"FWLS34" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

"Eh?"

"Well, physics and life and death are a bit differently
here. You've moved on into a new reality, after all. You can't
die here. You just move on when hell thinks you've had enough."

"Can't I escape?"

"Well, some space marines came blazing through here with
chainguns and BFGs and all sorts of weaponry a few years back.
They got out, but they weren't supposed to be here in the first
place. Did a lot of damage, ticked off quite a few creatures
that had started settling into a moon that got sucked into the
mess as well."

"So when do I normally get out of here?"

"I've been here so long it ranks into the five thousand
figure range," Stan smiled. "You tell me."

*

The house wasn't that bad. Had a roach problem and the
brownouts were a bitch, but not much else.

I slummed it out there for a century or so, hitting the
nightclubs, looking for some sort of dark underground I could
hook up with and get some funding... didn't find one. Hell cops
are the toughest they get. I spent ten years in a torture camp
experiencing random tortures and anguish for trying to steal food
one year.

I didn't HAVE to eat to live, but it hurt like hell and I
couldn't move around if I didn't make an effort to find some
nourishment. My muscles wasted away a few times when the
recession hit hell and I lost my few piddling jobs. You never
die, you just fall between the cracks and suffer for it. Death
would be a nice change of pace by comparison. Building yourself
up after falling down is tricky, and time consuming, but
possible.

That's about the time when I met her. I was back up to
average build, nothing special but it meant I was having bread
occasionally. She wasn't doing as well... very skinny, very
depressed looking.

"Heya," I said, flicking my cigarette ash off to the side.
"This seat taken?"

Her clothing screamed out 'OLD', ripped in a few places,