Unrest

My plans to find the mythical burg of Dustmitetown have been put on hold. There seems to be some issue with the Anti-Snailians (the Eye-Nye-Hab Descendants) and I have been called in to the Greater Hive of The Apparatus and provide a report of there actions and whereabouts.

First in Room 3:




Where I waited all alone, no doubt being observed through hidden cameras and two-way mirrors and the whatnot of a spying culture.

Then I was led to Room 5:




Where I sat at a table.

Alone.




I was told—via an intercom—to look at the floor:



From there I was grilled about what I knew and when I knew it, again via intercom.

I told them what I knew which was, as anyone knows, very little. Though it seemed to me, in my own mind, that the Anti-Snailians must have begun some kind of physical action, some step towards revolution, for me to have been summoned so. The someone entered and I could only see their shoes and they gave me some food:



If you call that food.

I was then handed—again by a person whose shoes I was only allowed to look at—two photographic cards:





which said what they say.

i was told that these cards, when presented, gave me access to certain places in a certain manner for the purpose of finding out more certainty of what the Eye-Nye-Habs were up to.

I said I would do my best in a very sycophantic manner.

And then zI was dismissed into the Escher-like hall:



and into a transport and left off in the non-great outdoors:



And I walked to my hovel in the cold.

I will let you know what I know, Dear Non-Reader, when I know it myself. But I feel that my escape is imminent.


Oneninefiveseven,

Goodbye from Soybean Island