The Mandela Shift
(c) 2017
A collaborative effort by Haylee V and Leila

This is, first and foremost, a work of FICTION. Any semblance to any person(s), real or imagined, is purely coincidental. Place names have been altered, albeit just SLIGHTLY, to hopefully bring great shame upon the GUILTY.
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It was just another rainy Wednesday afternoon. I had just gotten through with my Hell week at First Data (I work twelve hour shifts, three days on and four days off, followed by four days on and three days off. Every three months, we switch ends of the week with the other crew. What this means, essentially, is that twice a year, we work seven consecutive days, and twice a year we have seven consecutive days off, thus Hell and Heaven weeks...), and was looking forward to some hard-earned and well-deserved R & R. I had just entered my apartment and was in the process of drawing myself a steamy, soap-infused bubble bath, followed by a nice, long stint as Stacey, my "en femme" persona.

Suddenly, I began to feel quite sick to my stomach, as waves of intense nausea and vertigo enveloped me. Everything became blurry, and I suddenly had a splitting headache. I eased myself gently to the bathroom floor, and closed my eyes, praying in earnest that this feeling, and its accompanying discomfort, would abate as quickly as it appeared. After what appeared to be several hours (days? or mere minutes? I was no longer sure) the dizziness and nausea eased somewhat, and I was able- just barely- to open my eyes without getting dry heaves. I slowly stood. Putting my hands to my face, I realized, to my shock (and secret delight) that the stubble from my freshly-shaven face was gone, as was my Adam's apple. I eased myself to the mirror. While I admit, I had practiced my makeup enough to be passable, and even somewhat attractive (dare I say cute?) I was in no way prepared for the vision of loveliness that stared blankly back at me.

I reached down to feel my chest, and couldn't help but notice the increased heaviness. As I hadn't (yet) begun to dress, this surprised me. As my palm gently brushed the new mounds, I was delighted to discover that they were, indeed, real. And MINE! Hoping against all hope, I decided to see if I had undergone any other "changes". As I inched my hand closer to my "nether regions", I found my excitement (and pleasure) mounting. If this was a dream, I didn't want to awaken.

Unfortunately, I discovered that not quite everything about me had changed. "Mr. Happy" was still there, and VERY prominent. It was about this time, too, that I realized that this was NOT, in fact, a dream. Shattered, my excitement (and subsequent arousal) quickly dissipated, replaced by a morbid sense of dread (or was it fear?) as I realized the implications of the changes I had undergone. I was no longer fully male, but with the tenting of my lower extremities, I wasn't completely female either. Fortunately, I had purchased a decent gaff months earlier, but I didn't know if it would fully help my situation any.

I quickly dressed back into my discarded clothes and went into the den. I had to know just what was going on. I had to get out... get AWAY.
I grabbed my keys and left the apartment, headed for the Dew Drop Inn, THE local place for gossip in town. I grabbed a table on the fresco, ordered a mocha latte, and settled in to listen to the rumors fly. I didn't have to wait long...

"Would you take a look at the tranny fag over there?" I overheard someone whisper to their companion. "Yeah. I know. He's butt-ugly, and his Adam's apple is bigger than mine. Goddamn freak ain't foolin' nobody. They should just round them all up and shoot 'em all. F'n perverted piece of s*it..."

At another table, I could hear three women cackling quite loudly: "I was in the restroom at Macy's yesterday when one of THEM came in. I could see his thing tenting his skirt. I went to tell the manager, and all I got was a shrug and 'that's the law, ma'am.' That's the LAST TIME I'll shop there, I'll tell you."

"I know, Joan," one of the others said. "But we won't have to put up with those sickos much longer. I heard on the news today that 23 more states had approved Amendment 69. That makes 72 in total. Just three more to make it unanimous."

"Yeah, Sue," the third one agreed. "And I hear President Glibt is going to make a speech tonight as she signs Executive Order 1952. In about a week, their cancer will be just a distant memory..."

With that last bit, I got up, dusted myself off, and left for home. I'd had just about all the trans-bashing I could stand for one day.

When I got home, I threw off my shoes and coat, and sat on the couch, turning on the TV as I did so. The news was just starting...

"Greetings, citizens of Saxet. It is a wonderful day for the Omoh empire. Without further ado, allow me to welcome Her Exalted Imminence, President Melonia Glibt."

"Fellow citizens," she addressed, regally, "For decades, we have been forced to deal with (and yes, even accept- and sometimes coddle) the transgendered agenda. They have invaded our schools, theaters, movies, television industries, and public places. They have demanded- and partially succeeded- in achieving a modicum of rights. And, under the last administration, have even entered our most private sanctum (and last bastion of privacy), public bathrooms. I'm here today to proclaim, over the entire planet of Retah, NO MORE! No more will we need to endure the persistent invasion of our privacy! No more will we be forced to cater to these sexual deviants or expose our children to their cancer! With the signing and enactment of Executive Order 1952, as well as the 69th Amendment's ratification in all 75 superstates of the planet, it is now illegal to don the garb or persona of anyone or anything other than the anatomical or chromosomal sex of an individual. The punishment for such a heinous crime will be death by crucifixion, public communal stoning, or burning at the stake. No longer will we have to deal with the aberrations of the "intersexed" either. Any birth with non-binary sex chromosomes (strictly XX or XY), and any birth with ambiguous or missing genitalia will be IMMEDIATELY terminated by being sent to the recyclers for conversion to biofuels. Thank you for supporting me, and for FINALLY putting an end to the scourge that has plagued us for so long."

"This story has been a production of Big Closet Top Shelf and is posted per the author's request. If you are reading it anywhere else, you are reading a PIRATED copy, and the site that is hosting it is in DIRECT VIOLATION of US Copyright Laws. It is YOUR duty, and responsibility to report said piracy to the proper authorities."

"This concludes our special broadcast. We now return you to your regularly scheduled propaganda..." was the last thing I heard as the flames enveloped my apartment.

The Mandela Effect
(c) 2017
A collaboration by Leila and Haylee V
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Chapter 2

Smoke envelops the room. Oh God! It's started! Nobody waited for the orders to be signed! Were they targeting me? The living room billows with smoke. My exit is blocked. What do I have on me? I spy my luggage through the flames. I can't get to it. My purse and my wallet are there. NO! My eye catches a glimpse of the sunlight peering through my bedroom window. The smoke builds in the room.

I have to get out of here! I run up to the window. I tug at the pane. It doesn't slide open. My chair! I grab the chair and throw it towards the window. The glass shatters, and the chair plummets to the ground below. My eyes spy my backpack. Think fast! What can I throw into it? The flames are almost at the door. Smoke pours out of the apartment. The fire is seeking the air from the outside through the window. Think Stacey! Think! My nightstand. The money from Corey. It will have to do. I was supposed to deposit it before the trip. I grab the cash and throw it in the backpack. I grab some clothes from the dresser. Guys/Girls it doesn't matter. I just need to get out- quickly! I'm almost out of time!

I stare out the window. It's now or never. I stand on the window sill. The hedges. I think I can make it to them. Third story? Doesn't matter. It’s better than being burned alive. I jump aiming for the hedges. I hit with the sound of crumpling brush. A sharp pain in my ankle. I scream in agony. My ankle caught something. I landed wrong. I can hear the sirens in the distance. I don't want to wait around for anything. My ankle sears in pain, the peripheries of my vision fade with every step. I have to make it to my car!

My car! It has been vandalized! "Tranny Whore!" a few voices yell out. They've smashed the windows to my car and slashed all four tires! I can't do anything about it right now. If they catch me, I'll end up in worse shape than my car. I try to walk, gingerly. Each step on my right leg make me see red. My ankle burns with pain as I hobble away. The hospital? No, I can't go there. I can barely think over the pain. I have no ID. They'd have to report me.

Corey, at the clinic. He’s my only choice. I grit my teeth with eacth step. Every few steps I have to compose myself. Maybe he can patch me up. I need to get off the streets. I take as many short cuts as I can figure, back alleys and parks. I'm trying to stay out of the main roadways. I press my shoulders against the walls and fences, in a vain attempt to keep the weight off my disfigured foot. Relief washes over me as approach the rear of the clinic. I've almost made it to the entrance! Privacy at last! My ankle is swollen; I’m in a cold sweat. The adrenaline must be wearing off. I’m going into shock. Pausing to catch my breath , I quickly kneel behind the dumpster near the clinic. My vision continues to cloud. I’m starting to shake. My phone! There’s no way to call Corey.

I see two figures in the distance, hobbling towards the rear entrance. They look worse than I do. Watching from my vantage point, I shudder at the horrors I see. It has started. People are getting their jollies beating up anyone that looks trans. The two knock on the door and Corey quickly answers. I see concern crossing his brow. More people are approaching, and they don't look friendly. They brandish semi-automatics and I hear the shots. NO! I scream in a silent whisper. Tear pour down my face as the hoodlums gun down the trio execution style. They run away whooping and cheering. "Bagged two more trannies, and a damn Symp too!"

I settle on the ground, still dripping cold sweat. A hand cuffs my shoulder and I jump. Startled, I turn toward the figure, expecting my fate to be the same as Corey's. I see a young woman wearing a lab coat. With tears in her eyes, she motions for me to remain still. "Shhh!" she hisses, while trying to comfort me. But I am in too much shock to care...

Chapter 3
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"Bethany Carl," she whispers, motioning me to follow- quietly. She stealthily helps me towards the dumpster. Fortunately, we are not discovered. As we reach it, I see an almost invisible door on the side of one of the buildings slide open silently. She pulls me through quickly. As I glance backward, I see the opening fade. In its place is nothing but common brownstone, like everything else around the clinic. "We can talk freely now, Stacey," she says. "The walls are completely soundproof."

"The holo-projectors function beautifully, Chance," she calls out. "I don't think ANYONE will find our base now, especially those hoodlums outside. Unfortunately, we just lost Corey, though."

I could hear the wavering in her voice as her eyes filled with tears. "He was a good man, and a damn fine doctor," she whispered. "He didn't deserve to die so heinously."

"We'll have to retrieve the bodies soon," a voice boomed out, "before they're reported to the State. No one deserves what the Empire will do to them. At least WE can see them off in an HONORABLE way."

I knelt, the shock of what I witnessed was just too great. I had just lost a dear friend, just because he was doing his job- a job he loved. In such a short time frame, the world, as I knew it, had gone completely mad, bigotry had spread, consuming everyone. Not only that, but I was now a hunted fugitive, and EVERYONE was out for my blood.

"We MUST get you patched up and ready for transport to New Detroit soon, Stacey," the voice said, "If you are to survive the night. I'll do what I can here, but the rest will be up to the two of you- and the Underground. This base won't be here in 48 hours, and neither will we."

I don't know just how pleased I was at hearing that news. With my right ankle bent at a 90-degree angle, I knew I could not very well travel, especially the 2300+ miles the voice was indicating. I also didn't know if I could fully trust my rescuers. At least they haven't killed me- YET I thought.

I saw a fairly tall, dark-skinned man slowly approaching me from out of the shadows. He wore almost the same garb as Bethany, and had a stethoscope around his neck. He was smiling, but I was really too distraught to find that comforting at the moment.

"Dr. Chance Covington, at your service. Welcome to the Resistance, Stacey," he said.

I looked at my ankle. 2300 miles? I'll never be able to make it in my condition.

“Let’s have a look at that leg.” Dr. Covington’s face stern. He looks like a man that is used to triaging patients. Quick and cold. “Bethany, do we have a Grenal scalpel at the clinic? I’ll need a cortical fuser too if you got it. Her ankle is broken. I’ll need to set it and fuse it. A neuron disruptor if you got it. She’d pass out because of the pain if we don’t have one.”

“We don’t have a cortical fuser.” Bethany becomes more agitated.

“What about a micrograf? It would take an hour maybe two but at least she’ll be able to walk.”

Bethany shakes her head. “We’re only a class C clinic. We have nothing that can work on the bone.”

“Well, best I can do is a carbon-nano-tube-cast. It won’t fix anything. Just keeps everything immobile until we can get her to a real infirmary.”

"I'm right here," I reply. "And a CaNT? Really? As in can't do sh*t? I'd rather just leave it broken, if that's all you've got."

“We HAVE to do SOMETHING." Bethany replies. "We can't take you anywhere high profile, and we NEED to immobilize the break ASAP to prevent any further damage. The closest place with Class B equipment is 5o miles south.”

“Benson?” Dr. Covington clarifies.

“The Benson-Rhodes facility?” I add. “That’s 50 miles in the wrong direction. I’ve been there. If you think this place is hostile…”

Bethany and Dr. Covington share a look. “How would you know about the Benson-Rhodes facility?” Dr. Covington looks at me questioningly.

“Corey. Corey, must have told her. He must have shared it with her at some point.”

“Alright fine. Corey must have trusted her.”

“Back to our problem. It’s Benson or not nothing. If you can’t run. You’d be an even greater risk to us. We’d risk more exposure.” His olivine eyes bore into me. “Just think about it?” His expression softens. “Bethany, let’s have a look at what you do have. We’ll have to get Corey too.” He says sadly.

Dr. Covington and Bethany leave the room. I stare at my bum ankle. The pain is excruciating, and my ankle looks like someone tried to join two mismatched pieces of PVC together- badly. Bethany returns with a compression cast. Advanced first aid. It brings down the swelling and can immobilize the ankle so I don’t make it worse. “he’ll be able to at least see if the bone is displaced.” She places the neuron disrupter on my knee. This should help with the pain. Normally, we place it at the base of the spine or the back of your neck, but we need you to be ready to move at anytime. It takes an hour or so to wear off if we place it on your spine.” She slides the cast on my leg and it begins to compress it.

I thank her and she somberly makes her way out of the room. I look around the room. What’s going on? A resistance? They seem organized. That fast? But how? The news reports say the President just signed the act? How in the world could they have set this all up this quickly?

My thoughts turn to Corey. He didn’t deserve that fate. Was he part of this ‘resistance’? Why did he not say anything to me? Tears run down my cheeks as I recall his assassination, bringing me roughly back to reality.

"Mother! Does this damn thing hurt like hell!" I could feel the intensity of the pain as a raging fire consumes my leg. Morphine or Dilaudid would sure feel good right about now! Sh*t! It hurts! I scream in agony as I lift my ankle. “GODDAMNIT!”

The pair rush back into the room.

“What’s the matter?” Bethany rushes over towards me.

“Don’t you have some pain killers? Or ANYTHING?”

Bethany gives me a puzzled look. “Let me turn up the neuron disrupter.” She pulls out a tool and appears to be adjusting the small device resting atop my knee. “Do you feel any better?”

“That NOT DOING A DAMN THING!" I scream. "For chrissakes, just give me some damn morphine!" I hiss, tears streaming down my face.

She gives me a worried look. “I’ll check with Chance to see if we can give you anything.” Bethany hurries out of the room.

I can hear bits of the conversation between the two.

“I’ve got it at 8 already. The pain can’t be that bad.” Bethany implores Chance

“Maybe it’s defective. We don’t have much here we can use anyway. Let’s get the cast compressed on her, get her ankle immobilized, and get out of here. I don’t want to attract any more ‘e-ttention’ than I we have too.” They’re voices are growing louder as they approach the room.

E-ttention?

“I’ve got the compression cast on her already. It should have reduced the swelling by now.”

“Stacey, how are you feeling.”

“How the blazes do you THINK?” I snap, then quickly regret my harsh words. "Sorry," I say meekly. "It just hurts so damn much!"

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” He moves over towards my ankle. “Looks like the compression cast is working fine.” I take a look at my ankle. The swelling has subsided.

“I’ve got another neuron disrupter.” Bethany offers.

“Swap it out.” Chance orders Bethany. “This may hurt a bit when she turns it off. You’ll feel a burst of pain, but she’ll get it the other one back on as soon as she can.”

Bethany does something with her tool on the device on the neuron disrupter What the heck is a neuron disrupter anyway? Painkillers would be easier that fiddling with technology, that quite OBVIOUSLY, doesn't work at all.

Bethany looks at me with concern. “Alright, I’ll make this quick okay. On three… One, two, THREE!” She turns off the device. I and tries to swap out the other device in its place as fast as she can. I don’t feel a difference. She puts the other one on. “Whew! That was a lot of pressure. They teach us that in med school. But, I’ve never had to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Swap a neuron disrupter. God, you didn’t even twitch! That other one must be defective. How’s the leg?”

“Same… Whatever that ‘neuron disrupter’ is supposed to do… I’d rather have some good old fashion painkillers.”

Bethany looks over at Chance. He walks to my knee and the disrupter. Bethany hands him the tool. “Can you feel this?”

“Yes, two taps on my shin.”

“We’ll have to do this the hard way.”

“What?”

“Hold her down while I re-set the ankle.”

“Wait. What?”

“I’m sorry. but we do need to set the ankle for it to heal properly.”

“What about the…”

I feel a sharp pain as he grasps my foot and roll the bones into place. I pass out from the pain.

The Mandela Shift

A collaborative effort of Leila and Haylee V
(c) 2017

*Author's note:

I talked at length with Leila the other day. She is going through a rough patch right now (nothing that should concern our gentle readers, though), and I have had issues with my health and moving into a new residential care facility. She has given me the go-ahead to post the next chapter of our combined saga. We sincerely hope you like what we've come up with.

Haylee V*

Chapter Four

I wake up as an antiseptic stench fills my nostrils.

"Welcome back, Ms. Manhaus," a young Vietnamese nurse said. “You've been unconscious for the last two hours. You're at the Benson-Rhodes Medical facility in Perdition. Closest you can get to Hell without actually being there... We've drawn some blood and established an IV. The neural disrupter proved... ineffective... on you, so we requisitioned some ‘old-school opiates’ from the local veterinary clinic to help with your pain. We’ve never had to go that route with any other patient. We don't quite understand why they work on you, or even how you knew which of these outdated medicines would be effective. You're quite an enigma, if you don't mind me saying, and we're running some tests to determine why, exactly, you respond the way you do. The head nurse, Catherine Clarke, is in quite a quandary over you."

I nod my head and say a simple ‘Thank you.’ The machines that are hooked up to me look totally foreign, but I at least notice the screen monitoring my vitals, and feel some degree of comfort- something somewhat familiar amid this miasma of confusion.

"Where are the people who fixed my leg?" I ask, confused.

"Dr. Covington and Nurse Bondeaux, I mean Chance and Bethany? They're with Nurse Clarke, discussing treatment options to get you moving as quickly as possible. You realize, of course, the dangerous situation you're in," she questions. "You are now able to walk without aid, but you may want a LIMITED supply of pain killers. The roads aren't well maintained around here, and traveling will be painful as you'll be jostled around quite a bit. By the way, I'm Kim, Kim Marquette."

"Stacey, with an 'e'", I say. "So, what's the 411?"

She looks at me with utter confusion. "411?" she questions. "Well, it’s going to rain in a bit, but why do you need a weather report at a time like this?"

Now, I'm the one confused. How did she get 'weather report' from that? We're DEFINITELY NOT in Kansas, Toto, I think. "No, no, dear," I say. "I need to know my situ--what's going on, and how I can return to Hagerstown--and life as I know it."

"Hagerstown? In what country is that?" she says, typing it into her tablet.

"It's near Baltimore, in the United States?" I falter.

"You're joking, right? The United States hasn't existed in over 250 years, ever since Trump and Putin started World War III. Damn near nuked the planet, but they DID, finally, put an end to ISIS."

250 years? That DOES explain a few things. "Isn't this Earth?" I ask.

"Never heard of it," Kim stated, even more bewildered. "What state is that in?"

What STATE? Definitely NOT Kansas... "Where, EXACTLY, am I, then?" I ask in frustration.

"I've told you already. You're at the Benson-Rhodes facility. In Perdition. Calmexico. Third capital-general of the great Omoh Empire. In The United Federation of North America…”

“UNITED FEDERATION OF NORTH AMERICA? OMOH EMPIRE? What PLANET are you from?"

She looks at me with anguish. “Retah. Have you really lost THAT much of your memory? You don’t have any head trauma. We checked for that." she explained, rather exasperated.

I am SO NOT in Kansas... "Hoooo Kayyyy," I sigh. "THAT explains things! I don't know how to explain this to you, but I'm not exactly from around here."

"I never would have guessed," she snickers.

Well, at least they have sarcasm here.

"OK, I'm all ears..." She’s thrumming her fingers on her tablet.

"The world, at least as I know it, is called Earth. It's the year 2017, and there are seven continents. I live in a country called the United States, on the North American continent. Every country has a separate government, different culture(s), and different religions. While not exactly condoned or widely accepted, transgenderism IS legal, and there are groups that OPENLY support LGBT, without fear of governmental intervention. We are free to go and come as we please, to say whatever (within reason) we want, and basically pursue happiness however we happen to find it."

"Sounds like a wonderful place," Kim states dreamily while shaking her head no. Winking, she comtinues: "I'm unfamiliar with the terms you use, but it doesn't really matter. What IS important, however, is how--and even better why--did you get HERE?"

"That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But I REALLY want to go HOME."

"Well, if anyone can help you, it would be Chance."

“And maybe I can click my heels three times and chant ‘there’s no place like home?’”

"WHAT???" Kim questions.

"Nevermind..."

“Really, though, he knows things most people don't."

So, the doctor can help me. Interesting. "And Bethany? What’s her deal?"

"Well, she's a pip," Kim stated, her eyes glazing. "We did the Hokey Pokey together." With a whisper only I could hear, she added, "Her 'hokey' would poke me quite often", then she said, loud enough for anyone to hear, "Until Glibt took over and made such... activities... illegal. I really thought our love would survive, but Bethany's not exactly the type to remain... monogamous. Catherine transferred here from New Britain, and with her fuller figure and dark features, Bethany kinda went wild. When I found out about their tryst, I was heartbroken. Catherine and I have had issues ever since..."

I saw her head perk up, as I heard a female voice just outside. "Yes, Chance, I said DOUBLE HELIX! Exactly! Not a triple helix. Damnedest thing I've ever seen. AND, she has paired chromatids, 23 of them, not the usual complement of 48 chromatid strands. She looks Retan but, I don't know, EXACTLY, where she's from, but it sure as hell isn't here..."

Kim spies someone. I turn to look. I’m not sure whom she is looking at. Kim starts to look agitated.

"Beever Falls. Funny name for a town, right?" Kim diverted. "There's no beavers in Calmexico, let alone waterfalls. Did anyone ever tell you how it got it’s name?”

I shake my head.

“The town got its name from the founder's son, Clarence Beever. Seems his father, Harry, a rather rotund man, fell off his horse, killing him instantly. He was so heavy, that they had to bury him on the spot he fell. Not to mention the horse had just taken a MAJOR DUMP on him after he fell. NO ONE likes to mess with horse sh*t... The town came to be called Beever Falls in his memory- or so the legend goes..."

At that point, a stocky woman walks in. Her name tag says, ‘Catherine Clarke’, (yeah, it actually TALKED!) She’s followed in by Chance, with Bethany close on her heels. "Ahem..." she uttered, trying to get Kim's attention. "We DO have other patients here, Kim. Try to remember that."
------------------------------
Damn, what a hard-assed bitch, I thought. We have NAMES for people like that where I come from. One name in particular came to mind. And I'm NOT all that racist. Really.

"So tell me, Ms. Manhaus," she eased herself into our conversation, "Just WHO are you, really? We've done NOTHING to bring Her Excellency's wrath down upon us. I send the dissident reports nightly, containing everything I can acquire about the patients I treat. YOU, however, are NOTHING like the other 'seekers' I've seen..."

Seeker? Just who the HELL does she think I am, anyway?

"I see why the neuron disrupters failed. No MEMUs and where are you from exactly? Another planet? Where’s the rest of your kind? On a spaceship? I don't know what your mission here is, but from your genetic makeup, it impossible for you to be alive. A double helix tRNA? That’s something impossible even for the Great Omoh Empire." she said, bowing low as she emphasized the last part.

What are MEMUs? I think she meant my DNA was wrong for this planet. Yup! Not Kansas, Dorothy!

Kim interrupted. "I think can explain," she said, glancing my way waiting for my assent to continue. I nodded. What choice did I really have, anyway? Catherine WAS, after all, the most senior medical professional in the room.

Kim related my story to the others in the room, with me adding in details where appropriately. Bethany and Chance looked nonplussed by the story, having already heard something similar from me earlier. Catherine, however, turned white- not an easy task for an African American or African North American Federation something or rather. I should know, chameleonism is one of my abilities. I can blend into my surroundings and change physical characteristics at will neat trick I picked up from good ole Uncle Sam. At least when it works. I didn't know others had that ability, though...

Catherine motioned towards the bathroom, and urged us all to follow her in there- quietly. Shutting the door carefully, and ensuring the lock was secure, she began. "Sorry, Stacey, can I call you that?” I nod wondering why all the secrecy. She continues, “All rooms are monitored. Due to public outcry, public baths are the only exception.”

Do we REALLY need to see people do their business?

“What I say goes no further. Stacey, you MUST, somehow, get to New Detroit. Chance and Bethany know the way, and I'm sending Kim along to help you if any 'issues' come up. She has proven herself to be quite... resourceful... at times. I've done what I can to make you as ambulatory as possible. If you're CAREFUL, and avoid the main roads, you should be OK. Unfortunately, this means you'll have to MANUALLY travel, as the 'tubes' are heavily monitored. I've apprised Chance the best route to take..."

With that, we headed out. Next stop, Black Rock...