The Universe's Mixer

"Heithrún, stop that!" Siggy tugged at the rope around the she-goat's neck. The goat, a white-and-brown creature with long ears, bleated and dug her hooves into the dirt by the City park.

Siggy frowned, irritated. It had taken her so long to find someone to sell her a live goat, and she then had to wait until one of the females was bred. This one was newly pregnant, which meant that eventually she would have milk, real milk, and a kid goat for eventual eating. Peggy would likely protest, but the girl would agree once Heithrún was producing milk that it was for the best.

If she could only get the stubborn beast to the building and then up to the rooftop.

Tony stared at the plethora of screens projected around him like a dome, mouth hanging open slightly as he stared at the recordings of life around the City. It made no sense. It still didn't. The movements of the locals and architecture, the inexplicable patterns and how they didn't seem to affect daily life in the least bit. It made no sense, and Tony hated it.

If he couldn't even understand how the City operated, how could he hope to grasp it's intent for its kidnap-pees, and how could Tony work out how to prevent losing anybody again?

The inventor felt nauseous from the problem, and dizzy from his position. He was lying, stretched out across the front seat of the hot rod that he worked on eternally as a meditation, the doors open and his head handing off the edge of the driver's seat. The blood had rushed to his head from the length of time he'd stayed this way, but he was determined not to move until he'd seen something. There had to be a clue somewhere.