I have many fantasies, a secret agent alt-persona, who is
always needing to get away in a hurry from the scene of my assassinations and
bomb based sabotagings.
Alternatively, I accidentally ran over an oldster on my
bicycle, and need to get away in a hurry.
I have various imaginings on how this would work. On one
hand I have secret dens in nearby woods, or even little stands of trees in
town, amidst unsuspecting houses. After doing my mischiefs, I find my nearest
hideout, and my individual heat signature pattern opens it up to me and only me…the
doors slide back like a mini Tracey Island, brambles and nettles moving with
it.
And then I jump in, and the door slides back as if nothing
had happened. IR cameras and ground penetrating radar are scrambled. I am
totally safe. I have media, books, and a huge supply of rum. I keep changes of
clothing inside, and disguises; a machine can bleach my hair straw blond in 5
seconds – envious ladies? – and change my eyes.
I always pick black-brown and bright blue eyes.
All this in a room the size of a living room. Ultrasonic
showers. Body waste teleported out of you to the nearest treatment works.
(Reflecting on this, I realise the sci fi novella “A Plague
of Demons” has something similar)
The cycle escape routes are a network of tunnels that just
open up in the road, and slide me down into 2 metre wide underground Sustrans
routes that link up my secret bases.
One minute I’m being chased by helicopters, the next minute
I am gone, cycling deep underground with nightvision goggles on, planning my
next daring act of subversion.
Copyright Bloody Mulberry
30.05.14
No comments:
Post a Comment