity through the institutions’ constant and coercing control.  Time control is the most powerful tool ever and you’ve landed on the most powerful planet in any universe: iEarth.”

“You’re no different,” Birdseye remarks, “your hearts are controlled by clocks.”

“We’re evolved.  We’re modified.  We’re free from time constraints.”


“It’s a protected secret.  I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you and I’d be condemned because the clocks in our hearts keep us at a perpetual, regular beat via an honour and integrity module: skip a heart beat and the clock registers it, signals it to our own central clock and activates an execution order.”

To be continued…



“Invicible!” Labaguette boasts, “we’re invincible!  You hear that?”

Birsdeye is one step ahead, both, metaphorically and literally: “we’re unbound by time,” he explains, “we remain unaffected.  It’s barely been twelve hours we’re on this planet.  We’ve not been briefed nor tortured.”

The creatures’ muscles relax, stop pointing their weapons at them.

Their leader, the smallest creature of them all, bears a proud black moustache, two piercing black eyes and slicked black hair; he almost looks human were it not for the hoofs and multiplicity of legs.  He approaches and addresses Birdseye.

“Kronosium is my name.  You must be the Commander in charge.”

“I’m Birdseye, I’m—”

“—You shall come with us and help with the rebellion.  You are indeed still in a state of innocence.  With your help and that of your domestics, we will be able to unlock time and reclaim our supremacy over this planet.”

“Why should we help? Captain Traumatic asks, “you just tried to exterminate us without questioning your actions, for no reason at all.”

“He who spoke first is he who gets spoken to first,” Kronosium says.

“Then you should speak to me first,” Captain Clusterflame” affirms.

“Birdseye, is there anything we can do to help bring back your servants into docile mode or should we zip their lips?”

An astounded silence is etched on their faces.

“Very well,” Kronosium continues, “We will take you to our compounds.”

“Why did you kill TimeT?” Birdseye attempts.

“All Time creatures of this planet, man, plant, animal, are dysfunctional as soon as they’ve gone through their time rehabilitation program and cannot be trusted because each of any creature’s cell that has undergone the program is saturated with time nano-components which alter not only their longevity depending on their actions but also their perspective.”

To be continued…


“Time bandits!” TimeT exclaims.  “Take cover or you’ll never get out of it alive!”

“We’re spoiled for choice: die here or die there, huh?  Captain, which will it be?” Labaguette asks.

Upon Labaguette’s last words, creatures of an unfathomable presence appear, part beasts, part men, one eyed mutants standing on four legs and with two arms wrapped upon a weapon of imminent destruction.  Their beating hearts are encased in a clear, transparent and solid bubble in the middle of their chest, held securely by a ticking clock contained within the bubble and that dictates their beating heart’s rhythm.

“Peculiar look,” the King-Fool remarks, “I bet—”


Upon TimeT’s lost last word, the bandits pulverise him and he disintegrates into an evaporating mist of green, before turning their weapons towards the King-Fool.  All are silent now, understanding better than ever the power of a dead creature’s last ominous word of warning.

“Hold it!” the King-Fool exclaims, a last desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable as the greenish yellow beams dart once more from the weapons, this time in his direction.  Then they shoot.  But wait…  Repeat.  Again.  Once more.  But the King-Fool stands strong, his face frozen in a terrified state of incomprehension that morphs into sheer stupefaction as the faces of his executioners mirror his expression, only with anger in it.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” the Captain lets out, unphased.

Once more the beams take aim, this time in the Captain’s direction.  Once more, stupefaction is achieved, disbelief etched in the eyes of the tormentors.

“Try me!” Labaguette dares.

So it goes that the creatures aim at each of the members of the team, and each time, their attack does not result in death, disintegration nor unsustainable pain.

To be continued…


“Very well,” he continues, “see those shapes on the floor ahead of us?  We’re headed for the Underground Time Towers for torture by means of time manipulation: you will endure time distortion, disruption and eventually terminal time expulsion.  Suffering will be lived over and over again through an indefinite period of time which will last until you’re on the brink of eternal oblivion, until every cell of your body has had enough and all that remains of it transforms into an almost invisible shell ready to evaporate.  Then – and only then – do you get revived and refreshed for the sake of repeating the suffering once more, and on and on and on… until, the shell of your body is no longer visible to the naked eye, not even a shinier speck of it and eternal oblivion is achieved.”

“You talk too much,” Labaguette says, reading his Captain’s mind’s primary concern.

“Oh you think you’ve seen it all huh?  I wouldn’t be so proud nor so certain.  Your ending will last a painful eternity: no soul transfer: no past, no present and no future lives ever again.  And you thought you knew all about hell?”

“Got some Rum, Captain?” The King-Fool requests.

“You should be afraid!”

“There’s always a solution,” Birdseye remarks after a lengthy, awkward silence.”

“Birdseye has spoken,” Labaguette says, “we’re safe.”

There’s a sudden dim above their heads, as loud as that of a swarm of two billion bees, no exaggeration.  The armed guards jump aside and run to the barracks holding their ears, with what was their undisputed invincibility disarmed and annihilated in the space of a quarter second.

To be continued…


Dear Absent Readers,

It’s almost been a year and the need to reconnect with Captain Traumatic and see where he’s at is deeply felt.  We shall give it another try, once every two weeks or so.

The Absent Writer

And so it goes:

“What are you?”

“I get it all the time, my muddy looks can’t be helped, it’s in the nature of what I do and who I am.  I’m in a state of impermanent existence, a would-be, until the day I become.  A tree without roots loses its reliability and tangibility as it moves from one soil to the next.  That’s what trading time does to you.  For now, you can call me by my trademark: TimeTribulation, or TimeT for short.  I could help you but you can’t afford me.”

All look at TimeT with a frown now as they are shoved, pushed and unloaded from the Ute and taken down to the prison.

“Speak before it’s too late!” Captain Traumatic orders.

“We’re all going to triage before we get sent to our cells.  We will be separated according to time travelling span or the year you come from as well as the nature of your crimes.”

In front of them, a row of interminable square barracks the size of huts expand as far as they can see, horizontally.

“The prison is underground,” TimeT says, “that way, no one escapes by air.  Above ground are the offices.  Each office manages the cell underneath it.”

“Freedom has no price,” Captain Traumatic says.  “What’s your price?”

“Priceless huh?  No point in discussing that now.  Too late.”

They are led into the larger front house, a long white arcade that spans several kilometres and are ordered to stand in the queue.

“You might never make it alive to your cells if you didn’t have me.  I can provide you with food and water too you know.  That’ll cost you, also.”


To be continued…


“You’re not at the end of your troubles,” the mud creature continues, “You see, time is a line and has to be kept that way because it is infinite.   No time line is to cross another or else…”


“Time warps.  Which year in history can you possibly come from?  2150?”

“1602,” Captain Traumatic says.

“2578,” Captain Sunblast continues.

“I’ve no concept of time,” the King-Fool remarks.

“Time?” asks Birdseye, “what for?”

“All creatures are aware of time zero, or death,” the Mud creature says.

“I’ve always existed,” the King-Fool says.

“I live for and in the moment,” Birdseye says.

“You’re fools,” Mud-man says, “the whole lot of you.  Time lines run in parallel.  Each time has its own reality, its own worlds and universes.”

“Why are you here?  Why have you been arrested?” Captain Traumatic asks.

“I’m a time travel agent.  I’m accused of lending time I don’t own.  Nothing new, I’m a regular.  You see, when borrowed time must be put it back, the people I lent it to don’t return from their trip in spite of their guarantee: they leave their time identity here, which means that if they don’t come back at the appointed time, they lose their identity for eternity; they become outlaws on iEarth, without reprieve.”

“We’re not outlaws.  We do come from Earth.  We’ve nothing to hide.  I can explain,” Captain Sunblast asserts.

“You won’t get away with it,” the Mud creature says, “you haven’t given a single clue that you’re not lying.”

“But you believe us?”

“I don’t.  If find your lies well-crafted and interesting.”

“Yet you can’t tell lies from truth from your customers?”

“That’s why I look the way I do. There are untold benefits in believing the client at any cost.”

To be continued…