It was a warm night in late October, likely the last one. Sophie appeared from the peeling wooden door and raced down the apartment steps. Her mascara ran black down her face. In the spotty yellow lighting that lined the fire-escape, the dark lines along her cheeks could have been mistaken for shadows. That is if everyone a block radius from the apartment hadn’t heard her wails.  Each sob felt like the world was caving in, choking out the breath from her lungs. She barely made it to her car before she was hit by another wave of ugly crying.

Fuck Josh. Fuck fuck fuck fuck Josh. How could he do this? How could he? She loved him. Loved him! Loved him with everything she had. She loved him more than she loved herself. Her diary could attest. His name crossed nearly every page for the past year. Flowery, sickly-sweet sentences like “I am addicted to the feeling of being with him” sprawled across pages. If someone asked Sophie just last week, even just yesterday, “Do you think Josh and you will get married?”, Sophie would have shrugged with a smile. She would never have said yes for fear of superstition. She would have played it coy. But in her heart, she knew. 

For the past year, Sophie had built her entire world around this relationship. She had gotten really into watching Josh and his ‘boys’ play Fifa and stopped working on her book of poems. She knew more about the 49ers starting lineup and the contents of Web Development 301 than her girl friend’s lives and the classes she herself was enrolled in. She was young and in love and like many twenty-year-olds, a bit self absorbed. If she had the time, she would grow out of it. 

Sophie bolted across the parking lot, yanking the door to her Subaru with violence, slamming it with even more severity. Any tears she had been holding back–despite the noises the neighbors heard she had been trying to hold back–now came flooding forth. Noah’s ark would have drowned in the tsunami she was creating. She looked at the digital screen of her car, purposefully turning it alight as fast as possible to avoid the black mirror and any sight of the horrible puffer fish she must have resembled.  

It felt apocalyptic. The crying was ugly and raw and loud, and Sophie was so alone. The ache in her chest was a chasm like no other. San Andreas Fault had nothing on her. Sinking, tugging, tearing. She could not bear it. She wanted more than anything to talk to Josh. Josh, who was her everything, and still was. If anyone was around, they would have been compelled to call animal control. The noises coming from her were feral, like a boar shot down and left to die. 

Out of fear that Josh’s roommates would return and see her, Sophie started up the car to leave. Her Spotify Daylist: “Happy, Loving, Cuddly Stay-In Evening.” Can you sue for emotional damages? Tempting as that sounded, she instead pushed forward by searching the streaming platform for breakup playlists. Kelly Clarkson and CeeLo Green could never encompass the feeling that was ripping through every atom of her being. Taylor Swift somehow made heartbreak dancey. No one seemed to feel as deeply as her. Like most everyone who has ever been broken up with, she felt this was a unique terror. FKA Twigs’ desperate wails were the only possible suitable soundtrack for this tragic drive. Mitski worked too. 

The trees that lined the street quivered and shook with powerful gusts of wind though it wasn’t like Sophie had much capacity to notice. There was the road ten feet ahead of her and nothing besides anguish ahead of it. Where was she even driving to? Where could she possibly go? She needed to pause for a moment and let the worst of the flood out. She drove to the park just a few blocks away from Josh’s apartment and parked under the willow tree. How fitting, she thought, someone else to cry with me! 

She sat there, heaving, sobbing, blowing her nose into the loose napkins, gas station receipts, a parking ticket, before finally resorting to her sleeve, for what felt like an eternity but was really about forty minutes. In the grand scheme of life though, they were an important forty minutes but not in any way she was paying enough attention to catch onto. Her music was too loud to hear the sirens. Her anguish was too profound to notice the global shift that was happening around her. The sun crept below the horizon long before she even considered something as simple and external to her agony as her phone, much less the end of the world. When she finally swiped it open, she paid no mind to the dozens of national and international notifications that had poured in. All she could process thinking was, Tell Skylar. She needed to tell Skylar. Sophie needed her best friend. That’s where she would go. Was Skylar home?

Ring. Ring. Ring. Pause. “Hi you’ve re–”

“He broke up with me,” Sophie sobbed as soon as she heard Skylar’s voice.  “Sky, we’re done. Just done. I-”

The voicemail beeped. A voicemail? Sophie hadn’t even considered the possibility of her having only reached Sky’s voicemail. The feeling of rejection doubled down upon her.  She could not recall a single time she had heard Skylar’s voicemail before.  The chime of the voicemail echoed in Sophie’s head like the cruelest of jokes. Skylar was Sophie’s best friend. Sky was always supposed to be there for her. How had she not sensed the destruction of Sophie’s life? Sophie’s crying restarted and the birds above seemed to join in too. 

Sophie dictated a simple message for Siri to send to Skylar “Call me ASAP.” It did not send. Are you fucking kidding me?! Sophie’s entire body tensed so tightly she figured a tendon would snap. She white knuckled the wheel with one hand while she reclicked the ugly red exclamation point on her phone once, twice, three times. It would not send even as a g-ddamn green bubble. Fuck me. She’s in the middle of LA! Fuck this. A major city! Fuck it all. What the hell was Verizon doing? Even her music had stopped working. Now, if she had turned the radio on to tune out the noise, she would have heard the warnings. Instead, she clicked play on her liked songs, the only playlist she had downloaded on her limited-storage phone. Sabrina Carpenter and Kanye West didn’t feel quite right for the moment but she needed something to drown out the mental noise.

Okay, square breathing time.  Or one nose breathing. Or whatever the hell her therapist recommended at some point. The tactic was failing her. Snot dribbled down her lip. Sophie wiped at it with ferocity. With a shaky sigh, she continued her drive. She didn’t want to go home to waste away in her apartment alone. She was still in the unable-to-eat stage of devastation, so the thought of In-N-Out felt more nauseating than its usual comforting. She suddenly regretted moving across the country. She wanted her mommy. Could she book a flight home? What would she tell her professors about missing class? What about her friends? How embarrassing! 

A car cut in front of her. She laid down on the horn. Jesus Christ! She rolled her window down, and shouted, “Hey asshole! Some of us are having the worst nights of our lives!”

The driver shot her an angry glance, their expression a mirror of her own turmoil. Before speeding off, the man in the car leaned his full head out the window and yelled back, “Fucking narcissist!” 

Well, that was rude.

The birds were so loud. She wished she wasn’t a liberal in a blue state, so that maybe she would have a gun and could shoot the fuckers down. Sophie glowered out the window at the sky to see what type of winged monsters were tormenting her but could not pinpoint them in the darkness. It never really got dark in LA, but that night it was pitch black. The birds were driving her too crazy to make note of that though. 

Then, the Bluetooth stopped working. It crackled at first before landing her in nothing but the melody of her shaky, watery breath. Yuck. Sophie meddled with her phone, meddled with the car. Her fist came down on the screen of her stereo repeatedly. Unfortunately, physical violence against inanimate objects never really is the solution*.*  Where are the cameras? This must be a fucking prank show. No way the world decided it would kick just Sophie this hard. She felt practically personally smited.  She needed music more than she ever has right now. She began to play it directly from her phone, making a pseudo speaker of the cupholder. “As the World Caves In” by Matt Maltese started playing. 

Sophie doesn’t want to be a burden to anyone, but she still expected that someone would be there for her in her moment of need. Had she really focused her entire world so singularly onto Josh that every other aspect had dissolved away without her ever noticing? 

Fuck it, she thought, Home we go. She was already absentmindedly heading in that direction anyways. She hoped her roommate Rashida would be there wearing one of those soft sweaters for Sophie to cry on. 

Once at her apartment though, Sophie found the place dark and as desolate as her heart. The generator hummed. Where could this bitch possibly be? A note was taped to the outside door: Sorry I didn’t wait for you. I hope you are okay. Love, Rashida. Confusion twisted inside Sophie. “What the hell does that mean?” Did Josh text Rashida or something? Were they friends? Could Sophie handle more betrayal?

At this point, Sophie could only think of one possible solution to her qualms. She needed a J, pronto. Weed was legal but she was not yet twenty-one. Her street plug was some comp sci major named Tommy who went by the dealing alias Gasdaddy69. He refused to give out his number and instead posted his hours and stock supply on Telegram. His last post read: “Pull up to the park 9 til end ” Perfect.

Within ten minutes, Sophie had made the trek to the old playground. Her face was still puffy, her hair had turned into a rat’s nest. Under normal circumstances, she would have hated to be perceived, especially by her dealer who tended to give better prices to pretty girls. Now, it was not normal circumstances. Now, Sophie felt like the world was ending. 

The park was empty. Gasdaddy was easy to spot. All Sophie had to do was follow the smell of dankness and the grating sound of rusty metal chains swinging. She found Teddy puffing hard and looking worse for wear. At the sight of Sophie, his face contorted in confusion.

“Whoa,” Teddy dragged his beat up sneakers against the wood chips to stop his motion. Some sprayed out, landing at Sophie’s feet. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight.” 

“Neither did I but here we are.” Sophie retorted, fishing around in her pocket for the cash she had stashed. 

“You just seemed like a seek safety kinda girl more than a ‘get high as the world is obliterated type.

Well, word did get around fast, Sophie thought. Can’t believe this fast though.   Sophie laughed through bleary eyes. “Well, my safe places are all dead and gone. Blew too many bridges it seems.”

Teddy raised his eyebrows in agreement, taking a long draw from his blunt. “Boy, do I get that.”

 “How much for a couple of prerolls?”

Teddy coughed while he reached into the black backpack to his side. He pulled out a packed mason jar of prerolls. “Just take it.”

“What?”

“Call it the ‘end of the world special.’”

Was he flirting? She thought, maybe. Gross.  “Don’t pity me. I’d rather just pay you.”

“It’s meaningless now. Go smoke.”

“Teddy–”

“Dude,” Teddy shoved the mason jar further toward Sophie. “Go. Just go. You're killing my vibe. Enjoy the show. C La Vie. YOLO. Whatever. ”

Jesus Christ. Was he smoking more than weed these days? She accepted the jar. “Okay, okay. Thanks, Teddy. See you later.” 

Gaddaddy was no longer paying Sophie any mind. As she turned around, she saw the burning ember of his used blunt sore past her. Doesn’t he know how dangerous that is in California? As Sophie got to her car, she could hear the screeching sounds of the swings oscillating up and down and up and down. 

In the car, she kept the windows rolled down and lit the joint. She remembered a passage from a book she read once that passing a joint around is a type of communion, as ritualistic as drinking from a Kiddush cup. She’s alone. Not even the crickets seem to commune with her,  but the oral fixation helped center her. She had finally stopped crying. She was too dehydrated to get anything else out. Suddenly, Sophie was reminded how much she loved the feeling post-tantrum when there’s nothing left to feel and her mind was clear and her eyelashes lusciously long. One more draw off the joint and a smile almost started to keep across her face. The smoke curled up into the night, wrapping around her like a fragile blanket. She released tension she did not know she was holding, leaning further back into her car seat. 

To the hills it was! Maybe looking down on the city would give some perspective. She always was a sucker for a view. Maybe that’s what Gasdaddy was referring to. Had she told him she was thinking of this? She could not recall. So much had happened to her tonight she could not possibly process all of it. Thank g-d she had therapy tomorrow anyways.

By the time she got to the park, she almost felt okay. Maybe the world wasn’t crumbling; maybe it was just a moment—a moment she could breathe through. With each breath in and out, the world felt more and more okay. She would be okay. Hell, maybe she would be able to start writing again. Maybe heartbreak would be the fodder she needed. Sophie would turn heartbreak into some horror story and earn some authorial clout.

She was so distracted by the optimism that she missed when her phone finally reconnected for a moment. Dozens of missed calls and hundreds of texts came pouring in from Skylar, her mom, the US government, even Josh.

Are you okay? 

Where r u? Did you make it to safety?

Sophie please, please call me. 

I love you so, so, so much. Whatever happens remember that. I’m so glad to have known you.

I’m so sorry about tonight. I really do care about you still. I hope you someone survive and we can talk about this. 

Sophie got out of the car, a joint still dangling from her fingers. She leaned against the hood and looked out at the city. How odd it wasn’t sparkling like it usually did. What was that glow in the distance? Was it getting brighter? What had Teddy said again about–

Two men stand on the stone, grass-overgrown floor, surrounded from three sides by the bamboo forest with only a narrow path allowing for human traversal. From the West, a steep cliff drop and a slowly setting sun can be seen. The sky was almost cloudless, allowing the heavens to witness the duel.

The warriors stand on the north and south ends of the arena with no other humans present, only birds may witness their struggle with their own eyes. The first of the Ronin looks at his opponent - Aokiryū Harada. Looking at his opponent, the swordsman hoped that this might be the one who would allow him to fulfill his wish. But looking at him now he is severely disappointed, a tall, slender but seemingly weak frame and a gentle, almost womanly face did not give the impression of a powerful warrior but a spoiled brat. Aokiryū was someone who had been born with a great talent, someone like that would have been given ample resources by his clan to study the blade to utmost perfection but if his opponent's gentle, scarless body was anything to go by, the clan's resources must have been spent on silk bedsheets and comfortable robes. Just as Aokiryū Harada was studied, so too did he analyze his opponent - Ishidō Takeda. This man has previously made a name for himself by battling and killing numerous famous samurai and Ronin in one-on-one battles. But as he looks at him right now, Aokiryū is filled not with admiration but disdain. The one who stands now before him reminds him of field workers that he would often see toiling near his estate. Ishidō stood shirtless with his pants and sandals almost as dirty as his own skin. Ishidō wore his long, greasy hair in a bun so as to not obscure the fighter's vision. His sun-touched skin contrasts the snow-pale tone of Aokiryū's. The stout fighter's excessive musculature and numerous scars continued to disgust the young genius.

Suddenly, at the same time, both warriors pull their swords out of their sheets. Ishidō wields a single katana while Aokiryū holds both his katana and wakizashi simultaneously. For a split second which stretches for eternity each fighter stands, yet again measuring the other. It is now that the adrenaline hits its peak and both warriors can feel every nerve in their bodies shoot with electricity, human perception, and reaction stretched to their limits as the samurai become completely aware of every cell in their body, and their yearning for battle - yet their minds remain serene and calm. Somewhere on the edge of the arena, a single droplet of water falls from the surface of the bamboo, sound of the water hitting the ground is like a general's call for attack - the Ronin attack simultaneously. Ishidō intends to dominate his opponent with his great strength as he swigs his weapon over his head and seeks to bisect his opponent vertically. Aokiryū sidesteps the attack with minimal effort and swings one of his blades at his opponent's wrist while utilizing the other to keep Ishidō's weapon away from himself. Ishidō tries to dodge the attack but he is too slow and the blade cuts his left arm above the wrist. The warriors quickly disengage and keep each other slightly outside the other's reach. Crimson blood slowly runs down Ishidō's arm but his grip was still as strong as ever - no tendons were severed. This will become another scar for his collection. Over the course of numerous battles he had gained scores of scars, they marked his body like the stripes of a tiger, they were his pride, a show of his resilience, and a warning that a man of his caliber will not fall from a single strike. But not all of his scars were from battle, some he gained earlier - in training. 

He never had a master, so all he could do was take a wooden stick and swing it until his palms bled, arms felt like lead and legs were on fire - he trained from morning to night, sometimes he did not even remember going to sleep, sometimes he would just open his eyes and it would already be morning and he lied there in the field. Then he would just get up and keep swinging. Over time he gained a body that could kill with just a stick and that's exactly what he did - he won his first duel with a wooden stick, then he claimed his opponent's sword and just kept swinging again. Match after match, he continued winning and after each victory, he still continued training. He had no talent but he had will, and in this world not even the heavens can defy human will. 

The Samurai engage again and as their blades clash again, Ishidō performs another powerful swing, missing again, and just as Aokiryū closes the distance to use this opportunity, Ishidō stops the cogs of fate. He completely stops the heavy blade, its full momentum coming to a zero, mid-swing in less than a quarter of a second. And then with the perfect unity of all his muscles, the blade is turned and swung, traveling at blinding speed from the opponent's blind spot. Aokiryū tries to block the strike, but the strength behind it is too great and his arm is carried up and the blade cuts his cheek deeply. Blood pours out of the wound as the genius suffers a permanent disfigurement for the first time in his life. But instead of worry, joy fills his heart and a slight smile breaks on his lips. Throughout his life not much excited him. 

He had studied to be a samurai because that was expected of him, but he did not find enjoyment in the repetitive practice of techniques or the unserious practice matches. Even most fights to the death were boring, as no one had managed to make him bleed so far - but this time, it was different. Furthermore, now that he looks at his opponent again, Aokiryū realizes that his opponent cannot be underestimated and even if he looks like a brute who would be better put to work in manual labor, the strength of his mind and body should not be underestimated.

Aokiryū relaxes his muscles, sits lower on his knees, and engages, his strikes flow like water and lose no momentum as the whirlpool of strikes threatens to swallow Ishidō who stands firmly like a wall. Stone versus water, is a match that occurs constantly in nature, one in which erosion always wins. Over time, Ishidō fails to block more and more strikes, as they pass through his guard and begin marking his skin with more and more cuts. Blood flows freely down his hands, the handle of the blade feels slippery, and keeping his eyes open starts feeling like an impossibility, no matter how many times the eyelids are forced up, they keep weighing down and the ringing in the ears feels as though an eardrum has popped. Despair slowly fills Ishidō's heart as he is reminded of the reason he took up the sword. 

There was this story his mother used to tell him, the story of "Sunshine Swordsman". He was an unparalleled swordsman, who always fought against the bandits and protected the weak, the field workers, the commoners, people like Ishidō, and his mother. He really liked the story and sometimes he would wish that "Sunshine Swordsman" would come to him and save them, from going into the fields again, from the grueling work but then some other times, he was thankful, thankful for his mother and that they could be together. But the good times did not last long, as Ishidō's mother fell ill when he was still just a teenager. He tried working in the fields alone, tried taking care of her but whenever he touched her forehead, despite his deepest prayers, it would burn even hotter than last time. Finally, one night it was he who told her the story of the "Sunshine Swordsman" before they fell asleep. Ishidō woke up in the middle of the night, his mother was burning up and did not seem to recognize him. In her last moments, she looked at Ishidō and asked - "Sunshine Swordsman?". This was the last thing she ever said to him. From then on, he was no longer Ishidō, he was now the "Sunshine Swordsman". He trained relentlessly for decades and then challenged numerous Ronin but now he was exhausted and he was looking for someone to put the legend back to rest. And as the blade cuts another groove in his skin he wonders if today he has finally managed to find that someone.

Aokiryū's beautiful swordsmanship, so smooth and fluid - the mark of a true genius. His strikes unlike Ishidō's did not require brute strength and now as Ishidō looks at his opponent's slender frame he is filled not with disappointment but the greatest form of admiration. However, the "Sunshine Swordsman" does not give up. Ishidō allows the samurai's attack to completely bypass his guard and Aokiryū's katana marks deep trenches in Ronin's flesh, however, at the same time Ishidō fights through the pain and cuts the genius' hand deeply enough to completely sever the tendons and etch the blade of his sword into Aokiryū's wrist bone. The warrior has no other choice than to let go of his wakizashi and retreat. Aokiryū looks at his ruined hand and remembers when he was first struck on his left hand. It was back when he was still training with his grandfather, back then if he ever made a mistake he would be harshly reprimanded.

A person of his caliber and talent was allowed no leeway in life. He would often look at the children of rice farmers playing with each other, with smiles on their faces with a mix of contempt and jealousy. But that was until he became friends with one of the boys. As a teenager, he was on a walk near his home when a boy approached him, and for the first time in his life, this boy of lower origin spoke to him without any formalities, no words like "my lord" were spoken. At first, Aokiryū wished to teach the boy a lesson but for some reason, he decided to entertain the boy and they quickly became friends. Aokiryū would specifically go on walks to talk with the boy. But it did not last long, the very next month the boy was beaten to death by another samurai for disrespecting him. Aokiryū did not cry, he was not even sure if he felt sad, but the next time he went training he felt like the wooden sword's strikes against his body had a slightly loader thud to them as if his body became a bit more hollow. And now, that he looks at his opponent Aokiryū feels like he can yet again see the young boy right in front of him.

Both fighters, exhausted stand in slowly growing pools of their own blood, as they steel themselves for one final showdown. They charge for one final time, and Aokiryū attempts to attack Ishidō frontally but realizes he cannot match his speed as he attempts to sidestep and slash from below, Ishidō changes the trajectory of his blade and reaches his opponent, but the strike is not deep enough as at the same time Aokiryū's blade slashes through his opponent's stomach. Suddenly all strength evaporates from Ishidō's body as he lets go of his sword. His knees buckle and he sits with his knees bent on the ground. The pulsating pain of his body mixed with exhaustion assaults his senses but he does not have the strength to even grimace. It is as though he is simply a conscious existence, with no body and only the pulsating pain as only experiences that his brain can produce. Despite that he is happy, this was his final battle, and "Sunshine Swordsman" would die a samurai. He looks up and sees Aokiryū holding a Tantō in his outstretched hand. Ishidō immediately understands the reason behind this gesture as he collects the last of his strength to grasp the handle of the blade. The view beyond the cliff is beautiful as the last rays of sunshine bathe the horizon in red.

• "Thank you" - Ishidō points the blade towards himself while Aokiryū positions himself to his side.

Ishidō pierces his stomach with the blade immediately after Aokiryū slashes his head clean off. Ishidō does not feel pain as his head is separated from his shoulders. The reflection of the sunset in his eyes is almost as beautiful as the expression of serenity on Ishidō's face.

Now, the girl stood in the hall, feeling the weight of her curse. She had drawn The Lovers card, a card meant to signify love and unity, but here it was her curse – a constant reminder of the painful choices, the doomed love, and the inevitable conflict between her and the boy. The card tied her fate to heartache, and every moment apart from him deepened the anguish.

Yet, there was another card in her possession, one that wasn’t part of her curse. Her lover, the boy, had secretly given her a second card. It was The Moon – a card of mystery, deception, and hidden truths. It wasn't part of the curse, but instead, it was his attempt to protect her. Even though he had forgotten her, some part of him still wanted to keep her safe. This card glowed faintly in her hand, offering her a shield, a veil of illusions that could help her hide from the full force of the curse and the dangers that surrounded her.

The boy, tall and slender, carried an air of quiet strength. His deep brown eyes, though often lost in distant thought, were filled with emotion when they glanced toward those he cared for. His soft, yet serious face held a wisdom beyond his years, as if he knew far more about the world than he let on. His short, tousled brown hair always seemed windblown, giving him a slightly unkempt look that only added to his charm. He appeared as though constantly weighed down by his thoughts, but the flickers in his eyes revealed a courage and hope that had never fully left him.

His personality was marked by quiet introspection and unwavering loyalty. For those he loved, he would do anything, even if it meant protecting them from afar, without ever revealing his intentions. That’s why he had secretly given her The Moon card – to safeguard her, even though he no longer remembered their love. Internally, he was tormented by the conflict between his forgotten love and his current, artificially induced feelings. He sometimes doubted whether his actions were right, but deep down, he knew something was missing from his life – something he couldn’t recall.

Whenever he looked at her, there was a kind of distance, as if he was trying to piece together a forgotten memory. He was instinctively drawn to her without knowing why. However, because of the curse, his emotions had been distorted, and for now, he felt an attraction to his ex, even though he knew deep down that it wasn’t right. He was the quiet hero, willing to sacrifice everything to protect his loved ones, even if it cost him his own sense of self.

The girl, his beloved, now stood in the hall, clutching the tarot cards in her hands. The Lovers card, her curse, weighed heavy in her heart, reminding her of the tragic love that defined her fate. But in her other hand, the faintly glowing Moon card offered a small glimmer of hope. It was her shield, a veil that clouded the harsh reality, protecting her from the worst of the curse’s effects.

As she watched the others fall one by one, succumbing to the curse, an overwhelming determination rose within her: she could not let him forget her, she could not let the curse tear them apart forever. She knew she must fight for him, to save him – even if it meant that, in the end, she herself might fall. With The Lovers curse chaining her to tragedy and The Moon protecting her with illusions, she prepared herself for the inevitable struggle. Her love for him, though fractured and forgotten, would drive her forward – no matter the cost.

"This is where I store my anxiety," Dave said as he opened the door of his small apartment that was next to the university I currently taught at.

What I saw before me was a rather regular-looking duck on his sofa. No different than the one they use for those insurance commercials.

"You can't be serious." I looked the duck up and down as I made my way into his apartment. It not making a single sound as Dave and I stood before the calm fowl. "This can't be where you store your anxiety."

"Yeah, it's why I'm always cool under pressure," Dave said with a shrug. "I think a witch cursed me or something. I don't know."

To say I was perplexed was an understatement. Dave stood there, unflinching in the preposterous claim he told me. I decided at that moment to entertain the idea. "Alright, so how does it work?"

Dave looked at the duck who was currently nestled in the blanket turned nest. "I don't know really. I went to this little bazaar they had downtown. I thought it was just some new-age hipster bullshit. Sand in bottles. Some bumper-stickers with political leanings..." He looks at the duck fidgeting in place. "There it goes. I feel nothing. But he's worried."

The duck, who I observed as well. Did nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe pecked at his blanket. Normal duck behavior as far as I was concerned.

"I don't see it," I said rather plainly. My suspension of disbelief could only go so far.

"Hmm. Alright, say things that would usually give me anxiety." Dave said, with the most curious confidence.

I thought about it for a moment, I haven't known Dave long, having just met him at a social gathering the day before. Many people told me how he used to be a nervous wreck at most things involving people. I found him rather interesting. He showed up to a black tie event in jeans and a red hoodie. He didn't blink twice at his faux pas. Yet, he had a confidence I found rather magnetic.

In the past, I've found it's usually the new artist types trying to "be themselves."

I find it boring.

I'm not one for the changing of social media and the current pop culture climate.

"Hmmm." I rubbed my chin rather perplexed. Dave was not in my social circles. The things that mattered and gave me worry would not have the same effect on him. "How about this? You state things that give you anxiety, and I will follow up."

I watched as Dave thought for a moment. The duck nibbled at my pocket watch chain. Again, I found the fowl's behavior to be nothing out of the ordinary. "Well, I was pretty worried about my math final coming up. I'll think about it for a moment."

I nodded in agreement. I learned Dave was a college student from our previous conversations at the gathering. He was working on a degree. He's been working on his degree for some time. His parents were rather wealthy and very generous donors to the university. It didn't take long for me to understand that he was just coasting in college on his parent's dime. That wasn't my concern. I was only interested in finding out the truth. From the evidence currently presented, it was a dud.

Dave focused on the duck as his eyes narrowed. The duck fidgeted more, standing up and pacing back and forth on the table as if worried about something. It feathers ruffling as Dave looks back at me with a smile.

I'll admit it was a rather neat trick. Animals can be trained to react in certain ways if given the proper signals. I'm beginning to believe that one of my peers has set this up as some practical joke.

"Sir, I do agree the Duck has been agitated, but nothing proves your supposed theory."

Dave thinks for a moment. My disbelief not shaking him. If this was a setup, they picked a very good actor to incite this masquerade.

"Tell me more about how you came to acquire this barnyard animal." This was Dave's last chance to give me any information that would have me entertain this facade any longer.

David pets the duck, soothing it as he tells me the origins of how this meeting came to be.

"As I mentioned earlier I went downtown to the bazaar. There was this one tent. It looked different than all the rest. It was draped in this nice purple velvet. Looked like something from one of those caravans in the movies. Beads hanging, fog machine, burning sage, and crystals. All that spooky vibe shit..."

The way Dave explained his situation was rather amusing. He had a simple way to get his point across. Pouring profanity as it was dressing on his word salad.

"So I decided to check it out. This woman just fucking appeared in front of me..."

I adjusted my glasses as I continued to listen. Desperately trying to hear anything that would make sense of this.

"Now, I know I was a bit high. But I saw what I saw. She told me in some creepy rhyme shit. I can't remember what she said. But she handed me this duck and gave me a warning. Something along the lines of Don't stress it out too much. So I take care of it..." There is a brief pause as Dave comes to a realization. "I might have just gotten tricked into taking care of the duck. But since I've had it. I've had zero anxiety about anything. I know it sounds crazy. I can't explain it."

At this time, I decided that he believed in what he was saying. I still needed some concrete proof.

"I have an idea. I'm going to need you to trust this. I want you to know my intentions are only for scientific purposes, and I intend you no harm."

This is when the duck quacked loudly. A sharp shriek contrasts the conversation taking place. I found it rather odd, the sudden behavior change. They seemed afraid of what could happen next. Evidence supporting his claim. It just was not enough to convince me.

Dave pets the duck as he is in thought. "Alright, kind of ominous though. But for the sake of figuring this out, I consent."

I would like to inform the reader that I am not a violent man. I am curious and try to keep an open mind. I am entertaining the idea of magic or a "Witch's curse" as Dave put it.

Unknown to Dave and most of my colleagues, I keep a small snubnose revolver in a holster that isn't visible under my usual suit jacket. I'm not one to advocate gun violence. I do believe in self-defense.

I believed if I pulled the firearm out. Just to make it visible to Dave I was armed. He would not act as a normal person would. He would remain calm. The duck, who, under my current understanding of most animals, would care less about a gun being present. But if the current theory would be true, the duck would react.

With Dave's consent, I began my experiment. I upholstered my firearm. Leaving the safety on as I pointed the gun at Dave.

Again, I remind the reader that I only did this to provoke a reaction for scientific purposes.

To my surprise, there was zero reaction from Dave. He almost had a confused reaction to it. Not usually of one with a gun pointed at them. As far as I understood Dave had no military experience or trauma that would produce this reaction.

"EVERYONE NEEDS TO CHILL THE FUCK OUT!"

There was a sudden third voice. I looked over at the duck to find that it now had produced a firearm and had it pointed at me.

You are not reading that wrong. The Duck was somehow, holding me at gunpoint.

I was shocked. Not only did this duck communicate in perfect English. He had enough awareness and understanding to hold a weapon defensively. Not only that, it was trying to defuse the situation.

My little experiment has resulted in a situation I was not prepared for. Do I listen to the fowl and hope that it had enough understanding that this is purely an experiment?

I wasn't going to leave it to chance. I pointed my firearm at the duck as my fear was overriding my usually logical mind.

"I SAID CHILL!" The duck now holding the gun with both wings. Locking its black, empty eyes with mine. It was afraid and full of anxiety. Understandable, considering I was as well.

Dave, on the other hand, remained calm as the situation unfolded in front of him.

At this moment we needed to open the lines of communication.

"I mean no harm. This was just an experiment to verify Dave's claim." I attempted to communicate calmly, though my voice shook nervously. "We have verified that it's true. I will put my firearm down if you agree to put yours down."

Dave chimed in, "See, I'd be pissing myself if the duck wasn't doing its thing."

That's when the duck pointed the gun at Dave. I kept my aim on the duck as now this is a bit of a standoff.

"I'm doing my thing? I'm a duck, Dave! Do you even understand what it is like to just exist and not have a complex understanding of emotions? I just ate bread and swam before I was snatched up by that woman. Now I have to take all your bad emotions!?"

I watched curiously as the duck exhibited a tortured mentality with its current curse of self-awareness.

"Now I worry about math tests, getting robbed, and wondering if I'll ever live up to YOUR parent's expectations. I'm a Duck. I don't even know what math is!"

The Duck made a valid point. I could understand how they could be driven mad with emotions that aren't theirs, let alone anxiety and fear being the only emotions it has been introduced to.

"I didn't agree to this, man. That's why I got the professor here. I figured he'd have some sort of idea or plan. I'm doing my best here."

I found Dave's mentality interesting. He is presented with this absurd situation, yet he treats the animal as if it were just any other human. His radical acceptance of the situation made me seem almost childish at the moment.

"Then go to therapy, Dave!" The duck quacked at his unknowing tormentor. I, for a moment, felt sorry for the creature. The feeling quickly left as I found his aim back on me.

"You! You just had to push it! Waiving a gun around! I'll end it. I'll end it all!"

The Duck waved the gun back and forth. Unsure how to act in the moment. Its aim went back and forth as I focused my firearm dead center on it. I couldn't blame the duck as this must be a lot of pressure for the fowl to process.

That is where my understanding ended, for the next events happened so fast that as I retell this, I still can't make sense of what transpired.

The duck's firearm went off. Hitting Dave in the chest. A small hole right where his heart was. I still don't know if it was purposeful or just a bit of blind luck.

"Oh shit. Little guy shot me." Those were Dave's last words as he fell to the ground. The life was gone from his eyes as he bled on the floor. To say I was in shock is an understatement. I froze. My mind could not comprehend the events.

Time slowed as I saw the duck making a move to point the firearm at me. Having my gun already aimed at his center mass. I fired two shots. Feathers exploded into the air. My shots hit the duck, causing him to drop the weapon.

I heard the duck sigh in relief as his final words to me were "Release..."

I submit this retelling of the events as evidence that I was of a clear and logical mind. I accept any responsibility for my actions during the unfortunate event.

I did not murder Dave. The duck did. I only killed the duck in self-defense.

So I submit this as my resignation from the university.

My condolences to Dave's family as I know the truth looks like the ramblings of a deranged man.

I have submitted myself to the authorities for them to assess me and judge me as they see fit.

Of my time on this earth, I can only say one thing that is undeniable truth...

The memory of Dave's duck will haunt me forever.

The faint hum of the spacecraft's engines was the only constant sound, a backdrop to the steady thrum of humanity's greatest achievement. Infinity’s Edge was more than just a vessel; it was a leap of faith into the unknown reaches of the universe. Captain Elara Forsythe stood at the helm, her fingers tracing the smooth edge of the control panel, her mind caught in the endless stream of data flowing across her screen.

“We’ve come so far,” Elara whispered to herself.

Three decades had passed since humans first discovered wormhole travel. It was as though the universe had cracked open, spilling secrets no one had dared dream of before. Stars once distant were now a few days' journey, and galaxies once unreachable were visited, cataloged, and filed away like dusty volumes on an ever-expanding library shelf. But what was beyond those volumes?

Elara’s crew had volunteered for this mission, knowing it might take them farther than any human had ever gone before. Even knowing they might never come back. Aboard the Infinity’s Edge, they were tasked with finding what lay beyond the mapped edge of the universe.

“Captain, you might want to see this,” Lieutenant Jian’s voice broke the silence, shaking her from her thoughts. His tone carried the weight of discovery, tinged with unease.

Elara glanced up at the panoramic view ahead. Nothing but the deep black void, dotted with distant stars. Yet, something seemed... off. As if the very fabric of space was shifting.

“What are we looking at?” she asked, stepping closer.

Jian ran a hand through his cropped hair. “Sensors are picking up something strange ahead. It’s like the space itself is... thinning. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed. “On screen.”

The blackness of the universe stretched before them, but in the distance, just barely within the range of their sensors, the stars seemed to blur, as if smeared across a canvas that had been painted too thin. A shimmer ran through space, a distortion that shouldn’t be possible.

“It’s like reality itself is bending,” Jian murmured.

Elara felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. This wasn’t a black hole. It wasn’t a nebula or any other cosmic phenomenon they had encountered. This was something else.

“Prepare the ship to move forward,” Elara ordered, her voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides.

“Captain, you want to go toward that?” Jian’s voice was cautious, but his hands moved across the control panel, readying the ship.

“We didn’t come all this way to turn back at the first sign of something strange,” Elara said. “If we’re going to push the boundaries of the known universe, we have to be ready for whatever’s out there.”

The ship lurched forward, engines humming louder as they propelled through the thinning fabric of space. The stars ahead shimmered and flickered. It was as if the universe was unspooling itself, revealing something beyond—a place where the rules of physics no longer applied.

As they moved forward, the distortion grew clearer. The stars that should have been there were absent, replaced by... nothingness. A blank, yawning space. And beyond that?

Elara’s breath caught in her throat.

The universe was recreating itself.

It was like watching a scene in a video game being rendered as the player moves forward. But this wasn’t a game. Galaxies spun into existence, but they didn’t feel real. They lacked the depth, the chaos of true creation.

“What is this?” Jian asked, his voice small.

Elara didn’t have an answer. She wasn’t even sure if there was an answer. But the sense of purpose—the mission—remained. They had to keep moving. They had to know.Chapter One: The Long Horizon

The faint hum of the spacecraft's engines was the only constant sound, a backdrop to the steady thrum of humanity's greatest achievement. Infinity’s Edge was more than just a vessel; it was a leap of faith into the unknown reaches of the universe. Captain Elara Forsythe stood at the helm, her fingers tracing the smooth edge of the control panel, her mind caught in the endless stream of data flowing across her screen.

“We’ve come so far,” Elara whispered to herself.

Three decades had passed since humans first discovered wormhole travel. It was as though the universe had cracked open, spilling secrets no one had dared dream of before. Stars once distant were now a few days' journey, and galaxies once unreachable were visited, cataloged, and filed away like dusty volumes on an ever-expanding library shelf. But what was beyond those volumes?

Elara’s crew had volunteered for this mission, knowing it might take them farther than any human had ever gone before. Even knowing they might never come back. Aboard the Infinity’s Edge, they were tasked with finding what lay beyond the mapped edge of the universe.

“Captain, you might want to see this,” Lieutenant Jian’s voice broke the silence, shaking her from her thoughts. His tone carried the weight of discovery, tinged with unease.

Elara glanced up at the panoramic view ahead. Nothing but the deep black void, dotted with distant stars. Yet, something seemed... off. As if the very fabric of space was shifting.

“What are we looking at?” she asked, stepping closer.

Jian ran a hand through his cropped hair. “Sensors are picking up something strange ahead. It’s like the space itself is... thinning. We’ve never seen anything like it.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed. “On screen.”

The blackness of the universe stretched before them, but in the distance, just barely within the range of their sensors, the stars seemed to blur, as if smeared across a canvas that had been painted too thin. A shimmer ran through space, a distortion that shouldn’t be possible.

“It’s like reality itself is bending,” Jian murmured.

Elara felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. This wasn’t a black hole. It wasn’t a nebula or any other cosmic phenomenon they had encountered. This was something else.

“Prepare the ship to move forward,” Elara ordered, her voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides.

“Captain, you want to go toward that?” Jian’s voice was cautious, but his hands moved across the control panel, readying the ship.

“We didn’t come all this way to turn back at the first sign of something strange,” Elara said. “If we’re going to push the boundaries of the known universe, we have to be ready for whatever’s out there.”

The ship lurched forward, engines humming louder as they propelled through the thinning fabric of space. The stars ahead shimmered and flickered. It was as if the universe was unspooling itself, revealing something beyond—a place where the rules of physics no longer applied.

As they moved forward, the distortion grew clearer. The stars that should have been there were absent, replaced by... nothingness. A blank, yawning space. And beyond that?

Elara’s breath caught in her throat.

The universe was recreating itself.

It was like watching a scene in a video game being rendered as the player moves forward. But this wasn’t a game. Galaxies spun into existence, but they didn’t feel real. They lacked the depth, the chaos of true creation.

“What is this?” Jian asked, his voice small.

Elara didn’t have an answer. She wasn’t even sure if there was an answer. But the sense of purpose—the mission—remained. They had to keep moving. They had to know.

It was one of those mornings when everything felt perfect—the sky clear, the sun soft, and the world waking up slowly. I decided to take a walk in the park, hoping to start my day with some peace. The fresh air filled my lungs as I strolled along the familiar path, listening to the birds chirping in the trees. The morning was serene, the kind where you could lose yourself in the simplicity of it all.

After walking for a while, I spotted a bench shaded by an old oak tree, its branches gently swaying in the breeze. I sat down, letting the calmness of the park wash over me. The grass stretched out in front of me, and children’s laughter could be heard in the distance. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the tranquility.

Just then, I felt the subtle shift of someone sitting behind me. I turned slightly and saw a girl, her face unfamiliar, but her presence oddly comforting. She had a quiet grace, and though we had never met before, something about her felt warm and approachable. After a moment of silence, we exchanged a simple, "Hi." Her voice was soft, almost as if she was careful not to disturb the calmness around us.

"Hello," I replied, unsure where this small exchange would lead, but not wanting it to end just yet. We began asking each other the usual questions—where we were from, what brought us to the park that day. There was nothing extraordinary in our conversation, yet it flowed easily, like a gentle stream. After some time, we both stood up and left, parting ways with polite smiles, no promises to meet again. Yet, I found myself glancing back, feeling a strange sense of anticipation.

The next morning, as if guided by an invisible pull, I found myself back at the same park, walking towards the bench. To my surprise, she was already there, her face lighting up when she saw me. This time, the conversation came quicker, the laughter easier. We exchanged small stories, nothing deeply personal, but there was a shared lightness, an unspoken connection. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, or how she would pause thoughtfully before responding, it all felt like pieces of a puzzle falling into place.

As the days passed, our meetings became something I looked forward to. Each conversation carried more weight, each laugh felt more familiar. There was something building between us, though neither of us said it out loud. A bond—fragile yet undeniable—was forming. I couldn’t explain it, but I found comfort in her presence, as if we had known each other for far longer than a few brief meetings.

Then, on the fourth day, everything changed.

When I arrived at the park, she was already seated on the bench, but there was something different about her—her usual warmth was laced with a quiet sadness. I sat down beside her, trying to start the conversation like we always did, but she hesitated. There was a long pause, the silence heavy between us.

"I’m sorry," she said softly, her eyes looking away from mine. "This will be our last meeting."

Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. I blinked, trying to understand, but it didn’t make sense. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice unsteady, a rising panic I couldn’t control.

"I’m leaving. You won’t see me again," she said, her voice gentle but firm, as if the decision had been made long ago. She looked at me then, and I could see the regret in her eyes, the pain that mirrored my own.

I felt a weight settle in my chest, something unfamiliar yet heartbreakingly real. "But why? We were just—" I stopped, unsure what to say, because how could I explain what I was feeling? We barely knew each other, yet it felt like I was losing something important, something that had only just begun.

She didn’t give me an answer, just stood up, her gaze lingering on mine for a moment that stretched far too long. And then she walked away, each step taking her further from me, and with each step, the pain in my chest grew sharper. I wanted to call out to her, to ask her to stay, to understand why this sudden goodbye hurt so much.

But I didn’t. I just watched her disappear into the distance, and with her, the fragile bond we had built over the last few days shattered.

The park felt emptier than before. I sat there, frozen, my mind replaying her words. The pain was overwhelming, a strange hollowness I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. How could someone I had only known for a few brief moments leave such a void behind?

And then, I woke up.

I was in my bed, my heart racing, my mind reeling. It took me a moment to realize it had all been a dream. She wasn’t real. None of it was real. But the pain—the heartbreak—that was still there. My chest ached as if I had truly lost something.

For the rest of the day, I couldn’t shake the feeling. I kept thinking about her, wondering if she existed somewhere in the real world. Could a person I had never met leave such a lasting impression on me? How could a dream stir emotions so deep, so real?

It was strange, but I realized something important that day: heartbreak isn’t just limited to the real world. Even in our dreams, we can live entire lives, form connections, and feel the sharp sting of loss. It sounds absurd, but it’s true—our minds can create emotions as powerful as anything we experience while awake.

And as I sat there, thinking about her—the girl without a name, who might not even exist—I couldn’t help but feel the same emptiness. Reality or dream, the pain was real.

Tac-sys V4.312 BEGIN personal log:

Sirens. The fucking sirens cut into my aching head as I got up from my stretcher. We were so loaded up with people that there was no space for us regular grunts. Bet the fucking eggheads got their comfy mattresses in the aft residential compartment though. I got up, ready to beat on somebody, and then realized nobody was around. Then I heard the groaning sound of metal which sent shivers down my spine, I managed to get the null generator and face shield on and switch it on before it all went negative-white around me.

Right, you regular civvies, you have no idea what I'm talking about. I might as well spell it out for you: Negative-white is what you get when something explodes around you while you've shifted anko phases. Wait, you fucks don't even know that. OK, so imagine you've got more than our normal third-dimensional space like you could step into another room and not be here, but almost be here but by a fraction of a millimeter. Yeah, reading it back, I think I've lost you again. Fuck it, moving on. Besides, I'm pretty sure you'll all be reading this way later than the date that I'm writing this anyway. Not that time means much anymore to me.

Anyways, I wasn't there, yet I was close to there that I could see the goddamn ship go up around me and be pissed that I had fuck all to hold onto. Of course, I was far away enough from the reactor that the bleed-off probably wouldn't kill me.

After my vision went dark because of the overload residue from my shift, I patiently waited for the bots to finish repairing my retinas and nerves. Fuck, I hate how much that itches. At this point, that's when I realized the terrifyingly depressing reality of me being alive. Yeah sure, I was alive, but I was infinity-plus stretches away from home and I only had so many resources at my disposal. I looked around at all the debris and sighed. It was going to suck so hard to reconstitute all of this into something useful.

While our side continued losing the skirmish, I stayed in the shadow of my ship, near the failing mag coils that would mask my signature, and watched the carnage. I couldn't really do anything at this point, if I shifted phases, I'd probably die, and getting to the other ships was impossible as the area was still blanketed in potential that was spreading outwardly. Standard OP in this situation was to just wait and stay concealed. Zero chance of updating anyone without getting blown away.

I sighed and shook my head, knowing that I'd have to fuck myself hard here. I had no choice but to set my revive for 96 years, the acknowledged decay rate for potentials. I couldn't shift until then unless something unforeseen happened. As I drifted off into torpor, I remember cursing my goddamn reflexes, I should have slept in and died without ever knowing anything anymore.

The next thing I did was take in a sharp breath, that panicked state is something you never get over. When you wake up from Torpor, your entire body screams at you to run. Think of it as setting your fight-flight to max intensity. I fumbled a bit into nothingness before I remembered my training and stiffened up as my senses came back online. Eyes were super sharp, awesome. I looked around and saw an aged debris field now. The chronograph said 54 years, early wake up by the systems. Oh yay, so I had only lost the equivalence of half my life. Everyone I knew would be old or dead if I got back now. Which of course I wouldn't, because now I was only starting this whole shit.

I shifted into normal space and felt the suit firm up around me as it became subject to remaining potential, absolute zero, and whatever shit that our side had been carrying. It was a comforting feeling knowing that our technology was still good after so long. I sent out a sitrep request blip and got nothing. If anyone had gotten to any pods, they'd been gone for decades at this point, either having been picked up by someone else or turned into small single-person coffins still hurtling through space.

Running another scan, I found another ship a few hundred clicks away, my onboard jet plotted assisted lines between all the relevant husks that were floating around. I saw the time estimates increase up to a few weeks when I changed from jet to "by my own devices", which is egghead speak for using your own body. I'd have to push off these husks myself and then wait for an agonizingly long time before I'd reach the others. Of course, I had the fortune of being able to shift into negative and then torpor safely, but I'd lose more time. I think this is when I realized the war was definitely over for me. There was no way I was getting home to anything else but the aftermath. It feels weird looking back on it now, knowing I cared.

Anyway, I got to the first husk, some good piping, some even better conduits. Stash, weld, combine, fuse, redirect, then I threw the bundle towards the second husk and negged and immediately torpored. I woke up two weeks later to the same panic-realize routine, managed to catch myself before I hit the hull, and then saw the bundle I'd thrown come at the ship maybe twenty meters away. Fuck, something must have hit it and deflected it.

I half-magged myself to the hull and ran as fast as I dared, then managed to get to it before it hit. Step one out of twenty-one was now done. As I went through the nearby dead husks, seeing the leftovers of war, I lucked out, as I found an almost intact Cintin escape pod. Sure, their tech wasn't as good as ours, but they made that up in ferocity and numbers. Still, I took the time to replenish my oxygen supply from their onboard tanks. The gauge read 10 years now. A bit of a boost, but considering I was mostly breathing fake air with some traces of the real stuff mixed in, it wasn't great.

I hated the warm static feeling it gave you as you sucked it down and I remember contemplating increasing the ratio but reminded myself that I had a ship to build.

About six years later (torpors included) I had a frame, another fifteen years more and the main reactor was ready to go online, then at the twenty-nine-year mark, I stood inside the completed thing, pressurized it with reclaimed oxy vapors and took my first real 100% atmo breath in what felt like a lifetime.

As I started the series of omega space jumps, I made it very clear to anyone around me that I was now white-flagged. That means I automatically surrendered to anyone who could read the signs on the hull or on the radio. I was done with war. I got back to the first outer colonies and found nothing but old debris floating around, probably over a century old at that point. I took another torpor nap while I told the ship to rip apart everything and turn itself into a cruiser.

I woke up about two decades later to the ship telling me it was done. Its tone was much more agreeable now that it had a proper AI constructed as well. Zero military language, all-natural.

I named her Maya, after the people who had worshiped the stars, they'd certainly done the same to her if she'd been there. The AI took to it, really spun the data around, and shaped itself into a really interesting entity. As we traveled towards the sol system, now at a much faster rate, she held me in the grav net and told me to brace for the worst as the pain was etched in her eyes.

She knew. I knew. Fuck. Oldest rookie mistake ever with making AIs.

When we arrived, there was nothing left of Earth or most of the solid planets. Maya detected that Luna had completely been ejected from the solar system. I told her we'd find another romantic spot then for our moonlit vacations and laughed. But inside I felt like a pile of crumbling grey ashes. Maya teared up as she hugged me with her constructed body.

We managed to integrate with a station next, I torpore'd while Maya toiled away for a few more decades, making it space worthy again. She woke me up with a kiss and that was the first time I didn't really panic like I usually did. As she guided me around the now gleamingly polished station, I felt a hesitation in her pride in it. Turned out that 'the hesitation' was her assistant she'd created named Lemnon who was now her mate. There was nothing more to say, I boarded the cruiser she'd made for me all those years back and set a course for the most distant human colony.

I woke up to a neutral readout by the default mil-spec voice and this time around, I appreciated it. No panic, but I remember feeling hollow. Due to a massive detour caused by a near-catastrophic implosion, it'd taken some extra time for me to arrive. I asked how much, not really caring about the numbers.

The computer listed the actual time as something around half a million years. I was beyond caring at that point. There wasn't much left of the colony in orbit, some small fragments, but most had either burnt up or deflected outward.

Computer readout detected biological activity though. As I stepped out of my landing capsule and breathed the fresh, real air of a planet, I felt odd. I was a person out of history, this wasn't my Earth, but it was close enough that you didn't really care.

As I neared the camp, I felt the anticipation, a new life, new humanity, what had they made of themselves in all this time? Then I saw them, clad in furs, shaking their spears, making guttural noises. I sat down hard as one of the spears hit me dead center in my gut. The primitive ran up to me, howling with joy, but I wept as I looked up at him and shook my head as I blew him away. The others scattered after that.

I’m fading, I can’t get back to my capsule and honestly, I don’t want to anymore. I’m fucking done. I hope these savages are what remains of the human race because then I can at least go to my death knowing that I won. I finally won by ridding the universe of us all.

Onboard, adjust text beacon for temporal eject after operator overload detonation.

Tac-sys V4.312 END.

Dennis Dawson walked up the hill, the clouds were black and they matched the same colour as the sky. An intense wind blew fragments of dust and grit into his face. Dennis pulled the black and grey scarf over his face. A cockroach ran under his feet. Dennis squashed it.

Only cockroaches and what was it… yes rubber trees or something like that.

Dennis used his wooden stick to poke around the rocks and chunks of cement. Dennis hit a tin can, he bent down and inspected the find. It had a massive crushed dent in it yet thankfully none of the contents had been compromised. Dennis slipped the can into his ruck sack. A ruck sack that he had found somewher. Someone had even written U2 RULZ in black marker on the back of it. So that ruck sack must of pre dated 1994.

While Dennis wasn’t a U2 guy he liked Aerosmith. One day he plucked up the courage to write their band name on his bag. Some older kid he barely knew got in his face and called them ‘fags’. He answered that to the only way he knew how to. ‘No they’re not’. He anticipated the punch to the face. It never came. The older kid accepted his answer and just walked away. Well that was high school.

Dennis tapped his stick like a blind man walking around a shopping mall. Over the sound of the wind Dennis could hear car engines. A sound that grew rarer and rarer these days. He pulled out his cracked black binoculars and rested them carefully on his eyes. The Pirate car gang was driving around the desert. The desert of once was a great city. He knew that was a rose coloured glasses view yet hey. It was a functioning city and it worked and you could meet friends and go to the movies and just do stuff. There were five cars and they were going somewhere. Probably raiding or going to hit the territory of the Tuscan Bleachers. Who knows in this world?

Dennis tapped away and the wind slapped a book right into his chest. He grabbed the book and turned it over. He read the title. “FIX YOURSELF NOW”. Whoah. Dennis gripped the book for dear life and found some shelter from the dirty wind and removed his goggles. There was just enough light so reading the words didn’t strain his eyes. He flicked through the pages. Chapter 1: Take some responsibility now. In your life everything is your fault. While we know that necessarily mightn’t be the case. For you to move forward. Everything is your fault. The cop out stops now. Dennis read on and for the first time he felt inspired. He pulled a can of spaghetti out and the rucksack as well as a can opener. He opened the can and slid that spaghetti down his throat. Out in this world he ate once a day. He hadn’t eaten any animals only what he could scavenge. He couldn’t remember the last time he was in a functioning supermarket. Felt so long ago.

So everything is my fault. I should have been smarter, became a politician or a global leader and stopped whatever happened. Dennis put back on his goggles and picked up his sack. I need people to follow me, to make the world a better place. Dennis walked back down the hill, he made his way to his hideout and removed the corrugated iron pieces and went down below.

Dennis removed the canvass and went down another hole, then another ladder. He lit a match and lit up the numerous candles along the sides of the wall. He sat back down on a blue bean bag. He manoeuvred the light and went back to his book. Chapter 2: Two types of people in this world. Followers and Leaders. Be a Leader.

Dennis read on.

The next morning Dennis wondered where he was up to with the book. He didn’t want to dog ear the pages and that was sacrilege before the apocalypse and post apocalypse and its still the apocalypse. Dennis knew for himself to be a great leader in this world he had to have skills. No one was going to follow a guy who could find one can of beans a day. Dennis went to his shelf and pulled out an automatic pistol and a steel boomerang.

Dennis loaded in the clip. His used tin cans stood above a dust covered rock. Dennis aimed and fired. Missed. Aim and fired. Missed.

Aimed and fired. HIT, the tin can flew off the top of the rock. Dennis threw the silver boomerang and it hacked into the side of a tree. If that is someone’s head. Confirmed kill.

Dennis pulled the boomerang out of the tree trunk and kept practicing for the rest of the afternoon.

Dennis saw the pirate gang doing burn outs at the base of the mountain. He buttoned his coat and made his way down to the bottom of the hill, carefully stepping as not to start off a landslide and alert the gang.

He pulled out the book and reminded himself of the chapter he read last night. Chapter 3: From now on Fear doesn’t hold you back. He closed the book and kept on walking towards the commotion. As he got closer to the cars they stopped and a motley crew of men and women got out of their acid trip crazed vehicles. Their clothing was black leather and fur. Their hair colours ranged from blue to black and covered every spectrum of the rainbow. A Mo hawked man stepped forward. “What do you want” he asked as he lit a massive reefer. The smoke evaporating in the wind. “I want to join your gang” said Dennis. “Don’t need anyone right now, I can’t see how you would be of any use to us unless we want to eat you” said the leader taking another drag. Dennis pulled out his pistol and shot in the air, a bird dropped dead on the ground at the feet of The Pirate Gang’s leader. He nodded. “Okay you’re in”.

Four months later.

Dennis finished his latest chapter. Chapter 10: The paralysis of analysis. “Overthinking stops action. Action first, then action again. If you are too busy kicking ass then worry is not an issue.” Dennis went to the large miniature map in the middle of his tent, built with sticks and stones. The group leaders of the Pirate gang were all around him. Dennis raised his stick, the same stick that found all of those cans for him and kept him alive. Alive in a place that spat out anything alive. Here he was the kid who was picked last on the basketball team, the kid that went solo to the school prom and only after his step dad made him go. Dennis Dawson. King of the Uncool. Dennis pointed to the part of the Tuscan bleachers defences he wanted targeted. The leader nodded and went outside the tent and revved their war machines.

Dennis got into his armoured vehicle and took off into the desert. The pirates smashed through the back door of the fort. Dennis followed the lead vehicle in. He hammered the hand brake and put his armoured vehicle into a stall selling watermelons. Watermelon and its juice sprayed all over the fort and the sand below. Dennis climbed up the ladder of the vehicle and took over the machine gun post. He fired into the corners where the gunman for the bleachers stood in a 360 degree attack. Men and women flew over the top. Hit by a belt chain machine gun that Dennis fired with pin point accuracy.

The machine gun ran out of ammunition. The last of the bullets hitting the ground. Take action, then more action. Dennis saw three in coming attackers. He pulled out his silver boomerang in his right hand and threw it. The boomerang swiped right to left and hit all three attackers in their temples. Dennis went to their collapsed bodies and put a round in them each.

Pirates on motorbikes poured into the fort. A voice came over the sound system. “We surrender, please show mercy.” Dennis pulled out an orange coloured flare gun from his rucksack and fired a shot in the air. The pirates cheered.

Dennis sat back in his war tent. Eating chocolate and drinking a can of coca cola. He found a pen and paper and started to write on the first page. How the age of apocalypse helped me become the man I should have been.

Dennis Dawson was a good leader, he lead the city for a very long time until hubris took over and he was overthrown and exiled. His found book acknowledged the self-help book, his faults and how to the best you can no matter the circumstances.

I noticed Jackson walking by the editing room. I quickly stood up to follow him, almost tripping over my chair and the cord of my headphones. I caught him just as he opened the door to leave the building.

“Jackson!”

He frowned at me. “Don’t speak to me so casually.”

“Wait, I wanted to ask something…”

“Hurry. I want to go home.”

“In your stories…with the ghosts you’ve encountered…you always say you helped them move on. How did you do it?”

He frowned even deeper. “Didn’t I say I wasn’t going to talk about this with you? Do you really want to be fired–”

“Let me help!”

He blinked at me in surprise.

“Let me help you get rid of the ghost in this studio, I mean…” I elaborated.

He kept blinking at me. “Are you serious?”

“You’re…afraid of them, aren’t you? Can’t we quickly help it move on so you won’t have to worry about it anymore?”

He let out a long sigh. “Before you try to help me, go take a look at it. I’m sure it’s up in the studio now. That is, if you can even see it. If you can’t, you’re useless to me. Now then, good night.”

He stepped through the open door and let it close behind him. I stood there for a moment. There was a ghost in the studio right now? How did he know that? What might I see when I go up there…?

“Ryan?”

I jumped despite myself. I turned to see Lang standing there. He quirked an eyebrow.

“You alright?” he asked.

I quickly nodded. “Yes, um… Are you leaving now?”

“Yep. If you’ll let me get to the door, that is.”

I immediately stepped aside. He put his hand on the door.

“Are you really alright?” he asked again.

I nodded. “Yes, have a good night. I still need to finish editing. I’ll lock up when I’m done.”

“Good. See you later.”

He left and I was alone. Well, maybe not completely alone. I turned around to look at the stairs across the room leading up to the studio. They looked more ominous than usual. Jackson’s words rang in my head. If I could see it, then he’d let me help him. And I’d do anything to help him.

I slowly stepped up the stairs. When I got to the door, I hesitated. I feared the worst would be waiting for me behind it. I didn’t know if I was ready to see it. But I had no choice. I had to do it. I gripped the doorknob and turned it.

The door swung open and the first thing I saw was an empty studio. The lights were dim, set to automatically turn off. I clicked them on brighter so they wouldn’t turn off just yet. Everything looked normal. I wanted to sigh with relief when I realized it was bad that I didn't see anything. I wouldn’t be able to help Jackson. Despair and disappointment began to fill me.

Yet when I glanced to the side, there she was. I jumped out of my skin and moved away from her. A ghostly white woman with long hair draped over her shoulders was floating a couple of inches off the ground. Her eyes looked dark and hollow. Her mouth was set into a frown. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing at all. But one thing was confirmed. Ghosts did exist.

We stared at each other in silence for a while. She made no movements except for her ghostly outline which flickered as if it was swaying in a wind that only she could feel. I made no movements because I was at a loss for what to do.

When she still made no movements nor said any words, I figured I finally had to do something. “Who…are you?” I asked.

For a second, she still didn’t move. Then I watched as she slowly lifted her arm and turned her body. She was pointing at something in the studio.

“What is it…?” I asked, not sure what her finger led to when there were multiple things in that direction.

She began to move forward where her finger was pointing and I forced myself to follow. We got to a desk that held scripts and documents where Lang usually sat during or after filming. There were pieces of paper on the desk and the ghost’s finger pointed to a word.

I saw that the paper had today’s script printed on it. The word she was pointing to was the name of one of the fans who submitted their ghost story to the channel. That name was “Jenna.”

“Your name is Jenna?” I asked.

The ghost finally lowered her arm and turned to me which caused me to take a step back again. Then she gave a slight nod.

“Jenna…why are you here?”

She paused again. Then she shook her head.

“Do you not know?”

She shook her head again. I couldn’t tell if she was agreeing or disagreeing with my question.

“I’ll help you, Jenna,” I said. “You want to pass on, don’t you?”

She only stared at me.

“Jackson will help too.”

Then she moved towards me and I almost let out a scream that wasn’t very manly. She stopped right in front of me and all I could do was gaze into her hollow eyes.

“Do you…like Jackson?” I finally asked.

She gave a slight nod. I didn’t know a ghost could end up as my rival.

“Then, don’t worry. I’ll come back later with him and we’ll both help you. Does that sound good?”

She moved back. Then she turned and moved towards a wall where she disappeared in a ghostly fog. I had to sit with what I had just seen.

Part Two

During the days that followed, we were plagued with a torrential rain storm that poured down onto Trillium almost continuously, keeping us out of the woods and forcing us to find alternative ways of occupying ourselves indoors. Lacey’s sprained ankle had healed during that time, and we had watched every single DVD and played every single video game all five of us collectively owned. After three weeks of a daily downpour, we were all itching to be able to go outside again.

None of us had spoken extensively about what we had experienced in the mine… I’m not exactly sure why. I suppose, with the last day of school fast approaching, they all had other things to focus on. Not me. I wanted to bring it up, but the longer I didn’t, the weirder I felt it would be to say something. They didn’t have any actual answers for any of it anyway… but I thought, Slim might.

He had been way too carefree and talkative during that entire drive for him to suddenly clam up like that for no good reason when I asked about the noises. I knew that if I was ever going to get to the bottom of those noises were, I was going to have to find some way to question him again. Until then, I’d need a confidant. I was positive that Lacey would immediately dismiss me, and that Devin would just try to make a big joke out of it. Michelle wasn’t even considered an option, obviously. I needed someone who was mature, logical and objective, but who would also really listen and take me seriously. And, I knew I needed someone I could trust to keep a secret. I needed Mikey.

I waited until a Sunday afternoon, knowing Michelle would be at her piano lesson, and called his house. His dad answered the phone, and sounded a bit surprised that it was me asking for Mikey, and not Devin. He told me to hang on, then I heard him yell that ‘some girl’ was on the phone.

“…Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“Um… what are you doing right now?”

“Chilling, playing GTA… why?”

“Can I come over there? I need to talk to you about something.”

“… Uhhh, yeah, I guess… are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Be there in a second.”

I hung up before he could ask anymore questions, feeling extremely awkward. I grabbed my raincoat out of my closet, shoved my feet into my combat boots, and ran down the stairs. Koda excitedly followed me to the door, tail wagging.

“No, girl. You can’t come, I’m sorry. It’s still raining- just go lay back down and chew your bone. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” My mom yelled, from the kitchen.

“Just to Mikey’s!” I yelled back, hurrying out of the door.

I flipped up the hood on my black raincoat, took a deep breath, and started down the road. When I approached his house, I looked up and saw that he was standing outside on his front porch, waiting for me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked me as I climbed the steps.

“Nothing… I just need to talk to you about some stuff.”

“Stuff? What stuff?? You’re starting to weird me out.”

“Let’s just go inside.”

He paused for a second while looking me over.

“Okay, fine. Just- wipe your feet good, and keep it down while we pass through the living room. My dad’s in a mood today.”

He means drunk.

We hurried past the blaring TV and made our way down the stairs of the basement. That’s where Mikey hung out most of the time, mostly because that’s where the PlayStation was. It started out as a playroom for both siblings, but at that point had basically become Mikey’s own little ‘apartment’. It seemed like he had even started sleeping down there recently, too. I moved the pillow over and sat down on the couch.

“I wanna talk to you about the day we went to the mine.”

“Okay…? What about it?” He said, still standing.

“The strange noises we heard in there… what do you think they were?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You seriously hung up the phone and walked all the way over here in the rain just to ask me that?”

I was hit with a sudden rush of embarrassment; I’m more than sure my face had turned red. I had been obsessing over those noises pretty much everyday since, but in that moment I realized, Mikey probably hadn’t given them any thought at all. I chewed the inside of my lip for a brief moment, then replied,

“No… I- uh… well, kinda. But, not just that. Look. You know I don’t believe in any of that kinda stuff, but at the same time, I can’t explain those noises we heard. So, I’m just asking what you think.”

“Don’t believe in any of what stuff?”

Did he really have to make me say it?

“Ugh, you know. All that stupid ‘Locust Man’ crap they used to try and scare us with when we were little.”

“Right…?” he said, still confused.

“Right, so… what exactly was that banging and screeching all about?” I asked.

“I dunno… just stuff falling apart?”

“Okay, yeah… but, like… what stuff, specifically?”

He looked at me inquisitively for a second before asking me, “Why are you so stuck on this? That was like a month ago.”

I stared up at him blankly, not knowing quite how to answer that. After a second or two of discernment, he sat down beside me.

“Okay… I’ve never seen you scared of anything like this before. What’s going on?” He asked.

“I’m not scared.”

I instantly felt the need to defend myself, but as I looked into his eyes, I felt more comfort than judgment coming from them. And then, I started rambling.

“It’s just that… okay, look- first off, right when we walked into that mine, my watch stopped. I know this because I checked the time when we got there, and it was definitely running. But then, I checked it again when we got to that split in the tunnel, and it was still showing the exact same time. Here’s the weird part tho… later on in the woods while we were walking back, I looked down at my watch and it had started working again. But, it didn’t just start working again… it was like it had never even stopped to begin with. Like, the entire time we were in the mine, time had just… paused.” He looked at me with both skepticism and concern.

“Okay. That is weird… but, what does any of that have to do the noises though?”

I looked away from him, fixing my gaze onto the old shag rug on the floor in front of us.

“I honestly have no idea, but I do know that the moment I noticed my watch had stopped, was also the exact moment we heard that loud bang. I’m just saying… it was weird. That whole day was weird. All the crazy shit that happened, the woods being so quiet, my watch, the fallen tree, ending up on a trail we didn’t even know existed… it’s like, I couldn’t trust any of my senses. And, I mean, all that other stuff? I can blame it on me freaking out, or just not paying attention… but, those noises?” I looked back at him.

“I just don’t know, Mikey.”

Just when I thought I was losing him, he replied, “Me neither, but I think I know someone who might.”

The next day, the rain finally stopped, and Trillium was graced with sunlight for the first time in what felt like forever. We spent the entire day at school teeming with the anticipation of going back out to our clubhouse. I was really hoping that old tarp had held up too, because I hadn’t had the chance to grab my boombox from out there before the rain started.

When the bus stopped at the beginning of our street, however, our usual jovial race didn’t commence. Instead, we all walked off of the bus completely silent, calm, and in perfectly controlled formation- like soldiers heading off for battle; both adventurous and apprehensive. Luckily, it was the last week of school, so no homework had been given out. All I had to do was feed Koda and unload the dishwasher. Lacey even skipped out on her ‘honorary’ last cheerleading practice, to get a jump on her chores. I got to her house just as she was finishing up, then we walked to the end of the road.

As we assumed, Devin was already at Mikey’s when we showed up. Michelle launched herself off of her swing set and ran to greet us at the road.

“It’s about damn time!” Devin shouted from the porch.

“Oh shut up, Devin. Not everyone is a spoiled brat with no responsibilities like you!” Lacey snapped back.

“Yeah, and not everyone is a stuck-up bitch like you!” He replied, with a smile.

“Okay, guys… are we just going to stand here and talk shit to each other all day, or are we going to the damn clubhouse?” I said, interrupting their blatant attempt to flirt with each other under the guise of insults.

“Jeez, what crawled up your ass and died?” Devin asked, scrunching his eyebrows at me. “Me and Mikey have been ready to go. We’re the ones who had to wait on you two!”

“Well, now we’re here. So let’s go.” I replied.

We didn’t have time for any of that. Well, I certainly didn’t. All of the questions I had still swimming around in my head demanded to be fed answers, and I had no clue when I’d be able to talk to Slim. I knew the only other way I might be able to get some answers in the meantime would be going back into those woods. This time, it would be me leading the way, with Mikey following a half-step behind me.

I was relieved to find that the avian inhabitants of the area had resumed their symphony. Squirrels were scurrying, the frogs were chirping, and even though it was a bit muddy and unseasonably chilly, the woods felt like home again. That is, until my ears detected a frequency that could not have been produced by anything in nature. A faint, rhythmic bass pulsated through the trees. I was the first to notice it of course, but I stayed silent. As we drew closer, the clarity of the sound increased, and the source of it became apparent to me. By then, the others had begun to notice it too.

“Hey… what’s that noise?” Mikey asked. They all stopped.

“It sounds like… music?” Devin said, confused.

“Uh, is that your boombox?” Lacey asked me.

“Yes.” I responded flatly, continuing forward.

I remained externally calm, even though a chill had just run down my spine at the realization that I knew for an absolute fact I had not left it on. It definitely wasn’t playing when we left for the mine. In fact, it hadn’t even been turned on at all that day. And there is no way… no way. Even if somehow it had been turned on that day, it wouldn’t have still been playing almost a month later; the batteries would have died. I had come back to those damn woods looking for answers, and the first thing it offered me was another question.

“How did it even get turned on?” Lacey asked. Devin had an idiotic theory on it, as expected.

“Maybe it rained so hard that the rain drops pushed the ‘on’ button?”

“There is no button.” I said. “It has a sliding switch to turn on and off.”

As soon as the clubhouse was within view, I could hear clearly what song was playing. It was the new Incubus song that had just come out… the same one that was playing in Slim’s SUV that day. The song was called “Warning”.

“…and she called out a warning… warning…”

The lyrics echoed through the trees, and I started sprinting toward the clubhouse. I could already see that the lawn chairs had all been knocked over- thrown around, it looked like. But the roof had held up.

“… don’t ever let life pass you by…”

Mikey yelled after me to wait, but I didn’t. I kept running. I knew Slim had found our secret spot and that he was inside, waiting for us. I knew he had the answers I needed, and that he had come there specifically to provide me with those answers. But when I rushed into the clubhouse, I was shocked to find it unoccupied. More alarmingly… it had been ransacked.

As the radio blared, I looked down and noticed Mikey’s metal box was open and turned on its side, its contents strewn across the ground. Sitting inconspicuously amongst the scattered pokemon cards, old twinkies, pocket knives and other random junk, was a flashlight. My blood ran cold. It was the flashlight… as in, the exact same one Devin had dropped when we were running out of the mine. It was all banged up and full of scratches, and the keychain attachment part was gone; ripped off. The others all rushed in behind me.

“What the hell happened in here?! Was this all from the storm?!?!” Devin yelled over the music.

I walked over and abruptly shut the boombox off, almost knocking it over.

“Can’t be.” I replied, pointing down at the flashlight. “Look.”

They all looked down at the ground in confusion while scanning the items in front of us, until they realized what I was pointing at. Mikey turned to Devin and asked him,

“Dude… isn’t that the flashlight you dropped in the mine?”

“Holy shit…” Devin whispered.

“Okay, what the hell is going on? How did that get back here?!” Lacey asked.

“Someone is fucking with us.” I said, angrily.

Michelle gasped and squealed out, “Th-The Locust Man!!”

“Jesus Christ, Michelle! Would you just stop with that shit already?!” I snapped.

I felt bad instantly, but at that point, I was too worked up to care about trying to be delicate with her feelings.

“Monsters aren’t real. This was done by a person.” I asserted.

“Who would do this?” Mikey asked.

“Slim.” I replied, without hesitation.

“Wait… the guy who picked us up? Why would he come here and trash our clubhouse??” Lacey asked.

“I don’t know why, but I know it’s him.” I said.

“Based on what?” Mikey questioned.

“Well, for one, he already knew we had gone to the mine that day without us telling him.” I retorted.

“He didn’t know that for sure. He just assumed that’s where we went because, I mean… what else would we have been doing that far out there?” Mikey said.

”Okay, maybe…” I admitted. “But… what if he had been following us that whole time? Maybe he didn’t just happen to drive by, maybe he knew we’d be walking down that road...”

“Pshh… okay, now you’re just being paranoid!” Devin laughed.

“Alright, listen.” I said. “What you guys don’t know is that… before I got out of Slim’s SUV that day, I asked him a question- and he straight up lied to my face. He’s hiding something.”

“Seriously?” Mikey asked me, looking offended that I hadn’t already told him that, “What’d you ask him?”

“If he had heard any strange noises in the mine when he had gone there back in the day.”

“And? What’d he say?” Devin asked.

“He just said no. But… I know that was a lie.”

“How do you know that?” Mikey asked.

“I could just tell.” I said. “Look… trust me on this, something is up with him. And if this wasn’t him, who else could it have been? How did the flashlight get back here? If anyone else has a theory, besides Michelle, then let’s hear it.”

Michelle folded her arms together and huffed while the boys looked around at the ground, perplexed.

“Who else knew we went out there?” Lacey asked.

“No one.” I replied. “I didn’t tell anyone about it. Did any of you guys?”

They all shook their heads.

“Think about it.” I said. “Slim is very familiar with these woods, and now he knows we hang out here. This clubhouse wouldn’t be hard to find at all. Shit, he could still be out here somewhere, watching us!”

“S-s-stop it!” Michelle cried.

“I’m being for real. I’m sorry, Michelle. I’m not trying to scare you… but maybe you shouldn’t be coming out here with us anymore. At least not until we figure out what’s going on.” I said.

I was expecting her to protest about breaking the pact, but she didn’t. We all stood there in silence until Mikey finally spoke up.

“We should go talk to Hunter.”

“Your cousin?” I asked him. “Why?”

“He worked for Slim at the diner last year. Maybe he knows something.” He shrugged.

Hunter was sixteen at the time and had started working at the roller rink that summer. The only way we were going to be able to talk to him was by going there, and we knew our parents wouldn’t take us all without a good reason. It just so happened that my birthday was coming up at the end of the week, so armed with a perfect excuse, we formulated a plan for me to ask my mom if I could have my party at the skate rink on Saturday.

To be honest, I hadn’t really given much thought to my birthday at all up until that point. I mean sure, I was excited about turning thirteen and having more freedom… but, at the same time, I remember feeling strangely apprehensive about it. I had always been somewhat of a moody child, but the twelfth year of my life was a particularly melancholy one. Maybe it was hormones, maybe I was just a product of my environment and the tragic circumstances that had created it… or maybe I had a good reason for all of my foreboding, and I just didn’t know it yet.

The prospect of finally be being able to solve this mystery gave me something to look forward to though, so that remained my primary focus. The last days of sixth grade seemed to flash by in a chaotic blur. We had put the clubhouse back in order before leaving it that day, and hadn’t been back since. It just didn’t seem safe for any of us to go back there again until we could find out more about what was going on.

While we were picking up our things, Mikey took inventory of each item. Nothing was missing. He had also searched the immediate area to make sure we weren’t being watched and during his walk around the perimeter, he took note of the fact that there were no extra sets of footprints anywhere- just ours. The only hard evidence the intruder had left behind, besides the mess and the radio blaring, was that flashlight.

Whoever the perpetrator was, they very clearly wanted us to get the message that they knew where we had been. And judging by the thrashing our clubhouse was given, they weren’t happy about it. Curiously, they also seemed to have taken great care not to leave anything behind that could implicate them. I was still completely convinced it was Slim. Not only was I certain that he was the one who trashed our clubhouse, but at that point, I was starting to suspect that he had actually been the source of those noises inside of the mine. I just couldn’t prove it. Not yet, anyway.

More than anything though, I just wanted to know why. What were his motives for toying with us like this? What kind of sick game was he playing? I had a few theories, but nothing solid. In the meantime, I’d just have to wait and see what information we could get out of Hunter.

In a land shrouded in perpetual twilight, there lay the Hollow of Vellarn, where shadows whispered secrets and the air thickened with dread. This forsaken place was home to the Gloomstalkers, creatures born of nightmares, their forms shifting like the mist that cloaked the woods.

Long ago, a curse had been laid upon Vellarn by a maiden turned heartbroken sorceress, whose love was stolen away by a petty dispute. In her fury, she twisted the land, binding the souls of the unwary who ventured too close. They became the Gloomstalkers, eternally hunting for release of this wretched existence, their cries echoing through the trees.

Elara, a young herbalist from a distant village, heard tales of one of the Hollow’s cursed treasures—a flower that could cure any ailment that was said to bloom only in the darkest hour in the darkest part of the hollow. Determined to heal her ailing brother, she embarked on a perilous journey, unaware of the true cost of the flower.

As she entered the Hollow, a chill enveloped her, and the trees seemed to lean closer, their gnarled branches resembling grasping hands. She pressed on, heart pounding, guided by a faint glow in the distance. The deeper she ventured, the more the air vibrated with a sorrowful melody, like a lament of lost souls.

Suddenly, from the shadows, a Gloomstalker emerged—a figure with sunken eyes and a mouth twisted in despair. Elara stumbled back, her instincts screaming to flee. “You shouldn’t be here,” it rasped, its voice a haunting echo. “This place is a trap for the unwary.”

“I seek the flower,” she replied, her voice steady despite her fear. “It is for my brother.”

The creature’s eyes flickered with a hint of longing. “The flower you seek will not bring salvation but despair. It comes at a price, and the curse will be yours to bear.”

Determined, Elara pressed on, her resolve unyielding. The creature watched her, a mix of pity and admiration in its hollow gaze. As she reached the heart of the Hollow, a single flower glimmered in the darkness, its petals like silver moonlight.

As she plucked the bloom, a tremor shook the ground, and the air crackled with dark energy. The Gloomstalker stepped forward, a sorrowful expression etched on its face. “You’ve awakened the curse. You must choose: take the flower and share its curse, or leave it be and spare yourself.”

Elara’s heart raced. She thought of her brother, of the life she wished to save. Yet the weight of the Gloomstalker’s words hung heavy in the air. “What becomes of me if I decide to share this curse?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The creature hesitated, then spoke. “A sacrifice for love, a burden shared. But know this: the curse will not only haunt you; it will call to the darkness within.”

With resolve, she accepted the burden. As she turned to leave, the forest erupted in a cacophony of howls, the Gloomstalkers writhing in agony as they sensed the curse taking root within her.

Elara emerged from the Hollow, the flower cradled in her hands, a bittersweet victory. She felt the shadows swirl around her, a constant reminder of the darkness she now carried. Her brother’s eyes would light up with life, but at what cost?

As she walked back toward the light, she knew the curse would follow her, a reminder that even in the deepest shadows, love could prevail, but it would always come with a price.

And what was this curse she now had been blighted with you ask? Elara's curse was the binding of her soul to the Gloomstalkers, meaning she would now carry their darkness within her. While she could heal her brother with the flower, she would also be haunted by shadows, drawn to the despair of others and compelled to help those who suffer. This connection to the Hollow would bring her moments of anguish, as she felt the sorrow of the lost souls, forever reminding her of the price she paid for love.

You left so many pieces of your body with me. I don’t know if you still have ears to hear this, or eyes to read this, or a tongue to talk back and whether I’d understand you if you did. I want to share your memory; in case it fell off with the rest of you.

It started with back pains, but you were always troubled. We dated for eight years and were engaged for another two. We lived in four different apartments in three different cities. We drank rum from coffee cups on Tuesday nights. This was important to you. Your hair was short when we met and long when it fell out. It started with back pains, but I think it was with you always. I was the one who first noticed the blood stains on the backs of your shirts. Then the wheezing at night. I woke up to you shuddering. I woke up to you coughing up glass in the sink. Finally, I started waking up alone.

It took a lot to get you to a doctor. You were stubborn. When the growths on your back grew too large for you to wear clothes, you let me take you to a specialist. He prodded around your new bones and tendons, marveling openly at your body. He shot you full of X-rays. You didn’t like the X-rays. I could trace the radiation pattern on your skin. It was almost beautiful, your pale chest speckled with waves of little black burns. They never healed and you never went back.

I found out where you went at night. You always came back smelling of car exhaust. I found you, one night, huddled near the highway, still wrapped up in our blankets.

You started spending a lot of time in the garage. You said it helped you breathe. I found you running the car with the garage door shut. I thought you wanted to die, but instead you were so happy. You started sleeping again, and didn’t seem so afraid of the changes.

You seemed relieved, in those days. You said you spent your whole life thinking there was something wrong with you. You said you found out what it was, and how lucky you felt to know. You took me into the garage, pulled the blankets off your body. The bones on your back had grown long and leathery. They craned to the ceiling, multijointed. Delicate membranes webbed them together, translucent in the light. You were so happy to show me, unfolding your tender new flesh beneath my fingertips. You said, how many people get the chance to know what’s really wrong with them?

I saw less of you after that. I had to seal up the garage to keep the carbon monoxide in. I brought you gas canisters every morning. In the thick haze, it was hard to see details, but I could still see you changing. Your silhouette grew huge in the doorway, fragile appendages tapping along the ceiling, feeling along the grime-caked walls.

We mostly talked through the door after that. Your voice changed. It became airy and musical, and you didn’t sound like yourself anymore. At times, I forgot who I was talking to. Your happiness faded. You stopped making sense. You said, we’ve been here before. You said, someday everyone will be like me, but I’m here too soon, and there is no one like me. There was a long time I didn’t see your face. When we opened the door each morning to trade gas canisters for waste buckets, you were wearing gauze. You wore it all over. I started finding pieces of you in the waste buckets. Small things at first—fingernails, hair. Then teeth. Then skin—a little, then a lot.

You tried to show me what was underneath. You peeled back the bandages on your chest. Beneath the dried blood, you glowed like alabaster. Where the clean air touched you, your new skin burned, oxidized like sliced-open fruit. You covered back up and shut the door.

I don’t know what you ate in there. You never asked for food. It would be hard for you to eat, all those layers of smoke-stained gauze where your mouth used to be.

I’m glad you came to see me before you left. I didn’t know how to say it at the time. Your wings were massive and gorgeous, filling our bedroom, knocking against the curtains, the photos on the wall. You must have left the doors open, because the room was filled with your smoke. I couldn’t breathe, but I was happy to hold you again. You had grown so tall, your arms so long, you could wrap them around me twice over, cradling me in your supple new joints. You tried to speak. You were muffled by the gauze. I tried to pull the bandages away, to hear your voice, to see what was left of you, but I couldn’t get through the layers. They were fused together with smoke and tar. You stopped me, laid a long, cold hand on my face. I tried to understand but couldn’t.

You were gone when I woke up. My head ached from the carbon monoxide, but you left our windows open. I have to think part of you remained, for you to do that. There was a sweetness in it. I still sleep with our windows open. I draw back the curtains, hoping to see you perched on our balcony, blacking out the stars.

I still haven’t cleaned out the garage. There are pieces of you in there, maybe pieces you were afraid to throw away. It’s hard to identify the parts, blackened and preserved by the smog, but I think I’ve found most of your face. I cannot read the expression. I take my rum in the garage, but neither of our tongues can taste it. I sit and talk to you there, whisper in your ear the things I used to tell you. Thick tar cakes the walls and floor, except where you had scraped out our names in the muck, over and over, layer by layer, night after night after night.

This short story is a part of the Mieran Ruins Collection. The rest of the stories can be found on this masterpost.

Some people were meant to be leaders. In crisis, they stood on a mountain and gave speeches about the tenacity of the human spirit. They inspired their followers to take charge of their fate and keep fighting the good fight. When they were at the helm, it was impossible to lose. These people were a rare breed. As such, the managers of power players were the ones who deluded themselves into thinking they were great leaders. Such delusion often created a disaster for others to resolve.

“Can’t he wait another few minutes?” Evelyn reclined in her chair with a sleep mask over her eyes. In lieu of a white noise machine, she had a Newton’s cradle. Evelyn believed that being in charge meant informing others that it was their responsibility to discover solutions then take a nap.

“He really wants to talk with you.” Becca replied.

“But he’s interrupting my beauty sleep. I am not at my best when I haven’t had time to rest.” Evelyn waited for Becca to compliment her rhyme and became cranky when it didn’t happen.

“This man has valuable skills that could really help out this town. I think it would be best to hear his opinions,” Becca smiled.

“Do you think I’m incompetent?” Evelyn whipped off her sleep mask and stood up. She narrowed her eyes and stared directly at Becca. Evelyn came up to Becca’s nose, but anger had the power to increase her height until Becca was even with her stomach.

“No, that’s not what I mean at all. I meant to say that he could give great advice-”

“Do you think that I need his advice?” Evelyn tilted her head. The question was a trap for Becca. Both parties knew this. The seconds slowed to hours as Becca contemplated her options. If she answered in the affirmative, Evelyn would use that as evidence that Becca doubted her capabilities. This would end in a rant and waste everyone’s time. Becca could reply that she didn’t believe that, but this would result in further questioning by Evelyn. This would result in more opportunities for Becca to contradict herself. These contradictions would allow Evelyn to accuse Becca of being deceptive. There was no way for Becca out of the situation. The fire had been lit and needed to burn something down.

Becca widened her eyes at this thought. Evelyn didn’t need logic or to be calmed down. She needed a victim. She needed an outlet for her rage.

“Well, Peter believes that you need his advice,” Becca said.

“He’s been awake for less than an hour. What does he think he has to offer me?” Evelyn put her hand to her chest and leaned back dramatically.

“That’s what I thought.” Becca smirked and nodded her head.

“Why didn’t you tell him that?!” Evelyn’s head shot forward, and for a brief moment, her eyes left their sockets. Becca thought for a few moments.

“He was persistent with this statement, and I wanted to be kind to him as a nurse,” Becca replied.

“You are such a pushover. Why did I make you sheriff again?” Evelyn asked. Becca wanted to reply because she was in the vicinity, but Evelyn answered for her. “Eh, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go show Peter why I am in charge.”

“You do that.” Becca breathed a sigh of relief.

“Another thing I wanted to implement before I was frozen was a carriage revival,” Peter said.

“That’s a great idea.” Derrick nodded his head and tapped his fingers.

“Horses are majestic creatures, and carriages are a sophisticated form of transportation. Cars came along and drove them out of the streets. Don’t get me wrong. I like a good Ferrari as much as the next guy, but the sounds of a motor don’t compare with the elegance of those clomps. Speaking of motors, do you still have internal combustion engines?” Peter asked.

“Yeah, I’ve driven in a car,” Derrick replied.

“Hmm, there is still room for cars since horses don’t do well with distance, but I think we should be a horse only town. Not even trains or buses should stain the streets.”

“That’s an interesting idea.” Derrick didn’t want to explain to the man that horses got severely mutated in the war. Horse droppings on roads were a public health risk before they had their pH lowered to a point where sulfuric acid is basic by comparison.

“Speaking of animals, I really think we should implement a ban on turtles as pets. They live too long. They have to be up to something.” Derrick’s nightmare ended when Evelyn barged into the room. “So you think you can advise me on how to do my job?” Derrick perked up and smiled. Becca followed, and her face betrayed her mixture of interest and terror. Even Larry and Goldtail peaked around the corner to watch.

“Eliza, I think you are doing okay. You are probably doing great by the standards of your time.” Peter inhaled. “But I come from a more civilized place. With my guidance, the town of Ursula could be a Utopia.”

“My name is Evelyn, and this town is Ura. How are you going to be a good ruler if you can’t remember anything,” Evelyn said.

“Bad memory is a side effect of unfreezing,” Peter shrugged.

“Yeah, you were a popsicle. That’s your only qualification. How do we know there won’t be other side effects that will harm yourself and more importantly the community?” Evelyn asked. Derrick and Becca glanced at each other knowing Evelyn didn’t care about Ura.

“Even if there were side effects, I’d be more qualified than you. I know you only got this job because you kissed up to the military,” Peter smirked. Evelyn cast an angry look at Becca and Derrick. “The military begged me for my help in my time. I have no doubt they have records of my contributions beforehand.”

“Alright, you want to get them involved. Let’s do it. I’ll call them right now. You can join me on the call.” Evelyn turned to walk out of the room. “What’s the matter? Can’t follow me.” Peter’s whole body shook in response to this, but he kept his rage to himself.

“I will get better.” Peter pointed a finger at Derrick. “Push me to follow her.” Derrick obeyed and pushed the bed. The two megalomaniacs kept their eyes front and focused on their goals. Allowing Derrick and Becca to talk.

“Did we make the right choice?” Derrick asked.

“This was going to happen sooner or later. Let’s hope we don’t get caught in the crosshairs,” Becca replied.

r/AstroRideWrites

Chapter 1: The Flicker

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting Seraph Ridge in a pale golden light that felt almost too perfect. Nina Mercer leaned on her windowsill, chin in hand, watching the familiar streets below. Nothing ever changed here—not the cracked sidewalks leading to the school, not the faded paint on the old pharmacy, and certainly not the people. It was as if Seraph Ridge had been trapped in time, left behind by the world outside.

Her alarm beeped, snapping her out of her thoughts. She groaned, reaching over to silence it. Another day. Another boring, nothing-ever-happens kind of day.

As she pulled on her sweater, a faint violet flicker caught her eye. She froze, eyes darting to the sky. For a brief second, the clouds shimmered, as if a thin veil had been lifted from reality. The flicker was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Nina blinked. "What the…"

The flicker left an uneasy feeling in her gut. But when she looked again, the sky was just as blue as it had always been, the clouds drifting lazily. She shook her head, telling herself it was nothing. She grabbed her backpack and headed downstairs for breakfast, where her mom, Miriam, was already shuffling around the kitchen in her usual daze.

"Morning," Nina said, sliding into a chair.

Her mom grunted a response, barely looking up from the cup of coffee she cradled like a lifeline. The kitchen was as lifeless as ever, no sound except the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock. Ever since Nina's dad had disappeared five years ago, her mom had never quite been the same. She moved through life like a ghost, always there but never really present.

Nina scarfed down her cereal, grabbed an apple, and bolted for the door. She didn’t bother saying goodbye—her mom probably wouldn’t notice. Outside, the air was crisp with the early signs of fall, a breeze rustling through the trees.

She met Patch at the corner of Elm Street. His eyepatch—worn not for effect but out of necessity—stood out against his otherwise disheveled appearance. He gave her a grin, flipping his hair out of his face.

"You're late. Again," Patch teased.

"Yeah, yeah," Nina said, punching him lightly in the arm. "Did you see that weird thing with the sky this morning?"

Patch raised an eyebrow. "The sky?"

"Yeah, it flickered. Like… I don’t know, it looked wrong for a second."

"Maybe you’re finally losing it," Patch said with a smirk. "Or maybe you’re watching too many of those conspiracy shows."

Nina rolled her eyes, though Patch’s words stuck with her. Maybe she was seeing things. Seraph Ridge was boring enough to make anyone’s brain start inventing excitement. But the flicker hadn’t felt like an invention—it felt like a glitch.

As they walked, Carter Bradley jogged up to meet them. He was short, but his quick steps made up for it. His sandy blond hair was wind-tossed, and his usual grin was already plastered on his face, though it wavered slightly as he caught his breath.

"Hey," Carter said, panting. "You guys hear about the weird stuff at school?"

Patch looked over, amused. "What, they finally replace the mystery meat in the cafeteria?"

"No, dude," Carter said, shoving Patch lightly. "They found a hole in the football field. Like, a huge sinkhole or something. Came out of nowhere."

"How big?" Nina asked, her interest piqued.

"Big enough to shut down practice. Some people said it looked like… I don’t know, like it wasn’t supposed to be there."

"Like it wasn’t supposed to be there?" Nina echoed, frowning. "What does that mean?"

Carter shrugged. "You know how people get—always making stuff up. But it’s weird, right? Holes just don’t appear out of nowhere."

"Yeah, weird," Nina muttered. First the flicker, now a sinkhole. Maybe Seraph Ridge wasn’t so sleepy after all.

They arrived at the school, a squat brick building that had seen better days. Students were already milling around the front, exchanging rumors about the hole in the field. Nina felt a strange buzz in the air, as if something was simmering just beneath the surface. She glanced at Patch and Carter, but neither of them seemed to notice.

"Guess we’ll find out more after first period," Patch said, heading inside. "Maybe someone saw something cool."

Nina wasn’t so sure it was going to be cool. There was something about the flicker, about the hole, that didn’t sit right with her. She shoved the thought to the back of her mind as they entered the crowded hallway, trying to focus on the mundane tasks of the day.

But deep down, she knew something was coming—something she wasn’t prepared for.

Chapter 2: The Hole

By lunchtime, the rumors about the sinkhole had spread like wildfire. Nina could barely focus in class, her mind replaying the strange flicker in the sky and Carter’s description of the hole. As soon as the bell rang, she gathered her things and hurried to meet Patch and Carter by the bleachers near the football field.

When she got there, Patch was already leaning against one of the rusted metal beams, casually spinning his eyepatch in his hand. Carter was pacing, glancing toward the field like a kid waiting to open a gift on Christmas morning.

"Finally," Carter said when he spotted her. "Come on, let’s check it out."

The field was deserted, cordoned off with yellow caution tape, but that didn’t stop them. They ducked under the tape and made their way across the grass toward the far end of the field. As they got closer, Nina’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t explain why, but the air felt wrong, heavier somehow.

“There it is,” Carter whispered, pointing to a dark opening in the ground near the goalpost. It wasn’t a typical sinkhole. It was perfectly round, like something had carved it out with a giant cookie cutter.

"That’s… unnatural," Patch muttered, stepping forward to peer into the hole.

Nina knelt beside him, feeling the same chill she’d felt earlier when the sky flickered. The hole wasn’t just deep; it was endless. It swallowed light, the darkness inside it so complete that it made Nina dizzy just looking at it.

"Do you hear that?" Carter asked, his voice low.

At first, Nina didn’t notice anything. But then she heard it—a faint hum, almost like the sound of a distant engine, vibrating just beneath the surface. She pressed her hand to the ground beside the hole. The vibrations buzzed up her arm, making her skin tingle.

Patch frowned, tilting his head. "That’s… not normal."

"No kidding," Carter said, his voice tense. "Let’s get out of here before someone catches us."

Reluctantly, Nina stood up and followed them back toward the bleachers. Her mind raced, the strange hum still ringing in her ears. She looked back at the hole one more time, and for a second, she thought she saw something moving in the darkness—a ripple, like a shadow shifting beneath the surface.

That evening, Nina sat at the dinner table, her mind still on the hole. Her mom was there, sipping her usual cup of coffee, but the conversation was as lifeless as ever. Nina barely touched her food, her thoughts spinning.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. "Mom, do you remember anything about Dad’s work at the research facility?"

Miriam’s hand froze on the coffee mug, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Why are you asking about that?"

"I don’t know," Nina said, trying to sound casual. "Just curious. No one ever talks about it anymore."

Her mom’s gaze hardened, her expression closing off the way it always did whenever her father’s name came up. "There’s a reason no one talks about it."

Nina’s heart sank. "I just—"

"Enough," her mom snapped. She stood up abruptly, dumping her coffee in the sink before heading upstairs without another word.

Nina sat in stunned silence. She didn’t know what she expected, but she hadn’t anticipated that reaction. Her mom had always been distant, but this was different. It was like she was afraid—like whatever her father had been working on wasn’t just a bad memory, but something dangerous.

Nina stared at her plate, her appetite gone. Whatever was happening in Seraph Ridge, it was tied to the old research facility. She was sure of it now. And if her father had been involved, that meant she needed to know the truth, no matter what her mom said.

The next day, Nina, Patch, and Carter met up by the bike racks after school. The tension in the air had only grown worse, the rumors about the hole taking on a life of their own. Some kids said it was a sinkhole caused by an earthquake. Others claimed it was a government cover-up, a secret military project gone wrong. But no one could explain the humming sound or the strange energy radiating from the ground.

"We need to go back to the facility," Nina said, her voice firm.

Patch raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? We’ve gotten in trouble before for poking around there."

"I’m sure," Nina said. "I think whatever’s happening now has something to do with Dad’s work. My mom freaked out when I brought it up."

Carter glanced nervously between them. "The facility’s been shut down for years, though. What do you think we’ll find?"

Nina bit her lip, a sense of determination settling in. "I don’t know. But if we don’t figure this out, something bad is going to happen. I can feel it."

Patch sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I guess we’re doing this then. Might as well find out what creepy government secrets are hiding in our backyard."

They set off, biking toward the outskirts of town where the old research facility lay hidden in a tangle of overgrown trees and rusted fences. The facility had been abandoned since the late ’80s, its windows boarded up and its gates locked tight. But Nina and her friends had found a way in years ago, a gap in the fence where the chain-link had rusted through.

As they approached, the air grew colder, the trees casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The building loomed ahead, a hulking mass of concrete and steel, its once pristine exterior now covered in graffiti and grime.

They dropped their bikes near the fence and slipped through the gap, the familiar feeling of unease creeping over Nina’s skin. She led the way around the side of the building to a small service door that they had pried open long ago. It creaked as they pushed it, revealing the dark interior beyond.

"Let’s make this quick," Carter muttered, glancing nervously at the building. "I don’t like this place."

"Me neither," Nina admitted, stepping inside. "But we don’t have a choice."

Inside, the facility was just as they remembered—dusty, dark, and abandoned. But something felt different now. The air was thick with tension, and the faint hum they had heard near the hole seemed louder here, echoing off the walls.

They moved cautiously through the corridors, their footsteps muffled by the grime-covered tiles beneath their feet. Finally, they reached the main lab—where her father had worked all those years ago. The door was ajar.

Nina pushed it open, revealing the lab’s interior. Dusty tables, broken equipment, and overturned chairs filled the space, but it was the large metal machine in the center of the room that drew her attention. It looked like something straight out of a science fiction movie—tall, with wires and tubes running from its base to the walls.

"What is that?" Carter asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I think…" Nina’s breath hitched. "I think it’s the machine that caused all this."

Patch stepped forward, inspecting the machine. "You think your dad used this thing?"

Nina nodded, her stomach twisting. "He had to have. I think this is what opened the Rift."

Great! I will continue writing The Rift based on the outline, delivering chapters sequentially and developing the story fully. Let’s proceed with Chapter 3.

Chapter 3: The Lab

The air in the lab was thick with dust and mystery. Nina’s heart pounded in her chest as she took a step closer to the machine, her mind racing with thoughts of her father. Whatever this thing was, it was tied to him—and to the strange events happening around Seraph Ridge.

Patch ran his hand along the side of the machine, his expression tense. "This looks ancient, but… it’s still running. You can hear it."

The hum that had been present at the sinkhole was louder here, vibrating in the air like a low frequency, something just on the edge of hearing. Nina leaned closer to the machine’s central panel, noticing a series of levers, buttons, and screens—though most of the screens were dark and covered in grime.

"I don’t think it’s just running," Nina said. "I think it’s still connected to something."

"Connected to what?" Carter asked, his voice a whisper.

"The Rift," Nina said, her voice more certain than she felt. "I think this machine opened it."

Carter and Patch exchanged uneasy glances, but before anyone could say more, Patch’s hand brushed against one of the machine’s levers.

A sharp crackle filled the room, and the machine came to life.

"Patch!" Nina yelled, scrambling backward.

"I didn’t touch anything!" Patch shouted, stepping away from the machine as it lit up, the humming growing louder and more distinct.

The darkened screens flickered, then stabilized, displaying a series of strange symbols and data that none of them could make sense of. The room seemed to pulse with energy, and the temperature dropped sharply. Nina’s breath came out in small clouds, the cold biting at her skin.

"I think we should leave," Carter said, his voice trembling. "Now."

But before they could make a move, the hum of the machine became a roar, and the air around them seemed to ripple, distorting like a heatwave.

Nina gasped as the walls of the lab shimmered, the light bending and twisting in strange patterns. For a split second, she saw something impossible—a version of the lab overlaid on their reality, but darker, more decayed. The machines in that version of the lab were broken and rusted, and strange, shadowy figures flickered in the periphery of her vision.

The vision lasted only a second, but it was enough to send a chill down her spine.

"What the hell was that?" Patch breathed, his one good eye wide with shock.

Nina shook her head, trying to steady herself. "I don’t know. But I think we just opened the Rift again."

"Closed it. Close it!" Carter stammered, backing away from the machine.

Nina reached out, her fingers trembling, and pushed one of the buttons on the control panel. The machine let out a low whine before the hum began to subside. The light in the room returned to normal, and the distortion in the air vanished. The vision of the decayed lab disappeared as quickly as it had come.

For a moment, they stood in stunned silence, the echoes of the machine’s roar still ringing in their ears.

"We need to get out of here," Patch said, finally finding his voice. "Before something worse happens."

Nina nodded, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the machine. There was something about it—something that felt unfinished, as if it had only given them a glimpse of what was to come.

Chapter 4: The Return

The next few days passed in a blur of anxiety and confusion. Nina, Patch, and Carter barely spoke of what had happened in the lab, though the weight of it hung over them like a dark cloud. At school, the rumors about the sinkhole grew wilder—some students claimed it was a portal to hell, while others said it was a government experiment gone wrong.

But it wasn’t just the sinkhole anymore.

People were starting to disappear.

At first, it was subtle—an elderly man from down the street who never returned from his evening walk. Then a girl from their class, missing without a trace after leaving school. The town was buzzing with fear and speculation, but the authorities had no answers.

Nina couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all connected to the machine and the Rift. She knew they had set something in motion that day in the lab—something that was now spiraling out of control.

On a chilly Thursday afternoon, Nina sat at her desk, staring blankly at her homework. She couldn’t focus. The flicker in the sky, the sinkhole, the strange vision in the lab—it all swirled in her mind, refusing to settle into anything that made sense.

Then the phone rang.

Nina jumped, startled by the sudden noise. She reached for the phone, her heart racing.

"Hello?"

"Nina?"

Her breath caught in her throat. The voice on the other end was faint, distorted, but unmistakable.

"Dad?"

There was a pause, followed by static. "Nina… don’t trust them… the Rift… it’s not…"

The line went dead.

Nina dropped the phone, her hands trembling. It couldn’t be. Her father had disappeared five years ago—he couldn’t be calling her now. But it had been his voice. She was sure of it.

She stood frozen in place, her mind reeling. The last time she had heard her father’s voice, he had been leaving for the lab, promising her he’d be home for dinner. But he never came back. The police had searched for months, but there had been no trace of him—no clues, no leads, nothing. It was as if he had vanished into thin air.

Now, after all these years, he was calling her.

Nina grabbed her jacket and ran out the door, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to get back to the lab. Whatever was happening, it was all tied to the machine, the Rift, and her father.

Chapter 5: The Shadow of the Past

By the time Nina reached the old research facility, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the building. She pushed through the gap in the fence and hurried toward the lab, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts.

Patch and Carter were already there, waiting by the door.

"You heard it too, didn’t you?" Patch asked, his expression grim.

Nina nodded. "It was him. It was my dad."

Carter looked between them, confused. "What are you guys talking about?"

"The call," Nina said, her voice barely a whisper. "It was my dad. He warned me not to trust them—whoever 'they' are. He said it had something to do with the Rift."

Patch crossed his arms, his face pale. "We need to figure this out. Fast."

They made their way back into the lab, the familiar hum of the machine filling the air. This time, it wasn’t just a low background noise—it was louder, more insistent, as if the machine itself was waking up.

Nina approached the control panel, her hands trembling. "I think… I think we can use this to track the Rift. Maybe we can find where my dad went."

Patch and Carter exchanged nervous glances, but they didn’t stop her. They knew there was no turning back now.

Nina pressed a series of buttons on the panel, her fingers moving with a strange sense of purpose, as if she had done this before. The machine responded with a series of beeps and whirs, the screens flickering to life.

Suddenly, the room was bathed in light, and the machine began to hum even louder. The air around them shimmered, and once again, Nina saw the distorted version of the lab—the decayed walls, the broken machines, and the shadowy figures lurking just beyond the edges of her vision.

But this time, the vision didn’t fade.

It grew stronger, the walls of the lab rippling and bending as the two realities collided. Nina gasped as a figure stepped out of the distortion—a tall, gaunt man with graying hair and hollow eyes.

"Dad?" she whispered.

The man looked at her, his expression pained. "Nina… you need to stop this. The Rift… it’s…"

Before he could finish, the room was consumed by a blinding light, and everything went dark.

—

Chapter 6: Between Rifts

Nina’s vision slowly returned, the blinding light fading into soft, shifting hues. Her head throbbed, her body felt weightless, as if she were suspended in air. When she tried to move, her limbs felt sluggish, like she was swimming through thick water.

She blinked, disoriented, and took in her surroundings.

The lab was gone.

She was standing in a vast, empty expanse. The ground beneath her feet was smooth and dark, like polished stone, but it stretched out endlessly in every direction. Above her, the sky—or what passed for a sky—was a swirling mass of colors, shifting between violet, black, and deep blues, shot through with streaks of silver lightning. The air smelled strange, like electricity and damp earth.

"Nina!"

Patch’s voice rang out, distant and hollow. She turned and saw him stumbling toward her, his form hazy, like he wasn’t fully solid. Carter was beside him, his face pale, his eyes wide with confusion.

"What the hell is this place?" Carter muttered, looking around wildly.

Nina’s heart raced. "I don’t know. We—"

Before she could finish, the air around them rippled again, and a familiar figure materialized a few feet away. It was her father—Dr. Ethan Mercer—still gaunt, still hollow-eyed, but this time, he seemed more real, more present.

"Dad?" Nina whispered, her voice trembling.

Her father nodded slowly, his eyes filled with sorrow. "Nina… I’m sorry. I never wanted this for you. You shouldn’t be here."

"Where is here?" Patch asked, stepping forward cautiously. "What is this place?"

Ethan glanced around at the endless expanse, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "This is… between worlds. A place where the boundaries between realities are thin. It’s where I’ve been trapped, ever since we opened the Rift."

Carter looked horrified. "Trapped? How long have you been here?"

"Time doesn’t work the same here," Ethan said, his voice heavy with weariness. "It could be days… or decades. I don’t know anymore."

Nina took a shaky step forward, tears welling in her eyes. "Why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I tried," her father said softly. "The Rift… it doesn’t work like you think. It pulls you in, fragments you, scatters you across different realities. I’ve been trying to reach you for years, but I could never get through. Not until you activated the machine again."

Nina’s breath hitched. "The machine. We didn’t mean to… we just wanted to know what happened."

"I know," Ethan said, his eyes filled with regret. "But you’ve opened the Rift even wider. And now… it’s too late to close it."

Nina’s stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

Her father’s face darkened. "The Rift isn’t just a portal. It’s a fracture in reality. And every time it opens, the boundaries between dimensions weaken. Creatures from other worlds are already slipping through. It’s only a matter of time before they come here."

Patch swallowed hard, his face pale. "You mean… more than just shadows?"

"Much more," Ethan said grimly. "You’ve seen the flickers, the distortions. That’s just the beginning. The real threat is what’s waiting on the other side—things that don’t belong in our world. If they come through, they’ll tear reality apart."

Nina felt like the ground was dropping out from beneath her. "Then we have to close it. We have to stop it."

Ethan shook his head. "It’s not that simple. The Rift is too unstable now. Closing it could destroy this entire reality… or worse, merge it with another one."

Carter stepped forward, his fists clenched. "Then what are we supposed to do? Just wait for these things to come through and kill us all?"

"No," Ethan said, his eyes narrowing. "There’s still a chance. But you’ll need to find the Resonator—the original machine we used to open the Rift. It’s the only way to stabilize the fracture."

Nina’s heart sank. "But we’ve already used the machine. It’s in the lab—"

Her father cut her off. "No. Not that machine. The real Resonator is hidden deep beneath the facility, in a place even the government doesn’t know about. It’s the only device powerful enough to close the Rift without destroying everything."

Patch frowned. "And how exactly are we supposed to find this thing?"

Ethan looked at Nina, his expression grim. "You won’t have to find it. The Rift… it’ll take you there. But it’s dangerous. The closer you get to the Resonator, the more the Rift will pull you apart. You’ll see things… things from other realities, other versions of yourself. You can’t trust what you see."

Nina swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "We have to try. We don’t have a choice."

Ethan nodded, his face filled with sadness. "I wish I could help you more, but my time is running out. I can’t stay here much longer. The Rift is calling me back."

"No!" Nina cried, stepping toward him. "You can’t leave me again!"

"I’m sorry, Nina," her father said, his voice breaking. "But you’re stronger than you know. You’ll find a way. You always do."

With that, the air around him began to shimmer, and before Nina could say another word, he faded into nothing, leaving her standing in the empty expanse.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The silence was thick, suffocating, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on them.

Finally, Patch broke the silence. "So… what now?"

Nina clenched her fists, her jaw set with determination. "We find the Resonator. And we stop this, before it’s too late."

Chapter 7: Into the Depths

The journey back to Seraph Ridge felt surreal, as if they were moving through a dream. Time seemed to stretch and compress, moments bleeding into one another. By the time they reached the outskirts of town, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting everything in deep shades of purple and blue.

The facility loomed ahead, dark and foreboding, its windows like empty eyes staring down at them.

Nina felt a surge of fear as they approached the fence, but she pushed it down, reminding herself of her father’s words. They didn’t have a choice. The Rift was open, and if they didn’t close it, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Patch and Carter followed close behind her, their faces set with grim determination. No one spoke as they made their way through the gap in the fence and into the facility’s crumbling halls.

The hum of the machine greeted them as they entered the lab, but Nina barely noticed it now. She was focused on one thing: finding the hidden Resonator and stopping the Rift from spreading any further.

"We have to go deeper," Nina said, her voice steady. "The Resonator is underground. We need to find a way down."

Patch glanced around the room, his one good eye scanning the walls. "There’s gotta be a basement or something, right? These places always have secret levels."

"Yeah, but how do we get there?" Carter asked, frustration creeping into his voice.

Nina looked around the lab, her eyes narrowing. Her father had said the government didn’t know about the hidden Resonator, which meant the entrance wouldn’t be obvious. It had to be something only the people who worked on the project would know about.

Then she saw it.

A small, rusted panel in the far corner of the room, partially obscured by a broken cabinet. It was barely noticeable, but something about it caught her eye.

"Over here," she said, hurrying toward it.

Patch and Carter followed her as she knelt beside the panel, prying it open with a rusted crowbar she had found among the debris. The panel groaned in protest, but after a few seconds, it popped free, revealing a small keypad with a glowing screen.

"Well, that looks official," Patch said with a smirk.

Nina frowned, her fingers hovering over the keypad. She didn’t know the code, but something told her it was locked in her mind, buried deep in her memories. She closed her eyes, thinking back to the nights when her father had come home late from the lab, his face tired, his hands shaking as he muttered numbers under his breath.

"Four… nine… seven… two… three," she whispered, her fingers pressing the keys.

The screen blinked once, and then the floor beneath them rumbled as a hidden door slid open, revealing a dark staircase descending into the depths.

"That’s it," Nina said, standing up. "The Resonator is down there."

Patch and Carter exchanged a look, then nodded.

"Let’s do this," Carter said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.

They descended into the darkness, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. The hum of the Rift machine above them faded, replaced by a deep, rhythmic thrum that seemed to pulse through the walls.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, a large steel door loomed ahead, covered in strange markings and symbols that glowed faintly in the dark.

Nina’s heart pounded in her chest as she reached for the door, her fingers trembling. The closer they got to the Resonator, the stronger the pull of the Rift became. She could feel reality shifting around her.

Chapter 8: The Resonator

Nina hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the door. The pull of the Rift was stronger now, its presence like an invisible weight pressing down on her. Reality itself seemed to ripple at the edges of her vision, as if the world was teetering on the brink of collapse.

“We can still turn back,” Carter whispered, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Patch shook his head, stepping forward. “No. We’re too far in now. We have to finish this.”

Nina nodded, gathering her resolve. She pressed her palm against the cold steel of the door, and it slid open with a low hiss, revealing a massive, dark chamber. The walls were lined with strange, glowing cables that pulsed with an eerie blue light, all converging toward the center of the room, where the Resonator stood.

The Resonator was larger than any machine they had seen in the lab above. It looked like a twisted fusion of technology and something organic, its surface covered in shifting patterns of light. The air around it seemed to vibrate, distorting the space nearby.

Nina took a step forward, her eyes fixed on the machine. She could feel the Rift pulsing in the air, its energy growing stronger with each passing second.

“This is it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “This is what opened the Rift.”

Patch and Carter followed her into the chamber, their eyes wide as they took in the sight before them. The Resonator hummed with power, its lights flickering like the heartbeat of some ancient, unseen force.

“We just need to shut it down,” Nina said, approaching the control panel attached to the machine. Her fingers hovered over the controls, but something stopped her—an overwhelming sense of dread, like a voice in the back of her mind warning her not to proceed.

“What if it’s not that simple?” Patch asked, his voice low. “Your dad said closing the Rift could destroy everything.”

Nina’s heart raced. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Her father had warned her about the dangers of the Rift, but he had also said it needed to be closed. Every choice felt like it carried unimaginable consequences.

Before she could respond, the air around them shimmered, and a figure materialized at the far end of the chamber.

It was her father.

But something was wrong.

This wasn’t the broken, hollow-eyed man she had seen before. This version of her father looked younger, healthier, as if he hadn’t spent years trapped in the Rift. His eyes were sharp and focused, and he moved with a confidence that sent a chill down Nina’s spine.

“Nina,” he said, his voice calm and commanding. “Step away from the machine.”

Nina froze, her eyes widening. “Dad?”

The man smiled, but it wasn’t the warm, familiar smile she remembered. It was cold, calculating. “You’ve done well to make it this far. But you don’t understand what you’re dealing with. The Rift… it’s more than just a portal. It’s a key to something greater.”

Patch stepped forward, his body tense. “Who the hell are you?”

The man’s eyes flicked to Patch, then back to Nina. “I’m your father, Nina. The one you’ve been searching for.”

“No,” Nina said, her voice shaking. “You’re not him. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not my dad.”

The man’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold indifference. “I am what your father became. I saw the truth beyond the Rift. I embraced it. And now, you have the chance to do the same.”

Nina took a step back, her mind racing. “The truth?”

“The Rift isn’t a mistake,” the man said, his voice growing more intense. “It’s a doorway to a higher existence. A place where time, space, and reality are meaningless. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. And you, Nina… you can join me. We can reshape this world together.”

Patch and Carter exchanged worried glances. “Nina, we need to shut this thing down,” Carter urged.

But Nina couldn’t move. The man’s words were pulling at her, tempting her. What if he was right? What if the Rift wasn’t just a threat, but an opportunity? An escape from the broken world she had grown up in, from the pain of losing her father.

Her father—or whatever he had become—extended a hand. “Come with me, Nina. We can be together again. We can fix everything.”

Nina’s heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to have her father back. But deep down, she knew the truth. This man wasn’t her father. He was something else, something that had been twisted by the Rift.

She turned to Patch and Carter, her eyes filled with determination. “We have to close it.”

Patch nodded, stepping toward the control panel. “Let’s do it.”

“No!” The man’s voice thundered through the chamber, and the air around them seemed to crackle with energy. “If you close the Rift, you’ll destroy everything!”

Nina’s hands shook as she reached for the controls. She didn’t know what would happen if they shut down the Resonator. Maybe her father was right. Maybe it would destroy everything. But she couldn’t let the Rift stay open. She couldn’t let it consume the world she knew.

As her fingers hovered over the final switch, her father’s voice softened, filled with desperation. “Nina, please. Don’t do this. I can’t lose you again.”

Nina’s heart ached, tears welling in her eyes. But she knew what she had to do.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

She pulled the switch.

The Resonator roared to life, its lights flaring brighter than ever before. The ground beneath them trembled, and the air around the machine began to warp, distorting space and time. The man who had claimed to be her father let out a scream, his form flickering and fading as the Rift began to collapse in on itself.

Nina staggered back, the force of the collapsing Rift pulling at her like a whirlpool. Patch grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the machine as the chamber shook violently.

“Get out!” Carter shouted, already running for the exit.

They stumbled up the stairs, the walls around them cracking and crumbling as the Rift’s energy tore through the facility. The hum of the machine grew louder, deafening, as reality itself seemed to buckle under the strain.

But then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped.

The tremors ceased, the light from the Resonator faded, and an eerie silence fell over the facility.

Nina collapsed to her knees, gasping for breath. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on her, but for the first time in days, the air felt still. Calm.

Patch knelt beside her, his face pale but steady. “Did we… did we do it?”

Nina looked up, her eyes scanning the darkened chamber. The Resonator was silent, its lights extinguished. The Rift was closed.

But as she looked around, she realized something else.

Her father—whatever he had become—was gone.

The Rift had taken him with it.

Nina’s chest tightened, a wave of grief washing over her. She had saved the world, but in doing so, she had lost her father all over again.

Carter walked over, his face somber. “You okay?”

Nina wiped at her eyes, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

The three of them stood in the ruins of the facility, the weight of their actions settling over them. They had stopped the Rift, but the cost had been high. Too high.

But for the first time in what felt like forever, Nina knew that they had done the right thing.

The Rift was closed. The world was safe.

For now.

Epilogue: Echoes

Weeks had passed since the Resonator had been shut down. The sinkhole in Seraph Ridge had been filled, and the strange flickers in the sky had disappeared. Life in the town had returned to normal, or at least as normal as it could be after everything that had happened.

Nina stood at the edge of the field where the sinkhole had once been, staring out at the empty horizon. The world seemed quieter now, more peaceful. But there were still moments—brief, fleeting moments—when she thought she could feel the Rift, still out there, somewhere. Watching.

Carter and Patch joined her, standing in silence for a moment before Patch broke the stillness.

“So… what now?”

Nina smiled faintly. “We live. And we make sure that thing never opens again.”

They turned and walked away, leaving the remnants of the past behind them. But as they disappeared into the distance, a faint shimmer flickered in the air, just for a moment.

And then it was gone.

   Mikey spotted the blue, 1250 address sign, as they approached the destination on Google Maps,and pulled the cube van off of Plains Road and into the gravel driveway The forested property was bordered by a chain-link fence, but the driveway had no gate.

   “Hold up, I’m gonna take a piss,” Ben said as they rolled slowly along the driveway, and he began to pull the door latch.

   “Get the fuck back in,” Mikey said, “not here.”

   Ben sighed.

   “We sure this is the right place? Seems different than the other spots,” Terry said, looking around as the forest passed by the windows of the van.

   “It’s the address Mr. P gave. This is it,” Mikey responded.

   “This don’t look right,” Terry said.

   “Anyone’s allowed to buy from us, Terry,” Mikey responded.

   As they arrived at the end of the driveway they could see a barn and a one storey white house. As they came to a stop, a grungy, leather jacketed, suspicious looking man stepped out of the house, his hands in his jacket pockets. As the man walked slowly into the driveway, he waved them towards the barn, looking to be concealing an object in his left pocket.

   “Is he hiding a gun? Let’s get out of here. Turn around and gun it,” Ben said.

   “Gun it? This isn’t a fucking movie,” Mikey responded, “it’s fine.”

   They all stared at the leather jacketed man as Mikey rolled the van slowly towards the barn.

   “We’re not going into that barn. No way in hell,” Terry said.

   Mikey rolled the van to a stop. The man lit a cigarette and walked up to the passenger side window. Mikey rolled down the window.

   “Did you piss on my property?” the man asked, in an eastern European accent.

   The three in the van all looked at each other, shaking their heads.

   “No sir,” Terry said, anxiously.

   The man nodded his head, taking a drag on his cigarette.

   “Is…is this 1250 Plains Road?” Mikey asked, talking across Terry and Ben who sat frozen, staring forward, trying to look calm.

   “Yeh. Pull it on into the barn there and we’ll get ya unloaded,” the man said.

   Mikey pulled the van into the barn and the three stepped out cautiously. Their footsteps echoing in the large barn. Dusty rafters hung above them, and an assortment of goods lay around them, tarped over.

   Mikey went to the back of the van to open the double doors. Terry and Ben followed as the man stood at a distance observing them.

   “You have a washroom?” Ben asked.

   “No,” the man said, shortly. Terry turned and looked at Terry annoyingly as he swung the van doors open.

   Ben mouthed it him ‘what?’.

   As Mikey swung open the rear door of the van, it was revealed that the van lay empty. The delivery was not there. He looked confusingly at Terry and Ben.

   “Where the fuck is the delivery?” he asked them.

   Terry and Ben looked at each other dumbfounded.

   “I dunno, we loaded it up last night,” Terry said.

   Mikey hung his head and sighed, not looking forward to addressing the intimidating man. The man walked to the rear of the van to inspect the situation, taking a drag on his cigarette as he looked into the van contemplatively.

   “Where is it?” the man asked.

   “We don’t know, Mikey said. We loaded up the van last night. It was all here. Really sorry about that, we’ll head back and get this sorted out for tomorrow.”

   The three gave meek smiles and turned for the van.

   “No,” the man said, “have a seat, wait,” he said, pulling a gun from his left pocket and waving his gun hand over at set of stacked, molded white chairs.

   The three moved rigidly towards the chairs.

   Mikey and Terry dislodged three white molded chairs from the stack as Ben stared eye-to-eye with the man, now discontent with the situation. They sat.

   “Do you want us to make a call?” Terry asked.

   “No phones,” the man said, gesturing his hand ‘here-here’ to give him their phones, “give me your phones.”

   They looked at each other, and pulled their phones deflatingly from their pockets.

   “Is this how you normally conduct business?” Ben asked. Mikey and Terry looked at Ben. Ben looked back at them, “You think I give a fuck? Fuck this shit. Fuck this guy. He doesn’t even have any henchmen. No henchmen-having ass,” Ben said, slouching back and folding his arms disapprovingly.

   Terry looked at him, wanting to support his co-worker and friend, “he’s right. He doesn’t seem like the intended recipient of the delivery.”

The man pointed his pistol at the ceiling of the barn and let off a round. Dust and wood chips came raining down.

   “Jesus Christ!” Ben yelled.

   “Be quiet,” the man said. The man then left, while keeping an eye on them, and returned with a larger gun. A shotgun. The pistol now in his left pocket.

   “Oh, we’re in a movie now!” Ben said, “look at us. Take two! Ready! Action!.” Ben was now clearly irate.

   The man took one of the white molded chairs and sat across from them.

   They sat for what seemed like an hour, silently, awkwardly. Mikey’s face was flush red, almost sweating, as he sat frozen. Terry only slightly less nervous-looking.

   Mikey took a deep breath to gather himself and address the man, “what are we waiting for, exactly?” he asked, “do you have someone coming to sort this out?”

   “We wait,” the man said.

   Terry stomach grumbled. Ben looked to have a thought.

   “While we wait, we’re getting hungry, sir,” Ben said, “got any snacks?”

   The man stood, thinking, “no snacks. I order you pizza,” the man said and then pulled his phone from his non-gun wielding, readying to dial.

   “No pizza. We’re lactose intolerant. We want Chipotle. It’s the least you can do. Chipotle or we’re out, big dog,” Ben said.

   Mikey’s head fell into his hands on his lap in disbelief.

   The man looked up from his phone, “Chipotle, what is this Chipotle?”

   “You got Uber Eats on there?” Ben said.

   “What?” the man responded, confused.

   “An app, It’s an app. For ordering food,” Ben said.

   “An application,” Terry said, insecurely hoping to clarify.

   “I know what an app is,” the man said.

   “It’s an app. You press a button. Order food. Press a button and the food comes. Anything you want.”

   The man looked up, he seemed curious, “a button. Food.”

   “It is a revelation of our generation,” Terry said, “dangerous, mind you. Addictive, I mean,”

   The man stood confused, thinking for a minute.

   “OK. I give you my phone,” the man said, “no messaging. You show me this app.”

   Ben reached out for his phone, “not you,” the man said, “him,” he said, handing the phone to Terry.

   Terry went to the app store and downloaded Uber Eats. He then stood next to the man, introducing him to the app interface.

   “Here is Chipotle,” he said, “Mexican food.”

“Ahhh,” the man said, delighted, “I like Mexican food. Is nice.”

   “We agree,” Terry said, “see, burritos. I’m going to order us three burrito bowls. This is how you order, see. Choose your food, protein, then your toppings.”

   The man looked at Terry scrolling intently. Mikey and Ben looked at each other, baffled.

   “I get something,” the man said.

   “Treat yourself,” Ben said from the background. The man looked at him, unamused.

   “Now, you just need your payment information here,” Terry said.

   “We’ll pay for this one,” Mikey said, pulling out his wallet as they finalized the order on the app.

   “It’s on its way,” Terry said.

   “Now food comes?” the man asked.

   “Yes, now the food comes,” Terry responded.

   “I like this,” the man said.

   The man’s phone was updated with notifications as the food was prepared and the driver, Tanner, was on his way. It was notified that the delivery was delayed. The man handed Terry the phone to look into it.

   “Looks like he’s driving to Palmdale,” Tanner said, “the wrong city.”

   Some time later, after arriving in Palmdale, Tanner re-routed and headed back in their direction. An hour later, Tanner arrived. A white Subaru sedan pulled into the clearing of the woods. Tanner stepped out, scanning the area, holding a large paper bag. The man walked to the opening of the barn doors, holding the shotgun concealed behind the door.

   “Over here,” the man said.

   Tanner walked to the barn door and could see the three sitting awkwardly in the background, side-by-side in an unnatural configuration. They tried to act natural.

   “Sorry about the delay there guys. Went all the way to Palmdale, not Graysfield. Same damn address one city over. Two 1250 Plains Roads. Who’s idea was that?” he said, chuckling awkwardly. The three heard what Tanner had said. Mikey made eye contact with the rest of them.

   “Graysfield?” Mikey whispered, “we were supposed to go to Palmdale.”

   Ben sat up in his chair, looking slightly embarrassed, “I just clicked the first address that came up.”

#Welcome to Micro Monday

Hi! This isn’t Bay. My name is Aly, and I will be taking over this post, just or today. Your usual host will be back next week <3

It’s time to sharpen those micro-fic skills! So what is it? Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Please read the entire post before submitting.

#Weekly Challenge Note: All participating writers must leave feedback on at least 1 other story. Those who don’t meet this requirement are disqualified.

Theme: Urban Legends

Slenderman | Chupacabra | Black Eyed Children | Bloody Mary

Bonus Constraint (15 pts): Include a skeleton key in your story.

You must include if/how you used it at the end of your story to receive credit.

This week’s theme is Urban Legends. As a guest host of MM, I decided to be a little bit extra, and gave you four different artist images, each one of a different legend. Your challenge is to include any legend, be it one you made, or one you prefer to write and read about, but you are also welcome to use one of the included images for some inspiration! The legend should be present and clear in your story, but its up to you to decide how you tackle it.
You’re welcome to interpret it creatively as long as you follow all post and subreddit rules. The bonus constraint is encouraged but not required, feel free to skip it if it doesn’t suit your story. You do not have to use the included IP.

Rankings

Last Week: Autumn

There were not enough stories this past week.

You can check out previous Micro Mondays here.

#How To Participate

• Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below (no poetry) inspired by the prompt. You have until Sunday at 11:59pm EST. Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.

• Leave feedback on at least one other story by 3pm EST next Monday. Only actionable feedback will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points.

• Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week using this form. You have until 3pm EST next Monday. (Note: The form doesn’t open until Monday morning.)

###Additional Rules

• No pre-written content or content written or altered by AI. Submitted stories must be written by you and for this post. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments.

• Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion. We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of all sub rules here.

• And most of all, be creative and have fun! If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the stickied comment on this thread or through modmail.

#Campfire

• Campfire is currently on hiatus. Check back soon!

#How Rankings are Tallied

Note: There has been a change to the crit caps and points!

TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | Use of the Main Prompt/Constraint | up to 50 pts | Requirements always provided with the weekly challenge | Use of Bonus Constraint | 10 - 15 pts | (unless otherwise noted) | Actionable Feedback (one crit required) | up to 10 pts each (30 pt. max) | You’re always welcome to provide more crit, but points are capped at 30
| Nominations your story receives | 20 pts each | There is no cap on votes your story receives | Voting for others | 10 pts | Don’t forget to vote before 2pm EST every week!

Note: Interacting with a story is not the same as feedback.  

###Subreddit News

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I grew up in Equilibria, a city where freedom flowed like wine at a feast—rich, intoxicating, and seemingly endless. Streets pulsed with the heartbeat of unbridled creativity; every corner turned revealed a new marvel, a fresh idea taking flight. My name is Liya, daughter of G, a luminary in this world without limits. A visionary thinker, he championed the belief that true prosperity sprang from financial creativity unshackled by rules.

G was a distant constellation in my sky—brilliant but remote. His eyes always danced with ideas far beyond my grasp, leaving me to navigate the kaleidoscope of our city on my own. I admired him from afar, absorbing snippets of his philosophies whenever our paths crossed.

But as time wore on, the boundless freedom that once felt like a blessing began revealing its curse. Without guidelines, financial practices spiraled into recklessness. Trust eroded like sandcastles before the tide, and the markets became wild beasts, unpredictable and dangerous. The gap between those who had much and those who had little widened into a chasm.

A gnawing unease settled in my chest. Was this the cost of absolute freedom? I wandered the city, searching for answers in its vibrant chaos but finding only more questions.

In response to the growing disorder, the council swung the pendulum to the opposite extreme, imposing strict regulations overnight. The city’s wild spirit was caged. Life became a monochrome sketch of its former self—predictable, yes, but drained of color and spontaneity. Innovation withered under the weight of new laws. My father, once celebrated, was now deemed a rebel. Detained for defying financial statutes, his absence was a quiet void in my already solitary world.

Desperate for understanding, I retreated to the city’s forgotten library, a sanctuary of dust and whispers. There, buried among ancient texts, I stumbled upon a passage that struck like lightning:

“It seems destined in human nature to become duller through experience and only through its repetition to grow wiser, and especially intelligence must endure much before it reaches the insight that a freedom which would lead to its own destruction can only be saved through restraint.”

The words resonated deep within me. They echoed the turmoil of Equilibria—the relentless swing between too much and too little, freedom and control. We were caught in a cycle, blind to the middle path that could lead us out of this labyrinth.

Filled with newfound clarity, I tried to share these insights with others. But my pleas fell on weary ears. The citizens, chafing under the yoke of strict control, yearned for the old days of unfettered freedom. In their impatience, they tore down the laws, unleashing chaos more devastating than before. Public services crumbled, and conflicts flared hotter than the sun at midday.

Only when the consequences of their actions stood towering before them did the people pause. The mirror of reality reflected their folly, and a heavy silence blanketed the city.

Seizing this pivotal moment, I stepped forward amidst a gathering in the central square. “We must find a middle way,” I urged, my voice steady but urgent. “Neither extreme serves us. It’s time to blend freedom with responsibility.”

This time, something shifted. Faces softened; eyes met mine with flickers of hope. They began to listen—not just to me, but to each other. The echo chambers of our divided minds started to crumble.

Together, we forged a new charter—one that protected personal freedoms while upholding the common good. Innovation and creativity were not just allowed but encouraged, guided by a shared sense of responsibility. We established forums where every voice could be heard, where dialogue replaced discord.

On the day the charter was signed, I stood before the assembled crowd. Among them, at the edge of the throng, was G. Our eyes met—a silent acknowledgment, a bridge spanning years of distance.

“The path forward lies not in choosing sides but in finding balance,” I declared. “Let us walk this middle path together, breaking down the walls that have kept us apart.”

The city exhaled, as if releasing a long-held breath. Equilibria began to hum with a new energy—not the frenetic pulse of unchecked freedom, nor the stifled beat of rigid control, but a harmonious rhythm that embraced both.

In the days that followed, I watched as my beloved city transformed. We had learned, at last, that wisdom often lies not at the extremes but along the winding road between them. My own journey mirrored this truth—a path from silent observer to active participant in our shared destiny.

Equilibria found its true harmony, thanks to our collective efforts—at least for one or two generations. And in that balance, we rediscovered not only prosperity but our very selves.

   I buyed two ice-creams for me and Julia as I was happy for my first commission. I reached the apartment looking excited and opened the door. Julia was in her room.

    I called Julia and said, “Come here fast.” She came and asked, “What happened?” I said, “I brought us ice-creams. This is your favourite flavour chocolate mint.”

   Julia had a smile on her face. She came towards me and grabbed the ice-cream. We sat on the sofa while Julia asked, “What happened? How did you bring this?” I said, “I received my first commission today. This job is so good.” 

  Then we talked for a few hours and ate our dinner. Then we went to our room and slept all night. Next day we went to our school. We had history lecture at first. 

   Mrs. Jennifer came to class and asked us all about our presentations. She called the students one by one to perform the presentation. After few students showed their presentation, Mrs. Jennifer called Josh and me. 

  We went to the front and I opened my laptop which was connected to the projector and opened my presentation on ‘The American Revolution’. Josh started to give information about our project. We were a great team.

   Mrs. Jennifer was impressed by our work. We were happy making Mrs. Jennifer happy and impressed because it was not an easy task. But we did it. We went back to our seats. 

   Leatures passed by and then it was a free lecture. Everyone was hanging out with their friends. Julia and I went towards the basketball court and stood there to see the match.

  But I was there to see Josh. His techniques were unbelievable. He was so good at playing basketball. I could see his six-pack when he tried to rubbed his face with his jersey t shirt which has written 10 on it and it was my favourite number.

   He was looking so great in his blue colour jersey and his black shorts. With those white and black sports shoes. He was unbelievable. Sadly, the time passed and we went back to our lectures. 

The lectures ended and we were moving towards the exit when I bumped into Sofie Wheeler. She was the best dancer in our school. The books dropped from her hands when we bumped into each other.

  “Sorry, it's my fault. I didn't see you coming.” I said softly. Sofie said, “It's alright.” I bend down to help her with books. All of a sudden, Josh passed beside me. 

  I saw him with a brush on my face. It was clearly seen that I was in love with him. Sofie saw me. She said, “Do you have a crush on him?” I said nervously, “Yeah. Didn't you see his body and looks.” 

  Sofie warned me saying, “Yeah. But all he has is body and looks. He has a heart of stone. He doesn't treat people right.” I was shocked and asked, “What do you mean?” 

  Sofie said, “It was two years back. I was selected for class president and my opponents were Josh, Millie and Alex. At first, I also thought he had a good heart. But it was not true.” 

  I added, “What happened then?” She said, “We started dating after bumping into each other and knowing each other. But then after a few months he broke up with me for no reason. He told me that I was just no one for him. He breaks hearts.” 

   I said, “Are you telling the truth? But he doesn't look that way.” Sofie said, “Like I said. He doesn’t show his other side. But I wasn't the only one. Millie, my other opponent, has also dated him and got heart broken. Also Nancy from last year was heart broken.” 

  I was shocked. The bell rang and Sofie said, “Sorry, I need to go. My dance class starts in a few minutes.” It was a total new thing I found about Josh. I moved towards the exit when I heard Josh was on call with his friend. 

  I heard him saying, “Don't worry. I am all done. Just like previous years, I am going to date other opponents and then break their heart. This time it is Max. She is my opponent.” 

   I was shocked when I heard this conversation from him. I ran towards the exit very fast. He was not like I expected. I found out bad things about him. 

   This Josh which I heard today was a totally different person. I didn't know he breaks people’s hearts. I guess I should stay away from him. But first I need to warn Max about this. 

Link to Part One: https://www.reddit.com/r/shortstories/comments/1frvid4/fn_the_rat_king_part_one/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button 

Vigdis was speaking in hushed tones with the same dwarf that had been playing outside the Guildhall. The owner. That was why he was in on it.

In the center was a table that, for some reason, was completely empty. Khet got on top of that one.

“Oy!” He yelled, getting the adventurers’ attention.

Everyone turned to look at him. Even Vigdis and the minstrel.

“It’s all a lie!” Khet said to them. “There’s nothing in the cellar but casks of ale and rats!”

The adventurers stared at him with wide eyes. Everything went silent.

The minstrel broke the silence with an awkward laugh. “I think you’ve had too much to drink, sir. Must’ve taken a wrong turn.”

“He’s not drunk!” Gnurl joined Khet. “I’m his party-mate! We went down to the cellar and all we found were giant rats! We’ve been lied to!”

“Oh, come on!” Vigdis protested. “I told none of you about the Delve of the Lost Phoenix! How could I possibly convince all of you there’s a fake ruin in my cellar?”

Mythana pointed at the minstrel. “You were the one who told us about the Delve of the Lost Phoenix! You’re clearly in on it!”

The adventurers started shouting at once. Some went to the cellar to see for themselves. Some demanded Vigdis and the owner give them their money back. Others stormed out of the inn, swearing they would find a better inn, one that didn’t lie to its customers.

Khet leapt off the table and stormed over to the counter.

Vigdis and the minstrel were trying to calm their customers, to no avail.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” Vigdis hissed to the minstrel in Dwarven. “I told you the adventurers would figure it out eventually.”

“Shut up.” Said the minstrel. He glared at Khet. “This was going fine until you had to ruin it! The best business we had in years! Why couldn’t you just make your complaints quietly?”

“Because I don’t appreciate me and my friends being used to get rid of the rats!” Khet growled.

“What rats?” Said the minstrel. “We don’t have rats!”

Khet opened his mouth to say that he didn’t appreciate being lied to, there were rats, and that maybe this was why they were having such poor business, when someone shouted over the noise, “Oy!”

Everyone stopped and looked at the center table. A slender dhampyre with short golden hair and amber eyes wielding a hammer stared at them all grimly.

“It’s worse than we thought, lads.” He said grimly. “I didn’t find rats in the cellars. You know what I did find? Some dead dwarves.”

The two dwarf owners looked pale.

“The Rat King,” whispered Vigdis.

“What’s the Rat King?” Khet asked. There was some adventure, at least!

Vigdis opened her mouth to answer.

“Keep your mouth shut!” The minstrel said in Dwarven.

“What’s the harm? I’ll just tell him it’s just rumors!”

“You want Gudmund coming after us?” Growled the minstrel. “Keep your damn mouth shut!”

Vigdis sighed and retreated into the back.

Khet pressed his hands on the counter. “Who’s the Rat King?” He growled at the minstrel.

“Talk to Oriolt Sulthall. She’s the head priestess of Qhedhes. She’ll tell you everything.”

Khet had expected the human temple to be a small building, maybe little more than a shrine, that Oriolt Sulthall was tending to. Instead, he found himself standing in front of a massive cathedral, made of the finest marble, and decorated with glass windows. The doors were mahogany and they were wide open.

As the adventurers stepped inside, Khet took off his helmet. It felt disrespectful, to go in here with his head covered.

Khet felt his heart swell in awe as he stared at the altar. There were few worshippers here, and the ones that were here were kneeling in quiet reverence. The ceiling was painted with a muscular hairy creature wielding a spear. The altar was made of pure gold and decorated with bits of silk and linen cloth.

A human with a lively face, coily gray hair, and brown eyes stepped in front of them, bowing his head in greeting. “I bid you welcome to Qhedhes’s temple. What is the reason for your visit?”

“We wish to speak with Oriolt Sulthall.” Gnurl said.

The human frowned. “Ser Oriolt the Courteous?” He took in the armor and weapons of the Golden Horde and nodded his head in understanding. “Ah. I see. Follow me please.”

The Golden Horde followed him through one of the many side doors. The corridor was just as impressive as the altar had been. The Horde’s footsteps echoed through the stone halls. Tapestries of the same hairy creature decorated the walls. The hairy creature was riding on a chariot drawn by unicorns, thrusting his spear at demonic kobolds. He was touching the ground with his spear and humans were sprouting from it. He was spreading his arms to the sky, roaring as he stood atop a mountain of corpses.

The human led them into a simple office. Even this office managed to look as regal as the corridor and the altar. A large desk dominated the entire room. A massive chair that looked more like a throne than an office chair was behind the desk. Khet got the sense he was supposed to kneel before it when entering the presence of whoever owned this office. And of course, the human with straight red hair and wide amber eyes, clad in banded mail armor, carrying a spear, posing heroically at the front of the desk, made Khet’s knees weak in awe, as if he were standing in the presence of a god.

“Ser Oriolt,” the priest said. “I have brought you adventurers. Qhedhes has answered our prayers.”

“Indeed he has.” Oriolt said. Her voice was strong, and made the hairs on Khet’s arms stand to attention. “Leave us, Brother Reynald. You have worshippers to attend to.”

The priest bowed his head and walked away.

Oriolt studied them. Her eyes gleamed and Khet had the sudden thought that he was looking at a demigod. The rare offspring of a god and a mortal being.

“Brother Reynald says that you are the answer to our prayers,” Oriolt said. “Is this true?”

Khet opened his mouth to speak. And found that he could not.

“We heard you were looking for adventurers.” Mythana said. “What do you know about the Rat King? Are you looking for adventurers because of the Rat King, or is there something else?”

Oriolt nodded. “Ah, I see. You are curious about the Rat King.” She smiled. “Qhedhes has smiled on me then, because that was the reason I was looking for adventurers.”

She stepped back and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Many of our followers have been disappearing. Some in the Watch have reported that their fellow officers have built shrines in the Watchhouse, shrines to a god that is not of any of the Dwarven gods. The teeth of the Watchmen have grown longer and pointier, and rats have become more common and harder to catch. The Watchmen have been seen in places it should have been impossible to access without notice. And there have been whispers of the Rat King. My brothers and sisters of the cloth have been investigating, and we believe that there is a cult built to the Rat King. That he thirsts for blood. And that the Watch forms most of this cult, if not all.”

Gnurl took the piece of paper.

“We can offer you as much gold as you like,” Oriolt said. “And you may keep anything of value that you might find when you raid this cult.”

“Done,” Gnurl said. “We’ll take the job. Now, where is the cult located?”

“Within the house of Gudmund Athils. He is the commander of the town guard, and perhaps the prophet of the Rat King. May Qhedhes give you the strength to strike down your enemies.”

“Adum is with us,” Khet said. Somehow, he’d managed to speak.

“And so is Estella,” Mythana said.

“And so are our ancestors,” Gnurl said.

The Golden Horde’s feet crunched on rock and gravel as they walked down Sharktooth Road. They passed a grand estate, owned by one of the landowners who ran the village, most likely.

They were close to the edge of town. Khet could see the village gate, wide open, inviting travelers within the city walls. Next to the gate was a log cabin with a grand moist limestone chimney.

Gudmund Athils’s house.

“Should we knock?” Gnurl asked.

Khet tried the door. It opened easily.

“No,” he said, and stepped inside.

It was a nice-looking place. There was a bearskin rug on the floor, in front of a roaring fireplace, and a couch. Going further into the home and Khet found a simple bed, unmade with blankets strewn everywhere. In the kitchen was a cooking pot, with herbs hanging over it. The place was so homey, it was easy to forget that this place was concealing a temple to some ancient and evil deity.

Gudmund Athils had an assortment of alcohol, in bottles that were lined up in a corner, next to some tankards.

“I feel like a drink,” Khet poured himself a stout.

“Can I have some?” Mythana asked.

Khet poured her a glass.

He paused before he put it back. “Do you want some, Gnurl?”

Gnurl accepted a dark brown stout.

Khet drank his stout and made a face. “This tastes like kobold piss!”

“Don’t say that. Don’t insult kobold piss.” Mythana said. She dashed into the bathroom. Khet could hear retching noises before Mythana came back out, drinking from her waterskin.

Gnurl seemed to be having better luck with his stout. He meandered into the parlor, onto the bearskin rug.

He stumbled and spilled his stout.

“Fuck,” the Lycan said and looked at Khet. “Help me move this rug?”

Khet helped him roll up the rug and picked it up.

“Where should we put this, Gnurl?”

Gnurl didn’t respond.

“Gnurl?” Khet turned around.

Gnurl was staring at the floor. He looked up at Khet and pointed.

“I think I found the entrance.”

Khet dropped the bearskin rug and joined Gnurl, following where his friend was pointing. A trap door.

Khet opened it and peered down. It didn’t look like a steep drop. It looked like it led to a tunnel, probably leading to the Rat King’s altar.

By now, Mythana had joined them. She peered down at the altar.

“We’re going down there?”

“Looks like it.”

Mythana dropped down into the tunnel. Khet and Gnurl followed her.

The dark elf lit a lantern, held it aloft. She led the way down the tunnel.

CW: Themes of anxiety and major depression.

I stand at the edge of a cliff. Beneath me is a fall into pitch black. An endless darkness that threatens to swallow me whole if I fall. Only a few feet away, on an opposing cliff is paradise. People laugh and dance and spread merriment. I watch them. I want to join them. It's only a few feet. Just one large step and I can make it across.

I look down. One slip. One mistake. That's all it would take for me to fall. I stand there for a long time, thinking of ways to safely cross. It's only a few feet away. It shouldn't be that hard. I just have to make sure I do it right. Just one step...

I'm scared of falling. I don't want to fall. I want to cross but I don't want to fall.

I look around. I see a board. It's long enough to bridge the gap and strong enough to support me. It could be a step, or even a way to catch myself if I slip. It's just behind me. I just need to walk back there and grab it.

I walk over and bend down to pick it up, but when I turn back around, I can't help but to feel despair. The gap is wider. I'm still on the edge of the cliff. I have the board, but it's no longer large enough to bridge the gap. It's only a few more feet. I could probably jump the gap without too much effort.

But what if I don't make it? What if I slip on a wet piece of grass? What if I'm not strong enough to jump that far? I know it's not very far, but I'm not strong and I don't want to fall. It's just one jump...

I'm scared of falling. I don't want to fall. I want to cross but I don't want to fall.

I stand there, frozen. I don't know what to do, but I do know what I shouldn't do. I shouldn't risk falling. I need to find a way to cross without falling. I look around. I see a rope. It's long and tough. I could the end to my board and throw it across until it catches something. If I do that, then I can tie the rope to something on this side and cross safely. It's just behind me, I just need to walk back and get it....

But, last time I looked away the gap got wider. I'll just keep an eye on the gap while I walk back to get the rope. I take a few steps backwards. That's it, I'm getting further away, closer to the rope, and the gap isn't spreading. I can do this.

My foot touches the rope and I bend down to grab it. The rope is caught on something, and I have to look to untangle it. I look back up, and I feel despair. Once again, the gap is wider. The edge of the cliff just in front of my feet again. I panic. This can't be real. But, maybe the rope is still long enough. Maybe I can still do this.

I look to the side and see someone. He's sprinting towards the cliff, smiling wide. He doesn't even slow down. I want to warn him, but I'm too late. When he reaches the cliff, he leaps and soars through the air...

He did it. He's on the other side. I see him there and he's smiling now. He's dancing with the others, the ones I want to join. I'm happy for him. I want to be there with him...

I'm scared of falling... I won't fall. He did it, and so can I.

I tie the rope to the board and I throw it across. It lands on the other side, but it doesn't catch on anything. That's ok, I'll just keep trying until it catches. I pull it back and try again. Still doesn't catch. I try again. This is hard, I can't keep this up. Again, but the board doesn't even reach the other side now. I pull it back. I try again... It doesn't reach... I need to rest. I'll try again after I take a breather. I look down.

Despair clutches my heart again as I see a small piece of the cliff fall away right in front of me. Standing at the edge and putting pressure on it while trying to throw the board must have knocked it loose. More falls away, forcing me to step back. This sucks, now I'll have to try even harder...

I sit down, needing to rest. Some of the people across the ravine notice me and come over to encourage me. They tell me everything is going to be ok, I just need to keep trying. I just need to throw the board across, they'll catch it.

I feel gratitude. These people want to help me, they want me to join them. I stand up and grab my board. I know that throwing it will cause more of the cliff to fall away, but that's ok. This is the last time I have to throw it. I have help, they can catch the board. I throw it.

It soars throw the air, towards the kind people on the other side. They reach out for it, they touch it even, but couldn't get a good grip and it slips away. I pull it back. They tell me to try again. I just need to throw it a little harder... I do it.

I gather all of my strength, emboldened by the words and support of my rescuers and throw the board with all my might! The effort nearly sends me tumbling over the edge of the cliff, but I catch myself. I look up, feeling triumphant. There's no way I failed this time. They had to have caught it, or picked it up off the ground even if I threw it far enough.

I'm scared of falling... But I won't. I have help...

They couldn't catch it... The board didn't reach them. My throw was too weak and it tumbled away into the darkness below. To make things worse, it slid from the rope and is gone forever. I feel crushed. These kind people only wanted to help, but in the end I only screwed things up again.

I pull the rope up. No sense it letting it continue to hang. I take a step back as the cliff predictably crumbles away a little more. The kind people are gone. They gave up. I don't blame them. I'm a lost cause.

I sit here. I look across at the paradise in front of me. I can't reach them. I can't be there. Maybe that's ok. I can see them. I can hear their music. I can smell their food. I can see them laugh. Maybe that's enough. I don't need anything more. They're all happy, and so I'm happy.

I sit here a while, watching the kind people play. Sometimes they come to the ravine and talk to me. We both know they can't help me get across, but that's ok. I'm happy they come talk to me. I think I've even made some friends.

I look down. The cliff is beginning to crumble again. I guess I sat here for too long and stressed the ground too much. I'll just take another step back. I'm still close enough to see them, even if I can't make out what they're saying anymore.

My friends still come to visit me sometimes. I can't talk to them well, but they spend time with me. It's not as frequent. I don't blame them. Who wants to hang out with a guy who can't even talk to them? Eventually they stop coming to visit.

I sit here, watching the paradise. I look down. The cliff is crumbling again, sooner than last time... Or, is it? I don't know. I lost my sense of time a while ago. I have to take another step back.

I'm scared of falling. I don't want to fall. I'm afraid of what will happen if I fall.

It's still crumbling... It's slow, but.. It's still going. I have to keep stepping back. It's hard to see the paradise now. It's still there, in the distance. If I squint, I can barely make out the dancing shapes.

I wish I could hear them again. I want to see my friends again. I hope they're ok. Do they remember me? I don't blame them if they don't. They're in paradise, and I'm just over here...

The cliff is crumbling faster now. I've had to turn around, away from paradise, just so I can keep walking. I glance back sometimes, but paradise is gone. All I see is the cliff just barely behind me. It doesn't matter how long I walk, it doesn't stop crumbling.

I'm scared of falling. I don't want to fall. I don't want to fall. I don't want to fall.

I'm running now. The darkness is chasing me. The cliff keeps crumbling. No matter how fast I run, just as close. I can't stop to rest for even a moment. I have to keep running. I have to keep running. I have to keep running.

I'm going to fall. I can't keep running. I'm scared of falling. I don't want to fall. I'm so tired. I want to stop. I want to rest. I can't rest. I have to keep running. I can't keep running. I'm scared of the abyss.

...

...

...

I fell...

I'm ok...

I feel nothing...

I... I just fall... It's not bad. It's not good. I just fall.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. This is my first post here. I have some other short stories that are lighter than this and more thought out. I wrote this rather late at night because I haven't been feeling too great and I needed to let these emotions out. I hope you all enjoyed the read. If you have any comments or critiques of my writing, I would love any and all feedback. Thank you, and I hope you all have a wonderful time in paradise <3

The steppe air is welcoming. Empty space envelops me. It stretches out into rolling hills and distant snow-specked mountains. I think about letting out a scream, a roar, a war cry to the nothingness. I'd thought about it many times when I were surrounded by people and concrete structures.

Out here, there is no need. I don't feel the stress of having to guess every passerby's thoughts. No longer imagining their lives. The only life out here to imagine is that of the brush, bugs, bees, and birds. The beautiful blue sky. The starry nights which I struggled to see after a lifetime spent staring at screens. Out here, it's me and my dream.

All I dream about is her. I do not see her face but, I can feel its warmth. There's no shadow or image of her in my mind, just a feeling of something that should be. A longing for a love that I've never known.

The bees keep me company. The birds sing to me morning, night, and noon. The bugs remind me of simpler and more difficult times. The brush keeps my heart beating with every little breeze that bristles the branches. The sky provides space to roam. I feel like I belong.

If I'm not fit for her, I'm not fit for anyone.

She is kind and sweet. She doesn't know a bad thought because she doesn't know me. She believes in family. She loves with every word. She dresses as she speaks; with humility. She knows her strength and respects its power. She respects me. I build her a house and she makes it our home.

Instead, my home was built in a factory. Several factories, in fact. Then shipped, assembled, shipped again and sat on a lot. The pavement covers throngs of roots that never got to be. I bought the truck with determination, knowing it's ability to bring me here. Over the rugged terrain, to empty steppe air.

I go into town about twice a week. There's a beautiful women who's made an impression on me. She's pretty, funny, sweet, and intelligent. She's everything that I dream. I smile, say please and thank you, make some small talk before making an abrupt exit. I think about going in and asking her to dinner. But, I can't stand the thought of breaking her heart.

If only it were as simple as being damaged. If my problems could be fixed and I healed... But, I don't feel damaged. I feel right at home with all the positions that a terrible person might hold. If she were my true love, I'd poison her mind, body, and spirit. I'd rather not become a festering rot that withers her soul. I tell myself that she'll be happier without me, I self-loathe.

The same way she makes me, I make her whole.

I wonder if she thinks about me. If I'm that missing feeling that lingers in her mind. If her heart aches and her eyes water sporadically. Does she see the spot where I should be? Does she dream of a man who builds her a picket fence around their acreaged home? One who loves his betrothed as his homeland, whose hands are dirty but mind clean and free of all impurities?

Does she call to me? I can't know. If I knew I wouldn't stop running until I found her. Instead, she is left as a thought on my dashboard. A missing picture under the visor. When I awake in a terrible panic from another nightmare of chaos and static, I find her there. Sitting as the empty space in my memories, warm, like the morning steppe air.

Ira was working in a flow state, feeling the cold marble pestle in his sweaty palm as he ground beetle wings down into a fine powder. He began adding other ingredients from memory, flicking open dozens of drawers with his left hand and dropping minerals, leaves, and animal byproducts in the crystal bowl in his right. Ira had memorized most of the hundreds drawers in the apothecary cabinet that made up his workrooms back wall, give or take a few that contained expensive ingredients he rarely used. He hummed along to the softly playing music, his mousy-gray hair tied half up to keep it out of his eyes as he worked. Ira found that music could be a powerful conductor of his mental energy, but if it was too loud he became overly sensitive to his surroundings.

Once his basket was brimming with potion components, he used his smartwatch to start his default work playlist, aptly titled “witchy shit”. He gravitated back to the mortar and pestle, dropping in tree roots, owl bones, dried mushrooms, and limestone one at a time until the mixture was a fine, light brown powder. Ira raised the jewelers loupe on his necklace to his eye, inspecting the powder for any clumps and pulverizing it a few more times before calling it good, with a decisive nod to Stella, the box turtle crawling across his massive desk.

He pulled out his pocket grimoire and his bifocals, hanging on the jeweled chain around his neck. Ira double checked the next steps to turn the powder into an oil, absently scratching the hair along his jawline as he muttered to himself. Recently he had gotten a little lax with his ratios, and the herbalist wasn’t pleased with his recent blood draw, but told him that as long as he doesn’t notice any concerning symptoms he could continue homebrewing for the foreseeable future. He left the bifocals on and hefted a cauldron, no bigger than a crockpot, onto his desk along with a large bottle of cottonseed oil. He emptied about half the bottle into the cauldron before tossing it back into the cabinet and put a trivet under the cauldron. When Ira traced the rim of the cauldron with his fingertip, it became surrounded by an orange and blue flame. While complex spells required ritual, technique, energy, and time, elemental magic was as snapping his fingers.

Ira threw in the rest of the ingredients with a flourish, stirring the cauldron a few times with a metal spoon. He set a timer on his phone, and stepped into the kitchen to scavenge for some much needed carbs. Ira had been so focused on his potion that he forgot to eat. He returned to the workroom with a plate teetering high with a leftover sandwich, cubed cheese, grapes, and a ripe juicy strawberry for Stella. Ira somehow managed to sit sideways in the oversized swing-back armchair in the corner of the room, framed with his dozens of plants. Some of these plants boasted bright colors and pretty flowers, while other seemed to ooze sap and other unidentifiable goo that the young wizard used for his potions.

Ira down his food quickly, swiping through a Timbr while he took the last few bites of his sandwich. He no longer put much stock in the app, but it was a source of validation he was drawn to when he needed a pick me up. Sometimes he matched with the odd guy who was perfect, but only in town for a week. Or an older man who was suspiciously unavailable except for a few late evenings a month. There were plenty of guys his age in the college town Ira found home, but it was so hard to actually meet someone in person these days.

Even Ira preferred to do his work anonymously. He filled orders online, taking payment via his banking app, packing his potions meticulously, and shipping them off to a distant, unknown client. Most of his orders were simple chemical compounds used in lab work, while he had a separate line of communication for other, more occult audiences. Nothing sinister, but potions could help bolster or manipulate elemental magic in more complex ways. Sometimes he also assisted the herbalist with poultices if their apprentice was sick for discounted medical care.

PING!

Ira’s phone chimed, letting him know that some lucky bastard had swiped right on his profile. A message quickly followed from a faceless profile:

“Ooooh I love a cute little trans boi! Guys like you are the best of both worlds… ;)”

That’s enough of that. With a frustrated huff, Ira locked his phone and tossed it across the room onto a thick pillow. Ira’s watch chimed as the timer he set earlier went off, and he wiped his hands on his belly, dirtying the faded band tee as he got up to cool the potion.

He stepped up to the cauldron, nearly tripping on Stella as she went to town on her prized berry, and rubbed his hands together. Quickly, he tapped his fingertips to the cauldron and pulled back, extinguishing the fire immediately and sucking the heat out of the pitch black metal. Ira was left with a cool, slightly yellow oil.

He picked a thimble sized bottle out of the bin at his hip, heating it up for a few seconds to sterilize. He did the same with a fresh spoon as well, and ladled the oil into the bottle, corking it with a rubber cap that could be pierced without letting all of the potion drip out. With a fine tip pen he marked “boy juice” and “September 23”. He would get a month’s worth of doses out of this bottle.

While Ira could do things the magic-neutral way and just pick up his testosterone from a pharmacy, the herbalists weren’t quite sure how their everyday testosterone cypionate would mix with magic-positive blood. This is the way trans wizards, sorcerers, and witches have been making their HRT for millenniums. Ira also liked the independence; he didn’t have to worry about any laws coming between him and his healthcare. While the herbalists did have a grand council, they gave guidance, not mandates.

Ira got ready for his weekly ritual. He placed his potion on his altar next to a lit candle, undressed, and hopped in the shower. He took all the time he needed, exfoliating every limb, washing his face, and letting his long wavy hair down to detangle and deep condition. With every motion, he thought about how much he loved his body. His square jaw, his muscles, his round and furry belly and tree trunk thighs. After rinsing off and towel drying he oiled his beard and hair, securing it with a claw clip. He pulled on a fresh pair of boxer briefs with a comfortable packer, looking at himself in the mirror with pride. Ira deserved to feel good about himself.

He pulled out his syringes, needles, and rubbing alcohol, resting them on his sterilized work desk. As his work room was better suited to magic than his bedroom, he did all of his shots under the skylight. He washed his hands thoroughly and held the small bottle in both.

“I deserve to take care of my body. I am the only one who can control my body. I mold my clay as I see fit,” Ira said, feeling the bottle hum underneath his fingertips before settling back down.

Ira sterilized the rubber cap using an alcohol wipe, used a syringe and a large needle to draw the correct dosage of the potion, and replaced the large needle with a smaller one. Using the drawing needle’s cap, he made a small round indent on a bare spot on his belly, pinching it slightly to pull the fat away from muscle.

As Ira removed the cap and positioned it over the sterilized circle, he closed his eyes and focused more on the music playing from the speakers. This part fucked with his mind the most. The longer he waited the worst it would be. “In” he thought to himself, and he opened his eyes to see the needle buried in his injection site with no pain. He pushed down on the plunger, waited a few seconds, and removed the syringe. He wouldn’t need a bandage, such a small wound would heal instantly.

Ira felt a warm wave of pride course through his veins as the potion absorbed into his body.

u/Tooooaaaad 9/17

**My First Day**

A piercing alarm shoots through the room

6:00 AM “WAKE UP!!!”

As usual, I leap out of bed to turn it off before I get a noise complaint. It's so risky, I hate having to do this, but it's the best way to motivate me to get out of bed in the morning. That being said, I doubt I would’ve wanted to sleep in today of all days.

It's finally time for me to start work, at an office no less! I've always wanted to have a nice boring job like this. Just a peaceful place where I can get up, go to work, make a living and go home. No time to waste! I rush into the shower, and clean everything as diligently as possible, not an inch of myself is going to smell today!

Perfect, my clothes are nice and folded, my supplies are neatly organized, and my ID is clipped onto my shirt…

SECURICARE INSURANCE

DATA ENTRY CLERK

NAME: MITCHELL COBBLER

AGE: 25

Wow… That picture is terrible. It’d be easier to just list off what's right about it. Well, at least I'm smiling. No, wait, that looks stupid too. Oh well, at least I'm not going out of my way to meet anyone, I won't need to explain this to anybody. No time to linger on this; It's time to go.

It sucks having to live on the 4th floor. I specifically requested a low room. What am I gonna do if there’s a fire? An earthquake? A bomb threat? An active shooter? A downstairs neighbor with sensitive ears? A sinkhole under our building? A police barricade on the stairs? A massive- wait, who’s that?

There's a person, a lady walking this way, she’s carrying some kind of long object in that bag. Why is she coming this way? I have to be ready to run, where do I go, where can I hide? Oh no, she’s tall, she’d totally be able to outrun me! I need to call the police. I need to… that's it! I'll take a picture so that if she assaulted me with that thing, I'll be able to identify her!

*Click*

“HEY! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“I was just…”

“You’d better delete that you pervert!” This is it… not before I've even had a chance to go to work!

“T-the gun you’re… carrying”

“What? This is a baseball bat. Listen man, maybe you’d be a more pleasant person to hang around if you didn't assume every Joe, Jane, and Jay off the street was a terrorist. Now outta my way, I'm running late!”

O-oh it was a bat, thank god she wasn't seriously angry with me, otherwise it would have been bye-bye kneecaps!

Finally, I'm in my car! Oh, my sweet little Kia, you’re the only place I can really be at home. Maybe I should get one of those RV’s to live in once I make some money. That's a nice little dream to have, but i'll have time to dream later, it's already 7, I’ve gotta get going!

This morning sure went well, save for that lady I ran into. There's something about that encounter that I'm having trouble getting out of my head. It's not the fear, not the bat, not even the fact that she called me a pervert. That's it, she said I was unpleasant. That's just silly! Sure, I don't have a ton of friends, but that's just because I'm a little antisocial doesn't mean I'm unpleasant. Yeah, I'm just someone who prefers his own company, why should I let people into my life when they'll just end up causing problems for me? Why would I let someone do something like that? Why would someone act like that?

Why would someone act like that? I… I’m not sure why.

Oh look, I'm here, the office. Easy drive, as usual. The building almost seems a little too small to be an office building, it looks more like a mall than an office. It's able to be so short since the building has a lot of square footage. On top of that, it has a parking lot, thank god I don't have to park on the street.

I mean, this isn't a bad neighborhood in the slightest. I guess I could get my car broken into, but why me, specifically? My car is electric, so maybe they’d wanna sell the battery, or the engine? I don't… let me just go inside.

I'm glad I came here early, I need to be super careful while I'm parking. If I scrape up someone’s car, it’ll be the end of me. They could sue me, and then I wouldn't be able to pay the fine, then I'd get sent to federal prison!

So, what floor was it on? Right the fifth. I wish I could take the stairs, but apparently that's only for emergencies. I could get thrown in jail for that too.

Allright, breathe man, you can make this work…

It's the office, my new office. The walls are a pristine white, and the room is accented with blue highlights. Instead of having cubicles like I imagined, all the desks are open, but separated by a foot or so. There are a few rooms broken off from the main office, one of those is probably the manager’s office. Today, I need to work fast. You don't have a chance to make a first impression on a guy like that.

Everyone looks busy getting set up for the day; there’s people getting coffee and water, talking to each other, passing around and organizing work documents, seems pretty normal. Now’s my chance to sneak in unnoticed! Yeah, I'll need to sneak into my job, on the first day I'm here, 15 minutes early.

I punch in, and head over to my desk. No time to waste, let's get working!

The life of a data entry worker is a tedious one, just filling out sheets with information gathered from our customers, whether they be individual people or larger organizations. This is what I'll be doing every day, of every month, of every year. Although some might consider this soul-ripping, I'll cherish every column I put in. It’s like I was made exactly for this job! Hold on just a second…

EMPLOYEE ID NUMBER: 881568**426**

So close…

“Hey there, newbie!”

“AH!”

“Oh! Sorry man, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to invite you out to lunch later”

“Umm… I don't- I'm flattered, but i-im not into men.”

“What? Oh, Haha, You jokester! No, silly, I mean the other people from the office usually hang out during the lunch hour, you should hang out with us!”

I… don't know.

“...”

“Ahh… *ahem* Well, I'll let you think on that one, hmm… Mitchell, I'll see you around. Oh, by the way, my name’s Jordan, good meeting you!”

I don’t know.

I don’t know why I can't say anything to people like him. Jordan was friendly to me. He did everything right. Even startling me made him stand out in my head. He scares me even so.

Yet at the same time. I care about him. I try not to present myself in a way that attracts people. I never wear revealing, or even especially nice clothes. I don't have a fancy haircut. I don't have any conversation starters on me or my desk like a watch or one of my Formula 1 posters from home, and I never, ever, let openings arise for conversations unless it's absolutely necessary for work.

I ran up to Jordan, admittedly making a bit of a scene.

“I'LL COME TO LUNCH!”

“Gah! Oh, it's just you Mitch. Uhh, well that's good to hear, we usually meet up in that room over there after getting something from the food court.”

He’s pointing toward a room toward the corner of the building, a room that has some windows on both of the inner walls.

“Pretty nice, right? Boss wanted to take it for his office, we had to fight hard to get him to give it up”

“...h-how?” He’s letting out a smug looking grin. Did I say something wrong or funny?

“I'd love to tell you the tale of our epic war, buuut i've gotta get back to work for now. Remind me and we’ll tell you about it later.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh no, don't worry about it man, the more distractions, the better. Ill see you there!”

“Thanks.”

I don't wanna be like how I am anymore. Unpleasant is probably the nicest way to put it, im downright unbearable to be around. Sure, if I stay inside my little bubble for the rest of my life, I'll probably get hurt less, but I just can't stop myself from caring about other people.

It's not easy though. I feel like i'm gonna pass out from trying to talk to these guys. I can barely concentrate on how they got a petition from the people below our floor about something. Concentrate man… There's Jordan, a hunched over guy nodding along, a lax looking girl hanging out in the corner, and another lady who’s kinda dazed looking out the window. Small turnout to lunch; I think Jordan said something about a few other guys having a headache from a cold going around.

I think i'm doing, well, kind of bad actually, I haven't said anything yet.

“Gloating about the break room to the new guy? How classy.”

Huh? Oh, it's the boss. Is he going to- no! Stop thinking for once, it's fine!

“Hey Simon, Cass, Jan. Hope y'all are well.”

“Yeah… we’re doing ok…” the dazed girl is still looking out of the window, who knows exactly what she’s-

“Uhh, boss, why are you staring at the new guy?”

It's nothing, it's nothing, nothing, nothing nothing.

“Yo, boss man, what's up with you?”

“... You aren't welcome here.”

He walks calmly towards the door.

“Alright guys, let's finish up the day strong, I'll let you guys clock out once you hit your quotas. Oh, that reminds me, nice work today Mitchell! You gunning for my chair or what? Ha!”

What- why did- did he mean-

“Hey Mitch, are you alright?” I think Jordan noticed how shaken up I got.

“ Ignore him, Peters has the worst sense of humor”

“Yeah!” The hunched over guy (Simon?) finally perks up. “ You’d think he learned his management skills from frat house’s hazing rituals!”

“You’re panicking over nothing, dude” Cassidy says, creeping out of the corner just a little.

Jan is paying no attention whatsoever, she’s just smiling with a dopey looking grin on her face, probably happier than anyone else in the room. Somebody should probably tell her lunch is almost over.

“Hey guys, I think I'm going to head back now. I want to finish up early”

“Fair enough, Have fun with the sheets! Don't forget to say bye later!” Jordan and the others (even Jan, that's the first time she’s looked towards me today!) waved as I went back to my desk.

Looking around, I can see a lot of decor that I missed earlier, A classy sports calendar on one desk, some anime figurines on another, one of those silly bird wobbler desk toys. I think I will bring over one of my old formula 1 posters.

Ive got a lot of thinking to do, but let me get lost in my work for a minute so I can get out sooner.

The phone number here, SSN there, provider here, aaaand, done! Time to log off for the day!

I'm sure I have everything; wallet, keys, phone, anything else? Oh! Look, I dropped my ID on the way back from lunch. Good thing I caught that.

Am I forgetting anything else? Looking over the office one last time, I'm pretty sure I am actually the first one out. Just one last thing to do. Deep breath in… out… in! And!

“Have a good night everybody!”

“Bye Mitch!”

The elevator door closes, almost like a literal book-end to my day.

I feel like I'm gonna pass out. I'm a total mess. My hair is greasy, I'm covered in sweat. I'm pretty sure my voice cracked back there

And I couldn't be happier about it.

Back to the parking lot. Only, why are the lights out? Maybe someone… maybe it's just a power outage, and I should just leave it at that. I have pretty good muscle memory, I can make my way back to the car no problem. Yup, there it is. Hiii kia! Unlocking the car, the comforting glow of the headlights confirms the good job I did on my usual tune-up. The kia lets out its usual cute beep. And there’s a figure in front of my-

*BANG*

“Ahh! Oh god!” I cant help but collapse. Its my leg, it burns so bad! What happened, who is-

*BANG*

“AHHHH! PLEASE STOP!” It got my other leg! I can't move! Someone, please help me! No, it's coming closer!

It bends down to meet me at eye level. I try to at least see its face, but I can't make anything out. It simply has no face. Without a word, a thought, a prayer, or an ounce of remorse, it pulls the trigger, and kills me instantly.

This is the end, it seems.

u/Tooooaaaad 9/17

**My First Day**

A piercing alarm shoots through the room

6:00 AM “WAKE UP!!!”

As usual, I leap out of bed to turn it off before I get a noise complaint. It's so risky, I hate having to do this, but it's the best way to motivate me to get out of bed in the morning. That being said, I doubt I would’ve wanted to sleep in today of all days.

It's finally time for me to start work, at an office no less! I've always wanted to have a nice boring job like this. Just a peaceful place where I can get up, go to work, make a living and go home. No time to waste! I rush into the shower, and clean everything as diligently as possible, not an inch of myself is going to smell today!

Perfect, my clothes are nice and folded, my supplies are neatly organized, and my ID is clipped onto my shirt…

SECURICARE INSURANCE

DATA ENTRY CLERK

NAME: MITCHELL COBBLER

AGE: 25

Wow… That picture is terrible. It’d be easier to just list off what's right about it. Well, at least I'm smiling. No, wait, that looks stupid too. Oh well, at least I'm finally awake. That was some nightmare, huh? It all felt so real, how could it have all been fake? The morning, the office, the coworkers, even that horrible bit at the end felt so close.

I don't want to linger on that for long. It's a little early, but let me head out now.

It sucks having to live on the 4th floor. I specifically requested a low room. What am I gonna do if there’s a fire? An earthquake? A bomb threat? An active shooter? A downstairs neighbor with sensitive ears? Maybe a… sinkhole? Or a…

I should count myself lucky that I'm not loaded with wrinkles, all this thinking is stressing me out. I'll have enough of that at work. Time to leave the building, and head out to the good ol’ Kia.

There's a person, a lady walking this way, she’s carrying some kind of long object in that bag. Why is she coming this way? I have to be ready to run, where do I go, where can I… wait for a second, tall lady, with a bag that has a baseball bat in it?

“What are you staring at, creep?”

“AH! Sorry! I just thought I knew you from somewhere.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Hmm, well sorry to be rude again, but I don't actually recognise you.”

“I… think I'm thinking of someone else, sorry to bother you, I know you’re running late.”

“Am I? Oh crap I am! Have a nice day sir!”

Finally in the car. Ahh, the one place I can feel comfortable in, maybe I should get one of those RV’s so I can shower and drive at the same time! A nice dream for when im- hold on a minute;

How did I know the baseball lady was running late?

That… must have been a lucky guess. I just thought she looked like the dream baseball lady, and made the connection.

Thinking about that dream now, I'm not sure it was a nightmare. I really felt like a different person at the end, in a good way. I had friends, people who I could hang around without fearing for my safety. No, I felt more safe being with them. What if that Manager Peters character had said that horrifying one liner to me while I was at my desk? That would have woken me up faster than the bullet.

Oh look, I'm here, the office. Easy drive, as usual. The building almost seems a little too small to be an office building, it looks more like a mall than an office. It's able to be so short since the building has a lot of square footage. On top of that, it has a parking lot, thank god I don't have to park on the street.

I mean, this isn't a bad neighborhood in the slightest. I guess I could get my car broken into, but why me, specifically? These thoughts are pretty exhausting.

Now, what floor is the office- oh, that's strange, the button for the 5th is already lit. I hit it already? This is my office, right?

Yeah, it is.

It's the office, my new office. The walls are a pristine white, and the room is accented with blue… highlights….

It's the same.

It's exactly the same as in my dream. I've never been here before. My interview was virtual.

I shouldn't make any fast movements, just clock in, and sneak over to my desk.

The life of a data entry worker is a tedious one… so I should get to work now and not think about things too much. Just get lost in your work and let the day slip by.

I can hear someone’s light footsteps on the carpeted floor. They’re just barely audible over the ambient hum of the office, but I knew to listen out for it. I turn to face the noise.

“Woah, hey there! I didn't realize people could see out the back of their heads! Ha, you got me good man!”

Its Jordan again. No, wait, it just looks like Jordan- i mean, Jordan isnt real! I made him up in my dream!

“Anyways, im Jordan. I wanted to invite you to lunch later”

“I-im sorry, but i'm not into… oh wait, you mean in the window room over there, right?”

“Yeah! How’d you know?”

“I, umm…” It can't be, it's just not possible.

“I'll tell you how you knew; it's because you sir, have a keen eye for quality real estate. You know a great room when you see one! Don't worry, I’ll be sure to rant all about that when lunch rolls around! You do wanna come, right? No pressure, just wanna know.”

I can't say anything. I have to still be dreaming. The nightmare never ended. Ow! But biting my lip still hurts, and I can read my sheets just fine. He cant be real, he just cant, im seeing things, right!?

No. I'm looking up at Jonas’ face. His face is sidling from his usual perky self, to a dejected, awkward grin. I don't know why anyone would want to approach me. I try not to present myself in a way that attracts people. I never wear revealing, or even especially nice clothes. I don't have a fancy haircut. I don't have any conversation starters on me or my desk like a watch or one of my Formula 1 posters from home, and I never, ever, let openings arise for conversations unless it's absolutely necessary for work.

And I'm so sick of it.

That being said, all I can manage is a silent nod.

“Are you sure? I really don't wanna make you uncomfortable.”

I look up to Jordan, and with a determined look on my face, nod with as much enthusiasm as I can manage.

“Great! Looking forward to it man!”

In reality, I probably looked scared out of my mind, but Jordan has a good sense of empathy, I’m glad he could pick up on my enthusiasm.

I don't know what’s happened to me, why my dream is becoming a reality. Does this mean the end of the dream…

Hold on; I picked up on something. When Ive approached my situations the same way, the exact same thing happens, hence why I pressed the elevator button when I wasn’t thinking about it. But when I take a different approach in my day, the future changes! Like with the baseball lady!

That means if I miss lunch, I can focus on work, and clock out an entire hour early, maybe even earlier. It’ll only be 3 instead of 4. Even though it's winter, the sun’ll only just be setting, and the blackout in the lot won't mean anything! If there really is someone waiting for me in the lot, they won't be able to sneak up on me like before!

All I have to do is miss lunch! Right, all I need to do is miss lunch, after I already told Jordan I was coming. No Jordan, no Simon, no Cass. No Jan.

Its nearly noon. The no shows are headed out. They’re wearing face masks to keep their cold from spreading. One of them notices me looking at them. We look at each other. I feel like he’s almost beckoning me. ‘Leave Mitchell. You can still survive if you leave now.’ That’s what the look means to me, even though this man certainly doesn't know who I am.

While I was looking away, everyone else went to the break room. As Jordan enters, he looks back at me. When our eyes meet, he darts his gaze away. He has a keen heart, he knows I don't want to be there.

And before I know it, im at the door. And knock at the break room. Jordan perks up, and waves me in. Its such a relief to be here again.

“Hey! Mitchell right? Mind if I call you Mitch?”

“...no, i don't mind”

“Oh god, you’re not gonna ramble on about the break room petition, are you?” Cass buries her face into her hands, already knowing the answer.

“ I hope you do… I like that story” Jan looks over with her half-asleep interpretation of anticipation. She brushes her pecan hair out of her eye as she turns to face… me!? I'm not blushing am I?

“It's our solemn duty to relay the history of our people!” Simon proudly proclaims, striking a heroic, yet corny looking pose.

I missed this place. Even though the world outside is so cold, this room is warm. The light shining through the window illuminating and heating the place. It feels as though we’re living in a corporate sanctioned igloo. It's been so long since I've been able to feel this close to someone. Since then I've been able to quiet my thoughts. I feel so comfortable.

And then he walks in

Peters.

He comes straight towards me, with a mean looking scowl.

“Hey boss! Uhh, you alright?”

His upper face remains still, while his mouth morphs into a wicked grin.

“Welcome to hell.”

No. No I can't. I can't go through that again. Just kill me now, I can't bear going through that scene one more time! Please, oh god someone help me!

“Now, recreate the spreadsheet. Take all the time you need, all week if you must!”

Jan, Cass, and Jordan laugh at the joke, while Simon looks annoyed with Mr. Peters.

“Hey man, Lean off the new guy! Can’t you tell he’s shy?”

“Oh, calm down you white knight. I was only joking! Come on, I know for a fact you’ve seen Ratatouille!”

Simon looks shocked, then embarrassed, then back to angry, all in the span of a second. “Well, it's still not nice.”

Peters looks back at me. I'm utterly petrified.

“But for realsies, you’re doing a great job. You’re in luck, we don't have anything planned after the day’s quota, so everyone’s free to leave after you've met it. Just clock out at your normal times on that app.”

“Sweeet, thanks boss.” Cass says without looking up from her phone.

And just as I'm looking back, Peters is on his way out. As he’s about to leave, he knocks on the glass, and g-gestures to his watch.

I can see it. He’s pointing at the number 4. That's when it happened. He wants to see me at 4. It had to have been him. I need to get out of here. I need to leave now! Screw these people, I have to survive any way I can! I don't care about this job, I don't care about any of these people! It was all just peer pressure.

“Hey Mitch! Wait a sec, we still have 5 minutes!”

That's it… they just wanted to make fun of me, they all just wanted to mock how I look, or how I speak. Maybe they just get a kick out of watching people embarrass themselves. Sick, all of them are sick in the head! I don't care if they fire me, I'm leaving now! I have my keys, wallet and phone, I'm getting out, and I don't ever wanna see their faces again. Not in my dreams, not in reality.

Those pricks are rushing out of that room, looking at me confused. They’re just upset because they didn't have a chance to scare me again. They just wanted to waste my time. They must be in on it, they just needed to waste a little time so Peters could cut the power and sneak to my car. Then he’s gonna shoot me, right?

No, I won’t give him the satisfaction. Finally, down to the parking lot. I rush over to the kia, not even bothering to look around. My life is at stake here. I have a plan. Since it's electric and fairly modern, the car makes no noise when it's idling, and I can turn off every single light if I'm not driving. I know exactly where it’s going to stand. It's just a matter of time.

There it goes, the lights are out. I can barely hold back a scream. I'm only going to get one chance at this. I put the car in drive and held down the brake.

Suddenly, the moment arrives.

*step, step, step*

How could they? I worked hard to open up to them, and that's how they treat me?

*step, step, step*

I can't do things like that normally. Some people might, but i'm just not that type of person.

*step, step, step*

I won't let them kill me. My survival matters more than living a life with any of those sickos.

***STEP, STEP, STEP***

It's time, it's right there! I have to do this. I can't let it kill me like that again!

“It's kill or be killed Peters!”

“Huh?”

I slam on the gas, and strike the figure. It’s pinned against the car, but I can’t let up yet. Faster, and faster, we barrel towards the elevator, and we both ram directly into it.

“Ohh…”

I'm awake again, behind the wheel. My head hurts, I must have hit it against the wheel when I crashed. There it is… The Figure. I can finally see its face.

I stumble out of the car, and observe the damage. The elevator is broken. I can see that its trying to go back up to the fifth floor, but it wont work. Against the door. Oh god…

“I… urp!”

I can't stop myself from throwing up. There’s so much blood. The figure had its torso completely crushed by the car. It's just writhing and twitching there. Even if I knew how to save it , it would be too late already. Wait, it's lifting its arm. It's still holding the gun!

No… Oh god no… it's not holding a gun. It's…

It's my ID. I dropped it again, just like in my dream. And that’s not the figure. It's… Simon. He takes one last look at me, and with one last horrified look, goes limp, dropping the ID into his own blood.

I collapse to meet it, and pick it up.

SECURICARE INSURANCE

DATA ENTRY CLERK

NAME: MITCHELL CO-

The rest of the text is illegible because of the blood. But I can still see that picture.

That stupid picture.

After what happened, I deserve to be mocked.

"When? How? What? Where?" The man asked himself these questions daily as he lay next to his beautiful baby girl. At a loss for words and thoughts, he walked into the living room, where his wife was sitting, and asked for the weed pen. Just as he motioned to get up, the baby grabbed his fingers with a surprisingly strong grip and released a gigantic fart. His head immediately started to hurt, and the baby chuckled.

God, why doesn’t anything interesting ever happen to me? he sighed to himself.

And then it happened.

A gigantic ball of light filled the sky. 8:48 p.m. suddenly looked like 11 a.m., as if the night had been swallowed by daylight.

“What the F***?” he muttered, rushing to the window, his wife already on her feet behind him. The entire neighborhood was bathed in an unnatural brightness, casting sharp, eerie shadows on the ground.

From the hallway, they heard the sound of hurried footsteps. Their teenage son, who had been playing video games in his room, burst into the living room. His face was pale, eyes wide with confusion.

"Dad, what's going on?" he asked breathlessly. "The power went out in my room, but it looked like the sun was shining in there!"

He barely finished his sentence before the three of them stood together by the window, staring at the pulsating light that seemed to be alive in the sky. The baby, still in her father's arms, grew quiet, sensing the tension.

The light continued to intensify, a deep hum resonating from above, rattling their bones. It felt like the earth itself was holding its breath. Then, in the middle of the sky, a shape began to form—an enormous, translucent figure that seemed to be made of light itself. It had no face, no features, just a massive, looming silhouette stretching across the horizon.

“What is that?” the son whispered, his voice trembling.

“I don’t know,” the father replied, his heart racing. His wife gripped his arm, the weight of the moment heavy on them all.

As they watched, the figure raised an enormous hand, reaching down toward the earth. The hum grew louder, vibrating through their chests, almost too much to bear.

And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the light blinked out. Darkness rushed back in, enveloping the house and the entire neighborhood. The power was still out, and the world outside was now plunged into an unsettling silence.

Their phones buzzed in unison, filling the eerie quiet with electronic alerts. The father checked his phone, his wife and son doing the same. The screen displayed a flashing red emergency message:

"NATIONAL EMERGENCY: DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOMES. STAY INSIDE. MORE INFORMATION TO FOLLOW."

"What the hell is happening?" the son asked, voice shaking.

“I don’t know,” the father said again, his eyes still fixed on the now-empty sky. The baby whimpered softly in his arms, her tiny fingers still clutching his.

Whatever had happened outside, whatever had appeared in the sky—it wasn’t over.

#Welcome to Serial Sunday!

To those brand new to the feature and those returning from last week, welcome! Do you have a self-established universe you’ve been writing or planning to write in? Do you have an idea for a world that’s been itching to get out? This is the perfect place to explore that. Each week, I post a theme to inspire you, along with a related image and song. You have 500 - 1000 words to write your installment. You can jump in at any time; writing for previous weeks’ is not necessary in order to join. After you’ve posted, come back and provide feedback for at least 1 other writer on the thread. Please be sure to read the entire post for a full list of rules.

#This Week’s Theme is Quaint!

Image | Song

Bonus Word List (each included word is worth 5 pts) - You must list which words you included at the end of your story (or write ‘none’).

• quizzical
• quash
• questionable
• quiet

Every story has a unique quality to it and characters can have an attractive quality to make the reader want to read about them. These little details, little foibles, little traits and quirks are what make one Hero's Journey different from another. They make a Main Character the individual to draw the reader in to their tale as opposed to the one next on the shelf.

What are the little details that set your story apart from others? What traits draw your main character's eye? Do they notice the colors of the curtains on the cottage they walk past or are they more interested in the scent of the flowers in the garden? Does your character do or say anything, or act in any way, that others find charming or peculiar?(Blurb written by u/ZachTheLitchKing).

These are just a few things to get you started. Remember, the theme should be present within the story in some way, but its interpretation is completely up to you. For the bonus words (not required), you may change the tense, but the base word should remain the same. Please remember that STORIES MUST FOLLOW ALL SUBREDDIT CONTENT RULES. Interested in writing the theme blurb for the coming week? DM me on Reddit or Discord!

Don’t forget to sign up for Saturday Campfire here! We start at 1pm EST and provide live feedback!

###Theme Schedule:

• September 29 - Quaint (this week)
• October 6 - Revelation
• October 13 - Sink

  Previous Themes | Serial Index
 

#Rankings

Last Week: Perfection

• First - by u/MeganBessel
• Second - by u/AGuyLikeThat
• Third - by u/ZachTheLitchKing
• Fourth - by u/MaxStickies
• Fifth - by u/Divayth--Fyr

#Rules & How to Participate Please read and follow all the rules listed below. This feature has requirements for participation!

• Submit a story inspired by the weekly theme, written by you and set in your self-established universe that is 500 - 1000 words. No fanfics and no content created or altered by AI. (Use wordcounter.net to check your wordcount.) Stories should be posted as a top-level comment below. Please include a link to your chapter index or your last chapter at the end.

• Your chapter must be submitted by Saturday at 9:00am EST. Late entries will be disqualified. All submissions should be given (at least) a basic editing pass before being posted!

• Begin your post with the name of your serial between triangle brackets (e.g. <My Awesome Serial>). When our bot is back up and running, this will allow it to recognize your serial and add each chapter to the SerSun catalog. Do not include anything in the brackets you don’t want in your title. (Please note: You must use this same title every week.)

• Do not pre-write your serial. You’re welcome to do outlining and planning for your serial, but chapters should not be pre-written. All submissions should be written for this post, specifically.

• Only one active serial per author at a time. This does not apply to serials written outside of Serial Sunday.

• All Serial Sunday authors must leave feedback on at least one story on the thread each week. The feedback should be actionable and also include something the author has done well. When you include something the author should improve on, provide an example! You have until Saturday at 11:59pm EST to post your feedback. (Submitting late is not an exception to this rule.)

• Missing your feedback requirement two or more consecutive weeks will disqualify you from rankings and Campfire readings the following week. If it becomes a habit, you may be asked to move your serial to the sub instead.

• Serials must abide by subreddit content rules. You can view a full list of rules here. If you’re ever unsure if your story would cross the line, please modmail and ask!

#Weekly Campfires & Voting:

• On Saturdays at 1pm EST, I host a Serial Sunday Campfire in our Discord’s Voice Lounge. Join us to read your story aloud, hear others, and exchange feedback. We have a great time! You can even come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Grab the “Serial Sunday” role on the Discord to get notified before it starts. You can sign up here

• Nominations for your favorite stories can be submitted with this form. The form is open on Saturdays from 12:30pm to 11:59pm EST. You do not have to participate to make nominations!

• Authors who complete their Serial Sunday serials with at least 12 installments, can host a SerialWorm in our Discord’s Voice Lounge, where you read aloud your finished and edited serials. Celebrate your accomplishment! Authors are eligible for this only if they have followed the weekly feedback requirement (and all other post rules). Visit us on the Discord for more information.

#Ranking System

Rankings are determined by the following point structure.

TASK | POINTS | ADDITIONAL NOTES |:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:|:--:| | Use of weekly theme | 75 pts | Theme should be present, but the interpretation is up to you! | Including the bonus words | 5 pts each (20 pts total) | This is a bonus challenge, and not required! | Actionable Feedback | 5 - 15 pts each (60 pt. max)* | This includes thread and campfire critiques. (15 pt crits are those that go above & beyond.) | Nominations your story receives | 10 - 60 pts | 1st place - 60, 2nd place - 50, 3rd place - 40, 4th place - 30, 5th place - 20 / Regular Nominations - 10 | Voting for others | 15 pts | You can now vote for up to 10 stories each week!

*You are still required to leave at least 1 actionable feedback comment on the thread every week that you submit. This should include at least one specific thing the author has done well and one that could be improved. Please remember that interacting with a story is not the same as providing feedback. Low-effort crits will not receive credit.

###Subreddit News

• Join our Discord to chat with other authors and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires, monthly World-Building interviews and several other fun events!
• Try your hand at micro-fic on Micro Monday!
• Did you know you can post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday? Check out this post to learn more!
• Interested in being a part of our team? Apply to be a mod!

The wind howled through the trees, carrying the familiar chill of Halloween night. Laurie Strode sat at her kitchen table, staring out at the street where the figure of Michael Myers had appeared too many times to count. Her hands trembled, gripping the phone. She had fought him for decades—trapped in a cycle of terror. But now, the strength that had once fueled her felt like it was draining away.

She dialed the number, her heart pounding.

"Ghostbusters, whaddya want" came through the other end of the phone from Janine Melnitz.

"This is Laurie Strode," she said, her voice breaking. "I need your help. It’s Halloween night, and he’s back. Michael Myers."

There was a pause on the other end. Then Janine said "I think I need to ask one of the boys about this one, one second.... RAYYY!!!"

Ray Stantz picks up the other line "Michael Myers?" Ray asked, sounding confused. "But he's... not a ghost, right?"

"I know," Laurie whispered, her voice shaking. "But I don’t know what else to do. He isn’t human. He’s something... evil, something beyond this world."

The team had heard stories of Myers over the years but never thought it was their kind of job. Ghosts, demons, and specters were one thing. But a knife-wielding maniac?

"We don't deal with human killers," Peter Venkman cut in, voice skeptical. "That’s more of a law enforcement thing."

But Egon Spengler was intrigued. "Wait. There have been reports—survivors, legends—about Michael Myers that suggest he might not just be human. He’s been shot, stabbed, burned, and keeps coming back. There may be something... supernatural about him."

"We’ll come check it out," Ray said. "But no promises. If this guy isn’t a ghost, there’s not much we can do."

Laurie’s grip tightened on the phone. "Thank you. Please hurry."

An hour later, the Ecto-1 screeched to a halt outside Laurie’s house. The Ghostbusters piled out, armed with their proton packs. Laurie met them at the door, her eyes wide with a mixture of desperation and relief.

"He’s out there," she said, pointing toward the backyard. "He’s waiting for me."

They cautiously moved through the house, their gear humming. Peter shook his head, looking out the window. "This is crazy. We’re going after a guy with a knife, not some poltergeist."

But as they stepped outside, they felt it—the cold, unnatural presence that hung in the air like a weight. Michael Myers stood in the shadow of a tree, his expressionless white mask glowing faintly in the moonlight. He didn’t move, just watched them, breathing heavily.

"That’s him?" Ray whispered. "He’s not giving off any spectral energy."

Egon adjusted his PKE meter, frowning. "No, but... there’s something there. Some kind of residual energy. It’s faint, but he’s not completely normal. He’s more than human."

Before they could react, Michael lunged toward them, knife glinting in the dim light. Laurie screamed as he slashed, but Peter fired a proton stream, wrapping it around Michael's body, halting him mid-strike.

"Okay, so that works," Peter said, his voice shaking.

"But we can’t trap him," Ray reminded him. "He’s not a ghost."

"Maybe not," Egon said, deep in thought. "But he’s evil. There’s something... otherworldly keeping him alive, some force we don’t fully understand."

Laurie stood beside them, trembling but determined. "There has to be a way to stop him. For good."

Egon's eyes lit up. "If we can’t trap his body, maybe we can trap the force driving him—the evil itself."

He quickly began recalibrating the proton packs, modifying the streams to target not the physical form, but the essence of the supernatural energy that seemed to sustain Michael. The others covered him as Michael struggled, the white mask turning toward them with its cold, lifeless gaze. He slashed through the air, breaking free from the proton stream momentarily, cutting Ray across the arm. Peter pulled Ray back, firing again to contain Michael.

"I’m fine, I’m fine!" Ray muttered through gritted teeth.

Egon’s adjustments were complete. "Now!"

They all fired at once, the streams converging on Michael, but this time the energy targeted the malevolent force within him. The air crackled, a low hum building as the essence of evil was dragged out of Michael's form, like a dark shadow being exorcized. His body went limp as the force was sucked into the trap Egon had specially designed.

The light faded, and Michael Myers lay motionless on the ground. The Ghostbusters stood frozen, panting and bruised, but alive.

"Did we get him?" Peter asked cautiously.

Laurie, barely able to breathe, stepped forward. Michael’s body didn’t move. For the first time in years, she felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel—hope.

"I think you did," she whispered.

The Ghostbusters looked at each other in awe. They had never dealt with something like this before—pure evil, not just a ghost. But somehow, they had found a way to trap it.

Ray, nursing his injured arm, gave Laurie a reassuring smile. "Looks like Halloween’s finally over."

Laurie nodded, her heart still racing, but for the first time in a long time, she believed him.

• End

Link to serial master post for other chapters

By the time a break was called for lunch, Madeline was exhausted. Scrapes, scratches, and bruises covered her knuckles from her hurried digging in the soil. Thankfully, the cold had numbed her enough that she couldn’t really feel it. But no matter how tired her body might be, her mind was wide awake. Now was her chance to speak to the one person who might actually know something about where Billie was — Sarah.

Doing the best she could to brush the dirt off her the raw skin of her fingers, she hurriedly grabbed an apple and a chunk of bread with cheese before making a beeline for the bobbing blonde head of Joanna. Wherever she was, Madeline suspected her sister Sarah would be close by.

Her suspicions were soon proved right. She found Joanna and her brother Ben sitting either side of Sarah. The woman looked even smaller than Madeline remembered, hunched over and hiding behind her mousy hair while she stared down at the food in her lap, picking at it ever so slowly.

Madeline cleared her throat. “Mind if I join?”

Joanna beamed up at her. “Of course! It’s been ages since we’ve seen you.”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said as she sat down opposite the three of them. “I suppose it’s difficult to keep in touch in a place like this when you’re no longer living together.”

“That’s alright,” Ben said with a shrug.

“Yeah, please don’t be sorry. We’re still so grateful to you for putting your neck out and asking after Sarah when she was…” Joanna trailed off, glancing sidelong at her sister.

Sarah finally looked up, peering out through scraggly strands of hair. “It’s alright. You can say it. When I was taken away.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last sentence.

Now, it was Madeline’s turn to look down. “About that,” she said slowly. “I’m really sorry to ask. I know it must be painful for all of you. It’s just that—” Her voice cracked slightly, tears she’d been fighting back all day stinging at her eyes. “Billie was taken.”

“Oh my god!” Joanna’s face fell, pity written across it in capital letters. “I’m so sorry, Madeline. When did this happen?”

“Last night. During the search on the way back into the sleeping quarters. It was a new guard, someone we hadn’t seen before. He seemed to be spoiling for… Well, spoiling for something. He was quite rough with me. And Billie… well, they’re terrible at backing down from anything.”

Joanna nodded in understanding. “Especially when it comes to you, I imagine.”

“Yeah,” Madeline said slowly. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by the woman’s perceptiveness. Billie and her hadn’t even tried to hide their attachment, so caught up in the throes of new love. “I just can’t bear the idea of them suffering because they stood up for me.” She looked at Sarah, trying to find her eyes through the hair. “I was just wondering if there was anything you could tell me about… You know.”

The young woman shrank back even further inside of herselff, gaze dropping back to her lap as she shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything you want to hear.”

“But—”

“She said no,” Ben said firmly.

Madeline glanced between the three of them. But even Joanna’s expression was resolved. She sighed, slumping her shoulders and letting her gaze drop. “Sorry. You’re right, of course. I should know better than to push. It’s just that when it comes to Billie…”

“You’re as protective of them as they are of you?” Joanna offered.

“I suppose I am — within my very limited capabilities to actually protect them at all, that is.”

The four of them ate in silence for a while after that. Though her mouth was dry and her throat felt thick, Madeline did her best to force the food down, trying to ignore the churning sensation inside as it hit her stomach. She knew she’d need her strength. As she chewed, she let her mind work.

If Sarah wasn’t going to help, that left Marcus. Though she didn’t want to compromise him and his position here by asking too much of him, she was fairly certain he could give her more information. But she couldn’t know when she’d next see him. He seemed to be in charge of the communal bunkhouse her and Billie had been placed in originally. He only came to see them in their new quarters when he had information to deliver. But she couldn’t just sit around and wait for him to come to her.

She swallowed, finally looking back up at her lunch mates. “I don’t suppose you're still staying in the bunkhouse they put us in when we first got here, are you?”

Ben nodded. “Yep. None of us are exactly in the guards' good books after they found that knife in our stuff. I suspect it will be a long time before we get more private quarters, unlike some people.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, brow furrowing. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering if I could ask a favour of you?”

“That depends what it is,” Ben replied before Joanna could speak.

“You know that guard who works there, the nice one, Marcus?”

They nodded.

“Could you just let him know I need to talk to him. Or let him know what happened with Billie. However you want to play it is up to you. Frame it as an enquiry or just passing on a message, whatever you think is best for you. I promise he won’t get you in trouble for it. You can trust him — at least, I trust him..”

Ben scoffed. “Trust a guard here? No wonder you got a family room so quick. You’ve really drunk the kool-aid.”

Joanna shot him a look before turning to Madeline. “Of course we’d be happy to. After you did the same for us, how could we say no?”

Thinking that she should get out before Ben could change his sister’s mind, Madeline thanked them all and stood to leave. But before she could, Sarah reached up to catch her hand.

Madeline looked down and met the young woman’s gaze.

“Like I said, I can’t tell you much of anything you want to hear about what it’s like there. I don’t know exactly where they took me, just that I think it was near the edge of this place, near the fence, far enough away from everything else to…” She shut her eyes and breathed deeply before continuing, “It was a relatively small building compared to the others. I don’t know how many cells there were with people in them; I only saw the inside of one. W-when the door was shut, I had no idea what was outside. And I didn’t really have much sense of time. Guards came by pretty regularly. Different guards, but all on their own when they came. I don’t know if there was a pattern or anything. And I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone or different.” She shrugged slightly, as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. “I don’t know what kind of information you wanted, but I hope that helps.”

“It does,” Madeline said emphatically. Part of her wanted to scoop the woman into a hug, but looking at how jumpy she was, that probably wasn't a good idea. “Thank you so much. And thanks to all of you for just being here for me,” she said, glancing around at Joanna and Ben. But their eyes were fixed on Sarah.

Realising that might be the most either of them had heard about Sarah’s ordeal, Madeline hurriedly thanked them again before leaving them to each other. As the afternoon shift started, she tried to tell herself that she was making progress. She had information that she could pass to Lena, and they could start thinking about how to get Billie out. She was sure that Marcus could tell her more, and possibly even help.

But as the day wore on, no matter how hard she tried, one thought kept forcing itself into her mind. How long would all this take? And how much would Billie suffer in the meantime?

Author's Note: Next chapter due on 6th October.

<I am going to go write a report about our encounter with the dark fey and it's outcome.> Say to Tysse, in a little bit calmer tone, than previously.

<Should do that myself too. See you tomorrow.> Tysse says and we part ways. I am quite unhappy about that conversation. I enter the cabin I have been using so far, take a seat at the table, I lift one of two paper weights from pile of empty papers, take one arc, replace the the weight on the paper pile.

I open an ink well and grab one of the wooden pens. I begin writing the report, thankful of the distraction from the conversation I just had with Tysse. I make a secondary report that goes in more detail about the encounter and result, this is to be sent to the Order of the Owls headquarters to keep log and as news about what has happened here.

Although, due to the sensitivity of the topic, I need to request a permission from the fey council that can the Order of the Owls be informed about this. I take an already crafted letter case under from other paper weight, and fold the reports to fit into the letter. I sign the letter case and prepare it to be sent to the fey council.

I go to train and upon evening, I go get some sleep. Next morning, I begin to worry about Katrilda's, her sister's and the previously dark fey's condition. I will go make something to eat when I have dressed, stepping outside, there is already members of the People of the Tree's shade that are active. Gilda notices me.

<Good morning Limen.> Gilda says and waves a hello to me. I wave hello back to her. <Good morning Gilda, is something going to happen. I usually do not see your kind this active.> Reply to her in calm but, mildly puzzled tone.

<Yes, we are going to receive a delegate from far west at some point today. They are supposed to meet the council today, and are using this outpost as a stopping point.> Gilda says, glad about this.

<Understood, I will just make something to eat, check on Katrilda and her sister, then invite Tysse to go with me to search the decrepit excavation pit for anything dangerous.> Reply to her, I am not interested to become a target curiosity of people I do not know a first thing about.

Worst, give bad impression of my nation to them. <Wh... Oh, you two haven't encountered each other yet. Haven't you?> Gilda replies bewildered by my response but, soon realizing partially why. I head towards the chow hall, Gilda flies next to of me.

<No, and I am not in the mood to be fawned about, especially when there is job to be done.> Say to her in calm tone.

<Oh, you are also worried you might give wrong impression of your society to them. Aren't you?> Gilda asks, having fully figured out my unwillingness to stay here for too long.

<Yes.> Reply to her, I make food for the whole outpost, take my own portion. Once we have both taken seats. <Any news about Katrilda's and her sister's condition?> Ask from Gilda as we eat.

<She is fine, woke up this morning, just exhausted and won't be able to join you for at most today. Her sister is also fine, both actually wanted to see you.> Gilda replies, I smile warmly and close my eyes for a while. It is good that they are fine. Gilda slightly gasps, I stopped smiling, and opened my eyes to look at Gilda. I am partially pondering why she is astonished of my smile.

She most likely hasn't seen me smile so genuinely before... And I most likely have come off as a war crafted golem to her. <It is that impressive when I smile?> Ask from her with mild bewilderment in my voice. As I am not all that sure how Gilda perceives me.

<Yes, I think you do care about us, genuinely now.> Gilda replies and smiles happily. <I have always cared about your people, it was not our intention to allow the tension to escalate into a full blown border skirmish.> Reply to her, I want to make sure this peace actually lasts, and hopefully, develops into a friendship. I do ponder who is this delegate from the far west though.

<I think you wouldn't give a bad impression of your kind to the delegates but, I will respect your decision to not approach them.> Gilda says, being hones to me. I am not really a diplomat, but, I do understand some of what they do, and how to do, what they do.

<I would rather leave it to our delegate to handle the matter. At my heart, I am a fighter, not a politician.> Say to her with honesty and humility. When we have eaten, Gilda takes me to speak with Katrilda and her sister.

They are holding each other's hand, being happy, they are finally together again. They are twins, it would make sense why they are so glad now. The mind, heart and soul. They greeted me happily and warmly, Katrilda's sister observes me very keenly, her face is blank for a while. She smiles again, with that same warmth and glee before seeing me. I smile back warmly.

<I understand quite well now, why my mother and my twin have such high opinion of you. It saddens me that part of your soul is damaged though.> Katrilda's sister states to me. I am quite sure, she is referring to my loss of my wife.

<Yeah, it was a turn of events I would have rather not have faced, but, nothing can be done about it now.> Reply to her calmly.

<Terehsa, that is my name. Happy to meet you, battle master.> Terehsa says, introducing herself and complimenting me.

<I am not that good, but, I am most certainly improving. I apologize that your sister is still in duty with me.> Say to her, thinking that this probably is good time to tell her.

<Oh, the token? She already explained to me, what she has done. She isn't the only studious one though. Seeing you in action and from what I have heard from my sister. When we have rested, we will join you.> Terehsa replies, not at all surprised of what I said. It would make sense why Katrilda told her herself.

And I am glad that she did. She shows accountability, not many would be willing to show considering the circumstance. <I welcome you to company me in our task.> Reply to her, and smile coolly.

<Thank you sister.> Katrilda says warmly and happily.

<You are in this partially because of my stupidity, and me wallowing in my emotions, instead of acting rationally.> Terehsa replies to her sister, nodding to Katrilda to not argue with her.

<Alright, thank you so much for helping me rescue my sister, Limen. You have been so kind and generous despite me wronging you. I am so grateful.> Katrilda says, and tears up from happiness.

<Very few, would take accountability in your positions, sisters. I am just performing my duties because I was assigned to them, and to continue my pursuit.> Reply to them, both nod to me happily and warmly. <I will now go look for Tysse, I want to investigate the dig site thoroughly, for anything that could give indications of more dark fey or other dangers.> State to them, it is moments like this, that remind me to keep pushing forward.

Today, and in the future. <Come back safely and intact.> Both tell me, with small bit of tone of demand in their tones.

<I will do all I can to do so.> Reply to them in mildly amused tone. Rather audacious of them to ask that, with such a tone. I go look for Tysse, for now, the delegate hasn't arrived. Hopefully I will avoid meeting it. Tysse exited a building for fey, and we approach each other.

<Ready to go back out there already?> Tysse asks rather surprised of that I am ready move out again.

<Yes, no way we are done yet. There just has to be more to do. For now, let's investigate the decrepit excavation site more thoroughly, if I recall correctly, there was tracks of an another dark fey somewhere near of it.> Reply to her dutifully.

<Makes sense, we haven't at all went near of it, until yesterday. For the longest time, we assumed it was completely empty.> Tysse replies, and joins me to go investigate the decrepit excavation site. Our search goes well, the place is now almost completely checked.

<Do you know why dwarves left your now homeland?> Ask from Tysse as we take a moment to rest.

<Not sure, but, it might have something to do with the people from the west. They have long life spans and are quite knowledgeable of everything. With a dash of pride manner they tread about with.> Tysse replies, this just raises more questions... <Are your kind under protection of somebody?> Ask from her, as I find the thought quite plausible.

<No, it was very recent we actually met each other. This only happened two months ago. I am going to guess reason why you wanted to go out again soon as possible, was because of the delegate we are to host.> Tysse responds to what I asked. <Partially yes, I am not a diplomat.> Say to her calmly, and indicate that I am not that type of person.

<I don't know, they claim to have impressive martial prowess, and I know. You wouldn't pass up on an opportunity to take on a challenge unlike anything before.> Tysse says, she assumes correctly. Now, I am very interested.

Although, I soon disagree with myself on meeting them in such a manner. <My job is to help your kind to minimize the threat of the dark fey, not to indulge my passion for armed conflict. I will leave diplomacy to others more suitable for such tasks.> Say to her calmly, to tell her that, she is correct in the assumption that I would absolutely take on a challenge I have never seen before. That isn't why I am here though.

<Got it Limen. I will drop the subject for now then.> Tysse replies, understanding that I won't change my mind. We do find some small resources, mostly material to make more summons, nothing else though. We confiscate them, and begin our journey back to the outpost.

It is very calm at the outpost, it seems that the delegates have arrived. No avoiding them now it seems. When we get closer. I hear sounds of battle. <Outpost is under attack?> Ask from myself out of bewilderment, I begin running and Tysse flies close next to of me.

Sound of battle intensifies as we get closer. The delegates and the bodyguards are engaging enchanted bones, abandoned husks and two pale ones. <Back me up.> Tell Tysse, she drops the confiscated material to the ground and moves to be on my back right. I assault the enemy zone of influence from their left flank. I quickly fell three enchanted bones with swift strikes from my mace.

The bodyguard that was freed from the assaults by those undead on it, is bewildered by how swiftly I defeated the foes. I quickly point with my battle axe, there is still more. Where are the outpost personnel? I contend with an abandoned husk, it's blades swing wildly at me. I quickly interrupt it's attack set with double parry, I cut off it's left arm from the elbow.

I hit my mace deep into it's chest. Tysse casts a few spells to slow down some of the undead that are trying to attack the outpost, by trying to defeat the delegate and it's bodyguards, the freed bodyguard, joins it's kin in the struggle. <You wanted to hear me roar, get the other members of the People of the Tree's shade and get them to the entrance we are protecting.> Tell Tysse as I dodge a swing of an axe that could have hit me on right side of my neck. Tysse departs to go get help.

I pull the foul one closer of me with my mace, and land a powerful kick on it's neck. Blow frees my mace from it's flesh and bones, I parry the next attack as I approach my unbalanced foe, and end the fight with a powerful over the head swing of a mace on it's head. Collapsing the decrepit flesh and bones right on that spot.

The delegates and the bodyguards are tired, I move to join them. I notice one of the pale ones attack me. I meet it in armed conflict, neither of are not able to take advantage in the fight, with blows being dodged or parried by both of us. I need to change this up. I parry both of his sword attacks.

And break his defensive posture, with a swift kick on it's right knee, and punch it hard on the face with my right hand. I sheathe my weapons and vault to avoid the counter attack, it hisses at me in frustration as I pulled out my sword staff, I stand straight, legs set wide and spin the weapon in front of me for a moment.

Then stop it, set my right foot behind me, little bit to the right. Form a straight corner stance for my left leg, bring the sword staff's guard closer of my right side, with the point of the blade aimed still straight at the pale one. It smiles at me pridefully, you may act as you desire to behave, think to myself, and reveal no emotions to it.

We clash again, I fake a powerful thrust to the body, it side steps to my left, I feint an attempt to parry it's downwards slices with both swords, aimed at my left arm. It takes the bait, I pull my weapon inside of his guard, aim the blade at it's head, and thrust. Perfect hit, pale one is partially impaled from the head onto my sword staff's blade.

It is in shock of such a devastating wound. I yank the pale one up and off of the blade as it drops the weapons harmlessly on both sides of itself. Trying to grasp it's wound, I quickly follow up with a thrust on it's chest, blade cuts deep into it's chest and goes past the rib bones. It yells from experiencing such absolute agony, I pull my weapon off of the pale one, and behead it.

Trauma inflicted with a silver weapon, was too much to it, and it turns to dust, before it hit the ground. The delegate and bodyguards are moving into the offensive, but, there simply is just way too many abandoned husks and enchanted bones to fight off. I join their fight, not long after that though.

<Limen, the others are here!> Tysse shouts, I disengage, but I do not remove myself from battle completely. I focus my energies into my voice.

<Fight, or they will destroy everything! Rally behind my spear! AND FIGHT! FIGHT FOR THOSE YOU LOVE, FIGHT FOR THOSE YOU CARE! FIGHT!> Roar out my battle cry, stab the sword staff deep into the soil, I rejoin the fight, the delegate and the bodyguards have begun to take the offensive.

Just as I clash with the undead again, I see the magical bolts begin to fly at them. I saw a pale one be felled by the delegate, it was an ugly battle for both, delegate finally is too exhausted to continue fighting. Doesn't matter though, the bodyguards, I and People the Tree's shade handle the rest.

When the battle was finally won, I help one of the bodyguards to help the delegate back up, and inside of the outpost, grabbing the sword staff with me while we go. These people are not human, they definitely are something else entirely. They also notice that, I am not like them. We take seats at the training area.

The members of the People of the Tree's shade are still surprised of what they just accomplished. Needed some encouragement but, they have reason to be proud and not to be too afraid anymore. They are happy though. Tysse joins me, and company of the delegate and it's bodyguards. The angle of the ear is very sharp at the upper rear corner.

They have far more sharper facial features too. <You fought excellently.> Tell them all in same language I have so far spoken to all fey, language of the fey. They are surprised of my words, I just nod to them humbly.

<Who are you?> Delegate asks in fey language, in mildly astounded tone, there is a small hint of an accent.

<My name is Limen, I am from Order of the Owls, from Racilgyn Dominion.> Reply to the delegate in respectful tone.

Her eyes widen in surprise. The bodyguards are also surprised. <We have never before, seen a fighter like you. You do not at all seem like an ordinary soldier...> Delegate replies, observing me. The bodyguards are wearing mostly reinforced leather armor, reinforcement is made from metal, there is rather intriguing artistry implemented into the applied metal to the armor.

<I am not, honored delegate. We members of the Order of the Owl, are individuals comprised of formerly military soldiers and guardsmen of Tailven.> Reply to her humbly. Her voice is nice, and she does look beautiful, more on the graceful side, which is something I personally appreciate more. I am not interested on her though.

Although, I do admit, I respect her skill with blades, that execution of the pale one was impressive to behold. <It would explain your skill at arms, strength, speed and stamina. You made that vampire suffer greatly, gruesome display of skill.> Delegate says, not exactly glad to having witnessed it but, thankful that it was done to a common enemy. Well, I assume, common enemy.

<Your performance was certainly a sight to behold, but, I get the feeling that you despise usage of your weapon.> Reply to her calmly and being honest to her.

She is slightly shocked by my words but, not insulted. Probably surprised how accurate my observation is. <You are not wrong. It is opposite to you, is it not? You enjoy it?> She asks from me in bewildered tone.

<I do honored delegate. I believe you will learn to see the difference.> Reply to her respectfully. She is confused as to what I mean, I get up and depart to same cabin that I have been using a while. I managed to get through that, without saying anything horrible... I hope I won't need to talk to them more than that...

A dwarf with short chestnut hair, green eyes, and an old tattoo of a horse just above the right side of his right eyebrow strummed his mandolin and danced in front of the Guildhall.

The Golden Horde walked past, only half-listening to the song.

“Oh, adventurers travel far and wide/ They fight creatures nightmarish to behold/ But only the bravest among them/ Can dare test themselves at the Emerald Scroll.”

Khet Amisten paused. He’d never heard of the Emerald Scroll, and the idea of proving himself to be the bravest among adventurers greatly appealed to him.

He listened to the dwarf sing the next verse.

“Willmot’s Legion stood firm/ The savage goats they did slay/ The goat-man’s head they did take back/ And many drinks were had!”

The dwarf sang the chorus.

Khet sighed in disappointment. Whatever adventure could be had at the Emerald Scroll must have already been dealt with by a different adventuring party. There would be no opportunity for him to test his skills.

As if the dwarf read his mind, he sang, “Adventurers all take heed/ Though you think the time of adventure has passed/ None have gone into the heart of the Delves/ There’s still adventure to be had at the Emerald Scroll!”

Khet’s heart began to pound at that and he grinned.

“What?” Mythana Bonespirit asked. She was Khet’s party-mate, a dark elf priestess of Estella, their creator goddess and the goddess of life and death. She wore a silver scythe pendant, and wielded a scythe, because the scythe was her goddess’s holy symbol. She wore priestly robes over her chain armor. Her silver hair was unevenly cropped short and her face was framed with a single strand of twisted hair. She was clumsy for an elf, muscular too. She was easily the smartest person in the Golden Horde, and she never passed up an opportunity to remind them of that.

“I know where we’re going next,” Khet said.

“Where?”

“The Emerald Scroll, of course!”

Gnurl Werbaruk sighed. He was Khet’s other party-mate, a Lycan with long white hair and piercing green eyes. He had the look of a warrior, muscular and covered in scars. He wore a wolf pelt, with the head serving as the hood. He held his flail in his left hand, and his quiver and longbow were slung across his back. His dragon, Rurvoad, a small red lizard the size of a hawk, perched on his left shoulder. Gnurl walked everywhere barefoot, because he didn’t believe in shoes. Gnurl was an odd man, but both Khet and Mythana loved him regardless.

“Khet, we don’t even know where the Emerald Scroll is.” He said.

“Do I hear someone talking of the Emerald Scroll?” The dwarf asked in a sing-song voice.

Gnurl ignored him.

“It was built atop the Delve of the Lost Phoenix,” said the dwarf. “Many adventurers have died trying to reach the very center.”

“You don’t need to sell me on it!” Khet said.

Gnurl and Mythana were unmoved.

“There’s riches to be had,” the dwarf coaxed. “They’ll tell stories about you, if you explore the Delve of the Lost Phoenix.”

“Come on, Gnurl,” Khet pleaded. “Why don’t we go to the Emerald Scroll? I don’t care where it is! There’s glory to be had!”

“But we just got here!” The Lycan protested.

“Aye,” Mythana said. “I wanna see what jobs are available in the Guildhall. Not go find some tavern!”

“That’s a shame,” the dwarf commented. “They say the Delve of the Lost Phoenix was used by wizards, who left behind great knowledge.”

Mythana perked up. “We have to go to the Emerald Scroll!”

“Two against one,” Khet said to Gnurl.

“And we still don’t know where it is.” Gnurl said, exasperated by his friends.

“Oh, it’s not far,” the dwarf chimed in. “It’s where most of the townsfolk live. It’s across the street from Farthegn’s Oddities. In that direction.” He pointed.

Khet took off in that direction. Mythana followed close at his heels.

“Oy! Wait for me!” Gnurl called.

The inn was already filled with adventurers when the Horde came in. All of them were talking excitedly about the Delve of the Lost Phoenix.

Khet grinned. It was clear that the Emerald Scroll was famous. He wondered why he had never heard of it before.

The Golden Horde walked up to the bar. The barkeep, a heavyset dwarf with blonde hair and blue eyes, set down a tankard, then turned to her new customers.

“Welcome to the Emerald Scroll, travelers. My name is Vigdis Holmgavt. How can I help you today?”

“We’re here for the Delve of the Lost Phoenix,” said Gnurl.

Vigdis smiled. “Ah, so you’re adventurers!”

The Horde nodded.

“Where is the Delve?” Asked Khet.

Vigdis laughed. “Impatient, I see. No need to be in such a hurry, goblin. The Delve of the Lost Phoenix isn’t going anywhere, I assure you. But sit down and have a drink! You three must be parched from days on the road!”

At Vigdis’s insistence, they ordered a meal. After serving them, she busied herself with other customers.

The Horde ate their meal. Khet drummed his fingers on the bar impatiently. He didn’t want to eat a meal! He wanted to go explore the Delve of the Lost Phoenix! But every time he managed to flag Vigdis down, the barkeep would laugh and say she’d tell them in due time.

“Why can’t she just tell us where the Delve of the Lost Phoenix is and be done with it?” He complained after Vigdis had scolded them for being impatient for the twentieth time.

“I don’t know,” Mythana said.

Gnurl didn’t answer. He was speaking with a blood elf with white hair, amber eyes, and a burn mark on the right side of her face, which started above her eye and ended beside her lips.

Khet sighed and sipped his drink.

“Lads,” Gnurl said carefully, “I don’t think the Delve of the Lost Phoenix is real.”

Khet looked at him. “What are you talking about? Of course it’s real! That dwarf said it was!”

“It’s just that all of these people are here to explore the Delve of the Lost Phoenix.”

“And?”

“And none of them have actually gone in there. They’re all waiting for Vigdis to tell them where it is. And everyone I’ve talked to say they first heard of the Delve of the Lost Phoenix from that dwarf outside the Guildhall.”

“But why would he lie?” Mythana asked. “What could he possibly gain from it?”

Khet snorted. “He’s exaggerating maybe. There’s a ruin down there, but no one’s returned from it alive yet.” He grinned. “Which makes exploring it all the more exciting.”

“Look, Khet, have you actually met someone who’s been to the Delve of the Lost Phoenix?”

At that moment, someone said, “That was quite the adventure!”

Khet, and everyone else, turned around. In the middle of the room stood a high elf with shoulder-length blonde hair and hooded amber eyes wielding a club and darts. He was holding a tankard.

“A brilliant adventure,” he said and took a swig from his tankard. “It’s a shame my party-mates didn’t survive.”

The adventurers started whispering among themselves.

“So much treasure. And I haven’t explored all of the Delves of the Lost Phoenix.” Continued the high elf.

Khet’s heart began to pound. Gnurl was wrong. The Delve of the Lost Phoenix really existed! It really was at the Emerald Scroll!

“A fine adventure.” The high elf said. “It’s amazing. Who would have thought that the cellar of a tavern would have such wonders?”

The cellar! Khet leapt to his feet.

“Come on!” He ran to the back room.

“Where are we going?” Asked Gnurl. He and Mythana followed Khet.

“The cellar! That’s where the Delve of the Lost Phoenix is!”

“But we don’t even know where the cellar is!” Gnurl protested.

Khet ignored him. He scanned the room full of jugs. This was where the steps to the cellars had been in his parents’ inn. Just behind that cask of beer… He found a staircase, and beckoned to his party-mates, grinning.

They walked down the well-lit staircase. The cellar was full of casks of beer and mead.

There was no obvious entrance to the Delves of the Lost Phoenix. Khet scratched his beard. Where could it be?

“I told you!” Gnurl said. “I told you it wasn’t real!”

“Shut up.” Khet looked through all the barrels. Nothing. Not even a trap door.

No wonder Vigdis had been so evasive. Gnurl had been right. The Horde had been tricked. Khet was willing to bet the dwarf they had met earlier was in on the whole thing.

Something scurried through the room.

“What was that?” Asked Mythana.

Khet crouched, pointed his crossbow at the barrel where the thing had hidden. “Come out!” He called, even though something that small wouldn’t be able to respond.

And yet it did. The largest rat stepped into the dim light.

More rats joined it, forming an army. Each one was black, with red glowing eyes. They hissed, showing their incisors.

“Did the barkeep trick us into taking care of her rat problem?” Mythana asked.

Khet sighed. “Looks like it.”

The rats rushed them.

Khet held out a stick to Rurvoad. “Come on. Set this on fire.”

Rurvoad cocked his head.

“I’ll give you my rations later,” Khet promised.

Rurvoad accepted those terms. The dragon screeched and set the stick on fire.

Khet brandished his torch at the rats. “Back, back!”

The rats paused. Khet could swear he could see fear in their eyes. But that was ridiculous. You couldn’t see fear in a rat’s eyes. Could you?

Khet stepped closer. The rats watched him warily.

Khet brandished the torch at them. “What? You think I won’t light this place on fire?” He glared at them all.

The lead rat squeaked. Like it was calling Khet’s bluff. Or trying to rally its comrades into attacking again.

“There was supposed to be a ruin, down here, in the cellar of the Emerald Scroll. But the bastards lied to me. So I’m fucking pissed and I wanna kill something right now. And if all of you don’t fuck off and never come back, it might be you!”

A rat placed a tentative paw close to Khet’s foot.

Khet unhooked his crossbow and shot it.

The rats squealed.

One of them leapt at Khet, sinking its teeth into his arm.

“Gah!” Khet shook the rat off. Then shot it.

The rats rushed them again.

Gnurl shifted and snarled at all of them.

The rats froze.

Gnurl trotted to where Khet was standing. He growled again.

The rats squealed and fled.

Gnurl unshifted and looked at Khet. “Well, that was a bit of a let-down.”

Khet scowled. He’d have words with Vigdis Holmgavlt. And let the other adventurers know the Delve of the Lost Phoenix was a lie.

He stormed out of the cellar, Gnurl and Mythana following close at his heels.

The board flicked over for the fourth time that afternoon.

FLIGHT DELAYED 4:45 PM."

Simone Gallagher sighed as she resigned herself to another lap around Hobart's airport. She had already used her meal voucher about two and a half hours ago. The cook let out a massive, wet-sounding sneeze, making her think twice about returning for food. She was tired of coffee and croissants. All she wanted now was a Mars Bar. She could almost feel the sugar coursing through her veins at the mere thought of it.

She glanced out the massive glass windows at the plane. Fuck her plane. The very one she should have boarded five hours ago. And yet, here she was, still stuck in Hobart’s Fucking boring airport, waiting. She passed by a group of Jewish tourists from New York—or was it New Jersey? She waved at them again in passing.

Simone had quit smoking years ago, but moments like these made her crave a cigarette. Instead, she headed for the women’s bathroom. It wasn’t too busy, just how she liked it. She kicked open a stall door, feeling the absurdity of how a simple trip to the restroom could offer a small buzz of excitement.

She checked her watch—an Apple Watch, to be exact. Of course, it counted her steps. 8,762.

Getting there.

After washing her hands, she dried them off, knowing she'd probably be back in this bathroom at least three more times before boarding. She wandered back out, noticing the crowds milling around. Televisions blared with a rugby league match. She wasn’t much for rugby—AFL was more her style—but even her boredom couldn’t make her care enough to watch it.

There was another lap around the airport. The juice bar caught her eye, particularly the guava juice, but she hesitated. Did she really want to risk the plane bathroom? Was there any spot left on the plane that wasn’t utterly gross thanks to COVID? She rummaged through her handbag and felt a sense of relief when she found her face mask—an SN190, crisp white with that duck-bill shape that made her feel like it could saw COVID in half.

She had her holiday. Now she just wanted to go home, show a few snapshots to her coworkers, and forget this delay ever happened.

Simone sat down on a barstool, checking the weather on her watch. Cloudy with the full moon symbol. Sunset at 5:45 PM.

A scratchy announcement broke through the terminal speakers.

"Flight VJ72F from Hobart to Sydney has been cancelled. Please proceed to the main desk for further information and arrangements."

Simone sighed, grabbed the handle of her chrome-blue travel case, and wheeled it toward the service desk. A line of ten people awaited her, surprisingly shorter than expected. When she finally reached the front, a young woman with the typical airline slicked-back hair greeted her.

"What's the situation?" Simone asked, fishing for her boarding pass.

"All the accommodation in Hobart seems to be booked. We can get you on the first flight in the morning, but you'll need to arrange your own accommodation. We recommend using the Airbnb app on your phone."

Simone closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The thought of leaving the airport, finding a place, and coming back was exhausting.

Screw it, I'm sleeping in the airport.

She made her way to a quieter section, spotting a few others who had the same idea. She didn't feel like making small talk, so she found a corner, dropped her backpack, and fluffed it up like a pillow. After taking a sip from her water bottle, she removed her scuffed white Reeboks and neatly placed them to the side. Socks stayed on; the floor was freezing.

She glanced through the enormous glass window. Outside, a vehicle was towing a large steel cage. The driver stopped, pulled back a tarp, and revealed three dogs waiting to be loaded for transport.

Simone drifted off to sleep, praying she wouldn’t wake up fifty times before morning.

Simone woke with a start. Something was screaming—or howling. She blinked and looked outside. The full moon shone bright, casting an eerie glow on the few stragglers asleep in the airport. A series of bangs and crashes echoed through the terminal. Oddly, no alarms were going off, and the place seemed deserted except for those awaiting the Hobart-to-Sydney flight.

She checked her watch: **1:57 AM**.

Another howl.

She remembered the dogs being loaded earlier, but nothing about this noise sounded remotely normal. It was primal—wild.

A man kicked open the door to the disabled restroom. He stumbled out, dripping with sweat. Someone nearby shouted, "Mate, that's for disabled people, don’t be a jerk!"

The man shook violently, collapsed to the ground, and then… started changing. Wild fur erupted from his skin, his fingernails grew into claws, and his muscles bulged, tearing through his clothes. His face elongated into a muzzle. Fangs appeared.

A woman screamed.

Simone’s first instinct was to grab her bag, but she knew better. She needed to get out. Now. Around her, other passengers were fleeing in all directions.

The wolfman jumped onto a nearby plant display, howling at the moon. Its silver beams bathed the terminal in an otherworldly glow. Simone hesitated at the women’s restroom but quickly reconsidered. She turned back and saw the beast, standing on a coffee table, its eyes glowing red, saliva dripping from its fangs.

Chaos ensued. A woman, frozen in panic, tried to flee, but the wolfman caught her, dragging her behind a partition. Her screams pierced the air, then abruptly stopped.

Simone ran, dodging past the border control area, vaulting over the car rental counter. She spotted a couple of other travelers and crawled toward them.

“Hi, I’m Simone,” she whispered, offering her hand.

“I’m Ben,” a man said, shaking her hand.

“I’m Catalina,” the woman added.

“We need to get out of here,” Simone whispered. “Grab some keys. We can find a rental car and get help.”

The wolfman, now gnawing on a severed human forearm, spotted them. Its red eyes scanned the terminal as it spat out three rings from the hand, one by one.

Simone motioned for the others to stay low. She clenched the keys tightly between her fingers, ready to strike.

The beast jumped onto the security scanner, marking its territory with blood. Sniffing the air, it locked onto their scent. Simone closed her eyes, mouthing, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The wolfman leapt over the counter. Ben muffled Catalina’s scream, but it was too late—the beast heard. Simone sprang into action, stabbing the wolfman in the neck with the keys. It roared, smashing its fists into the wall. Ben and Catalina ran as the beast turned on Simone, catching her next strike mid-air.

Just as it dragged her close, reeking of rot, Ben hurled a suitcase at the wolfman’s head, giving Simone a split second to escape.

Simone fled toward the emergency exit, adrenaline pumping. She burst outside into the cold night air. A plane—their flight—was landing on the tarmac, its lights cutting through the darkness. She hid behind a fuel tanker as the wolfman howled in frustration from inside the terminal.

Simone dashed for the stairs as the plane crew descended. Desperate, she ran up, warning the flight crew about the carnage inside the terminal.

"Please, there’s a killer in there. Let me on the plane."

The pilot nodded grimly and allowed her aboard. But before she could settle in, the wolfman appeared, mauling the flight attendant at the door. Simone bolted for the back of the plane, where the pet transport cage waited. She set her watch alarm on a German shepherd’s collar and unlocked the cage.

When the alarm rang, the wolfman pounced, drawn by the noise. Simone slammed the cage door shut, trapping it. The beast thrashed, howling in rage as airport security arrived.

"What the hell happened here?" the lead guard asked, eyes wide.

Simone, still panting, glanced at the cage. "Whatever that thing is, make sure it flies third class for the rest of its life."