The Double Cult Cha-Cha: An Al Squires of the Protectorate Story (Book 1)

Ch. 2.2: Into the No-Warehouse; or, A Genuine Article Oracle

Now, let me hit 'pause' on the story again, so I can explain all that I can about the No-Warehouse. Trust me, this part is both informative and necessary to the narrative. First off, it's located inside a pocket dimension. For those of you who don't know what those are, let me explain the way I once heard a certain Japanese American physicist with a glorious silvery white mane once explained them: imagine that 'our' universe is a massive soap bubble. And, like some soap bubbles, this bubble has many smaller bubbles clinging to its surface. Those smaller bubbles are pocket dimensions.

Second, it's not the only No-Warehouse in the Multiverse. Think of them as Costco's of the inter/trans/extra-dimensional black market. Of course, not all No-Warehouses are located in pocket dimensions; just to let you know.

Third, because of its exclusivity and the fact that it's in a pocket dimension, there is only one entrance that connects the No-Warehouse to the outside dimension that it materialized in that potential shoppers can use, and said entrance materializes to any random location in the Multiverse every twenty-four (subjective) hours as well as change its shape for security purposes. Sure, there are other entrances and exits, but those are 'employees only,' and they make sure that's the case.

And last, but not least, a No-Warehouse is a treasure grove of stolen goods and interdimensional contraband. Each No-Warehouse has its own unique selection of goods: some have a variety of items from alien worlds and/or dimensions- including (but not limited to) weaponry, art, food, alcohol, narcotics, alien porn and more. Some cater to those who're looking for more... fantastical items- including (but not limited to) powerful Magickal objects (of the 'Philosopher's Stone' or the 'One Ring' variety,) powerful grimoires and other forbidden writings (Magickal or not,) treasure and priceless artifacts from lost (or simply very well hidden) civilizations. I know of one or two that only have stuff from parallel Earths- everything from an individualized cure for AIDS or cancer, to bootlegs of the finales of your favorite show that finally explains the whole series and didn't end in a church for some reason, or one where the one who sure to win the throne suddenly went evil and destroyed the entire city with her dragon. Sorry if that last bit was still too soon.

Not only does this particular No-Warehouse cater to VIP's only, but it's also inventory is said to contain the most... exotic of merchandise. Don't worry, I'm going to explain what I meant by that around the next paragraph or so.

As we entered the No-Warehouse, all the colors besides blue came back. That was because a No-Warehouse is in a pocket dimension, therefore outside any larger dimensions, therefore, they aren't influenced by the Still whatsoever. It took us all a second or two to acclimate ourselves; after all, we did step from one dimension to another. Well, that and we were all in awe of the size of this place. I wasn't kidding about the "Costco's" bit; the place had concrete floors and large metallic shelves that might have reached the ceiling if it had one (instead of a ceiling, there was nothing but pitch black.) Soon, we began to notice a cacophony of strange and weird animal sounds as if we were in a mutant pet shop or an alien zoo.

"Before we can continue," Kizven said, "can we discuss payment?"

"Ya waited until we were in on your turf to talk about dat, huh?" Don V. asked with a chuckle. "Pretty shifty. I would've done the same thing if I was in your shoes. If youse wore shoes, that is." He looked over his shoulder to us, snapped his fingers and said, "Rozzorich, show 'em da goods."

Rozz stepped towards the ET's, held up the briefcase horizontally, snapped it unlocked, and opened it, all with a neutral poker face. The inside of the briefcase was lined bars of solid platinum; that might've been heavy to schlep around all day for an average person, but not for a Demon. He carried that briefcase as if those bars were made of Paper Mache.