Thirsty Wētā Bar, Ōtorohanga
New Zealand | February 2028

♫ So rock me, Mama,
Like a Wagon Wheel... ♫

♫...Rock me, Mama,
Any way you feel! ♫

♫ Hey... Mama, rock me! ♫

"...Can't believe they're still playin' the same damned Songs, over and over again, no matter which of these Places you visit... but I kinda love it." Terry would drunkenly mumble over his Pint, sat right next to me – with his untied Shoelaces hanging over the Ring of his Bar Stool. Watching the amateur Performance of the Guitarist they had hired that Night.

"It's certainly not the most intellectually stimulating Place there is." I commented, while checking my Phone from under my Skirt. "...but I can see the appeal of wanting to get away from Reality, and re-living a good old Memory. Especially in Times like these."

"You know you're not allowed to bring your Phone in here, right?" he pointed at the Sign by the Door, with the crossed out Symbol of the most dreaded Narcotic, and Doomscrolling Device of our Time; the Smartphone.

"You're welcome to call the Cops on me, if you'd like." I chuckled. "This whole World is an open-air Prison. Being transferred to another Cell would make for a great change in Scenery, me-thinks."

"Then you're not gonna be able to browse the Web, or watch TV." he scoffed, while taking another sip, and wiping the gray Hairs poking out of his Stubble.

"All the better, then." I pouted, and raised my Eyebrows – being quick to lock my Screen before the Waitress arrived. "I could do with an Internet Detox."

"Are you Guys ready to order?" The Waitress took our Number Card, pulled out her little Notebook, and smiled ever so gently.

"Yep." I turned the laminated Menu around. "I'll have a large Vegetarian Pizza, with some Fries."

"I'll just have another Double Brown. Another Do-Bro." Terry downed the last remaining drops of Beer in his Glass, and nodded.

"...Sweet." she scribbled away. "May I have your Names, please?"

"Natasha!" I smiled, and blinked.

"Just Terry..." said the 58-year-old Man.

...

"So what do you know about Anti-Gravity, my Man?" I broke the Ice with Terry, minutes after we'd received our hot Meals, and Drinks.

"Too much." he grumbled. "What do you wanna know?"

"...am [I] gonna have the CIA beating down my Door if I learn about it?" I put my Hand on my Chest, and rolled my Eyes in a light-hearted Gesture.

"That's not why they do it." he explained, and sipped his freshly-filled Pint. "They ain't tryin'a to stop you from [developing] it. They're trying to stop you from leaving Earth, or from using it in order to commit Terrorism. They only Target a very narrow range of Profiles, and personality types."

"I see." I gave up trying to cool my Pizza down, and took a bite out of it. "So how does it actually work?"

"...Ever heard of Viktor Grebennikov?" he asked.

To which I said: "Nope!"

"He effectively claimed to have made a primitive, anti-Gravity hover-Board, using the harvested Elytra of multiple dead Beetles, such as the Jewel Beetle." he pulled out a Napkin, and sketched out a Diagram with his Pencil.

"...the hard, solid Shells that cover the Wings of a Beetle are called the Elytra. He wrote about the 'Anti-Gravity Properties of Beetle Wings' in his Book called 'My World' – published in 1997 – though much of his Work ended up being censored, and highly classified by the Soviet Government. He was dismissed as a Kook by the Russian Glowies!"

"Glowies?" I gasped, with my Mouth full.

"You know... Glow-Niggers!" he giggled, with a missing Tooth protruding from his Grin.

"...Excuse me?" I held onto my second slice of Veggie Pizza, taken aback his archaic style of Humor.

"It's just a Meme, Love." he elaborated. "I'm not a Racist. You'll be a'ight."

"...That actually sounds a bit like Greenglow – a somewhat secretive Project created by the British aerospace company BAE Systems. I think I heard about it on YouTube..."

"You're Spot-on." he affirmed. "All that is Anti-Gravity, glows in the Dark. And all that is Anti-Gravity, glows Green! Just like the Wings of the Jewel Beetle."

"Alright... listen up Ladies and Gentlemen!" the Bouncer grabbed a hold of the Microphone, following a Round of Applause for the Country Singer – who had packed his Guitar, and finished for the rest of the Night. "Who wants to come up next, and do some Karaoke?"

"I will." I raised my hand, and yelled out loud.

"Cool." the Bouncer rubbed his hands. "What sort of Song would you like to perform for us tonight?"

I made my way over to the varnished, wooden Dance Floor – and then turned around to face the Crowd.

"Billie Jean, by Michael Jackson!" I smiled with confidence, with a tinge of a Blush spreading through my Cheeks.

...

♫ She was more like a Beauty Queen,
From a Movie Scene... ♫

♫ ...I said don't mind, but, uh...
What do you mean?
... I am the One! ♫

♫ Who would dance...
On the Floor... ♫
In the Round! ♫

The whole Premise stood still – as the Sparks on my glittering Costume reflected off of the Windows, the Mirrors on the Wall, and the reading-Glasses of the silver-haired, grumpy-looking Gen X Boomers who had just arrived to claim their Reservation, along with their Spouses, Family Members and Kids.

"Alright... I think it's Time to head out." said one of the chubby-looking Blonde Chicks in the Audience, stacking her dirty Dishes for the Waiters to take away.

"Ye... same." her Boyfriend agreed, and pulled his Wallet out.

The disapproving Guests made their way out of the Premise, one after the other, despite the fact that I could swear that I had polished and rehearsed all of my Moves and Vowels to Perfection, and that I didn't seem to be making any mistakes. At least none that I was aware of...

The Bouncer turned the Music off, and [still] I carried on singing, Beat-boxing and Moonwalking to the Rhythm of the Music in my Head. Whipping my Legs around in the Air, tapping my shoulders, left and right... and spinning around. Round, and round – as if nothing had happened.

"What do you think?" I looked for a sign of Approval from the last remaining Members of my Audience, including Terry – who sat there somewhat bewildered, and sleepy – with his head propped up on his Arm.

"Ma'am – we're gonna to have to ask you to leave." the Bouncer tapped on his Watch, and gestured towards the Exit.

"Why?" I youthfully threw my Hands up, and complained. "What did I do?"

"We've already had a gutsful of Social Media Influencers." he explained. "Besides – you were probably recording your Performance just to get Views. That's kinda rude, Mate."

...

I clocked out at around 55km/h on my Electric Bike, zooming through my Home-Town as fast as I could – even though it's technically illegal to be on the Road while tipsy.

I didn't want to be late Home; for every Inch of my Being was warning me that something bad was about to transpire. No – it wasn't my Alcohol-induced Anxiety that was doing the Talking, and Reasoning. Nor was it the fact that I had just spent my Evening hanging out with my Schizophrenic, Computer-Genius Boomer Friend.

...And judging by the blue and red Lights reflecting off of my rear-view Mirrors – I was about to be proven [right], and have all of my worst Fears, and Nightmares confirmed!

"Police!" the voice on the Broadcaster had called. "Stop right there!"

Yet I was practically only 15 meters away from my Driveway. I turned Left, dropped the E-bike on the Lawn – and rushed to unlock my Front Entrance as fast as I could – turning on the Lights, barricading the Door with a Chair, and then sprinting over to my Computer Lab like my Existence depended on it. Which it did.

"There's no running away from Fate, Khan!" a Police-woman spoke through the Intercom on my digital Doorbell. "We will never be defeated – neither in [this] Life, [NOR] the next!"

"My name is NOT [KHAN]!" I belted at the top of my Lungs, while pushing the code below the Knob to unlock my Home Laboratory. "You must have made a mistake!"

"Then why aren't you coming out, Gingerbread Girl?" she mellowed her Voice out, to try to smooth-talk me into letting them in. "I really loved your Michael Jackson Dance, by the way. You were quite the Sensation tonight. Dayumn, Gurl... you've got Moves!"

I logged into my Debian Linux machine, hammering away at my mechanical Bluetooth Keyboard in the Dark – and then went straight to fire up the Switches on the Table-sized Circuit Board, for the very first time. With no idea of what I was about to do. I had only just finished wiring up the Hall Effect Sensors on my Gyroscopic Contraption – where Crystals, Copper wires and Mechanical Gears came together to make up a Rotary Disk, gradually ramping up in Brightness – radiating a Neon Aqua-marine Hue as it orbited around itself!

...

The Windows shattered behind me, at the Blast of a Gunshot – with a loud Bang that scared all of my Cats away, and sent the Neighbour's Dog into a barking Frenzy.

"Put your [HANDS] behind your [BACK]!" the Masked, and heavily armed Gestapo instructed, pressing the Barrels of their Rifles against my Neck. Yet I refused to fully cooperate.

"Turn that Portal [OFF]... Deactivate the Gyroporter! [IMMEDIATELY]!" the Fascist Bitch commanded her Minions. "Go, Go... Go, Go [GO]!"

"Just give me a Hug and show me some [LOVE], for God's sakes!" I yelled at the cold-blooded Monsters, but to no avail. It's almost as if the only reason they wore Masks, was to eliminate any potential for an empathetic Bond to form between us.

"I promise you, I'll do anything – I'll pledge my Allegiance to Israel. I'll work for Pennies. No... I'll work for [FREE]! Oh Come on, Maggie... Why do this to me?"

"Shut the Fuck up! You're Pathetic, and of [no] use to any of us!" she cussed, and spat at me – digging around her Backpack for a Box of Medication.

"...Besides." she popped a Pill or two from out of the Blister-packaging, and then shoved them deep into my Throat. "You're borderline Delusional."

"If I am delusional, then what do you want from me?" I foamed, and licked away the lingering taste of the Pharmaceutical Venom – as she cut a Piece of heavy-duty Construction Tape, and plastered it all over my Mouth.

"We're here to remind you of the Facts." she stated.

"You do [not] play with Fire.
You do [not] go off your Meds.
And you do [not] criticize Isr--"

Magdalene's Mask had slipped right off. Hurricane-Force Winds hurled my Books across the Lab, hitting the Cops right in their Faces. The LCD Monitor on my Wall continuously Flickered – enough to trigger an Epileptic Seizure. And the Gyroscopic Machine spun faster, and faster.

Like a Jet Turbine – it roared, and blasted off into a high-pitched Crescendo – knocking down the armed Invaders, and sucking them into the Event Horizon, and the Gravitational Rip-tides of the newly-formed Gyroporter – the World's First Home-built Interstellar Super-Highway!

I grabbed the Police-Woman by her Scalp, and her Bullet-proof Vest – and pushed her as far away from me as I could, making a run towards the Exit.

She forced herself back up, and tackled me against the Wall – with her fingernails dragging, and digging their way into my Collar-Bones, with a murderous Gaze from Hell, and her Blood-shot Eyes radiating with Hatred.

I punched her in the Nose, and then covered my Face with my Elbows pointed straight – bracing myself for a Leap, Head-first into the Void – sucking my Tools, my Desk, my Chair, the armed Police, and the two of us into its Singularity.

The Wormhole abruptly collapsed, and vanished into thin Air – leaving nothing but a Dark and Silent room behind – and Four abandoned Cats, doomed to wind up at the Shelter the next Day.