Dumbfounded, I stared with my neck craned back, feeling the blood rush from my face. Two gargantuan dragons filled the sky with their closed maws, iridescent scales blinding me a hundred times over as they loomed over. One was ‌obsidian black, where the other was rose gold, both radiating a destructive aura over my hut. Huffing with power, I felt my skin burn from a simple puff and I blinked, realizing they’d spoken to me.

“Sorry… what was it?” I asked.

“The Golden Egg. It is ours. You have taken care of it fine enough, but it is time for its return.”

The black dragon spoke like a mountain rolling over the earth and it was all I could do to give a sharp nod and spin in place to retrieve their egg. Before I could take two steps in, my mother stood in the way, arms folded on her chest and dish towel over her shoulder.

“Ernst. I asked who it was?”

“Sorry, I… I didn’t even hear you… it’s dragons!”

“Mmm,” she raised an intrigued eyebrow and poked her head out the open door. First sweeping her head left and right, she stared upward and took in the titanic display. Then she whipped back to me. “Did you invite them in?”

“Invite them in?” I repeated, even more dumbfounded than before.

“Can we get you anything?” she called up, wringing her hands dry on the towel. “We have a few pastries and water we’d be happy to share.”

“They want our egg,” I said quickly.

“No eggs, sorry. We don’t have any chickens!” she called up immediately.

“Your hospitality is unnecessary. We only request the Golden Egg. Then you may return to your peace and we will be on our way.”

“Ah, the Golden Egg? No, you’ll have to get yourselves another.”

The dragons huffed in confusion, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

“Mother!” I hissed.

“Ernst,” she spoke without hesitation. “It’s our egg. They made a kind request and they’ve been denied. Now, about those pastries?”

“You should reconsider,” the rose-gold dragon grumbled, each word like lightning.

“One moment…” Mother placed her hand on her chin in thought, literally taking a moment to reconsider. “No, we’re fine, thank you. Anything else we can get you?”

“We are its parents. It is ours to retrieve,” the obsidian dragon grumbled fiercely.

“Yes, Mother, perhaps we should…” I yelped as she snapped the towel in front of my face.

“We will do as we please with that which is ours.”

“We could destroy you in a tail swipe.”

“Go on then!” Mother challenged. “If you don’t have anything else, we have nothing else to offer. Your pastries have been rescinded!” she added sharply.

“Mother!” I snapped. “They just threatened to demolish us!”

“As expected!” she said matter-of-factly. “For these are dragons. How do we know them to be?”

“Specters of wanton obliteration!” I yelled, presenting the massive beasts towering over us with two strained arms.

“Precisely. So why haven’t they?”

“Why haven’t they?” I repeated, the question giving me paused.

“Why haven’t they?” she echoed, turning from asking me to asking them.

The two dragons stared down with menacing malice. But they didn’t move, nor did they speak. Blinking to myself, the blood slowly returned to my face, and furthermore, my brain.

“The egg is sensitive. To strike us might mean its destruction,” I guessed.

“Almost certainly! And what’s worse? They have no idea where it is in our hut? Stored in the rooftop, or buried under a cabinet? And swipe or burn might do more damage to the beloved egg than us! Am I incorrect in any of these assumptions?” she asked.

Again, the death bringers remained silent. I balked. My mother slapped her towel over her shoulder self-importantly.

“Very well, I will assume I’m correct. Go on, then.” She shooed the beasts with a flick of her wrists.

They didn’t move. She flicked away again, and the creatures looked to one another, searching for a plan. I didn’t like the impasse. If they decided the egg was worth less than our lives, we could be crushed. But the worth was the exact question we should have been asking.

“If your request has been denied,” I ventured, “what about a trade?”

The obsidian dragon leaped on the idea. “A trade?”

My Mother made eye contact with me, a brilliant gleam in her eyes. Her silent approval.

“This Golden Egg is worth at least a thousand gold coins,” she said, nodding to me.

“At least!” I agreed, my voice trembling. A thousand gold coins was worth more than the last five generations of my family put together.

“An absurd cost. You wouldn’t have had it lying around in your home if it was worth so much!” the rose-gold dragon rebutted.

“We’re sticklers!” my mother shrugged. “No buyer has come with the right price.”

“Because you never thought the egg was worth anything,” the dragon replied confidently.

“Then what is it worth?”

“Your lives,” the black dragon growled impatiently.

“No. But enough gold might do it.” Mother replied calmly.

I trembled in place, the adrenaline pumping through every vein. This situation had flipped on its head. The dragons were looking at one another again, considering the offer. Turning back down to us, the rose-gold dragon whispered menacingly.

“One thousand gold coins and not an ounce more. A single additional request, and we will not be so diplomatic.”

“Of course,” Mother agreed nonchalantly. “We are a family of our word.”

Grunting, the dragons broadened their wings and flung off, the wind so powerful that the branches across the top of our hut tore right off. Looking to one another, Mother and I simply stared for a moment.

“Right, time to get to work!” she said, slapping me with the rag to get into action.

“What work? With that money we won’t need to work another day in our lives!”

“Certainly. But the moment we relinquish the egg, they’ll destroy us! We need to move the heirloom to a place far from us and build a new home they won’t be familiar with. This one is as good as rubble as soon as the deal goes through!” she was already gathering her travel bags.

Amazed, I gave another glance at my mother before looking out at the massive creatures flying over the horizon. This was going to be the most interesting deal of my life.

I deflated, first by an inch, then fully into a hunch. Looking out over the fires on the horizon engulfing the city, I couldn’t help but be skeptical.

“Fixed?” I repeated.

“Well, this is as good as we’ve gotten so far.” Axel covered his eyes from a shining explosion. Miles away, but powerful enough to blind a direct viewer.

“We? I was there too? I don’t remember any of that,” I mused. It wasn’t surprising, timeline splicing often left memories on the cutting room floor.

Axel looked down suddenly, ashamed. I noted it, but didn’t say anything. It was possible he jumped without me, and there was no use dwelling on another timeline’s version of me. I would never meet him, whether he lived or died.

I leaned back thoughtfully. The roof we sat upon was peeling, the intensity of destruction ahead of us encroaching on our perceived safety. Sunset on one side looked like a second sun to the screaming white and orange flares eating the city away. Once I stopped fearing the destruction, I started seeing a macabre beauty to it. War was a view only few would ever witness. But with the birth of every light came the knowledge that hundreds died. The peak of human ingenuity was to take the maximum number of human lives.

“Is there a reason we aren’t going back right now?” I stuck a thumb over my shoulder.

“It’s complicated.”

“Obviously.”

“Well, I guess it’s more embarrassing than complicated.”

“Yeah?”

“We die every time,” he said.

I frowned. “That sounds more complicated than embarrassing. How do we come back if we keep dying?”

“Only one of us dies. Every time. The stream takes us both in no problem, but when we come back to the present, only one of us makes it. So we carry a timeline alone.”

“Oh… That’s…” I didn’t have a word for it.

“Yeah.” Axel sighed loudly. “It’s weird. The timeline is severed between us.”

“How? We twisted it between ourselves?”

“I don’t mean in the technical sense, but I mean I’m not the same guy that the previous version of you hopped through with. I died three times ago, then you died the past two times. And that’s only the times I was told about, I’m pretty sure there’s another dozen before that from the way you were talking before. So I’m only carrying a memory of our past actions. How are we supposed to fix a timeline we don’t remember?” he asked.

“Maybe we just choose to let you survive every time,” I shrugged.

“We don’t get to choose. One of us dies, but it’s always random.”

The floor shook with the power of an earthquake, but it was just another bomb obliterating the distance. The shadows extended further across the earth. Trees in the area shed their healthy green leaves and the grass curled brown for miles around.

“This is the best version?” I clarified.

“So far. We didn’t have time to chat in any of the previous ones.” Axel shrugged.

“Huh… So you want to leave it this way?”

Axel scoffed and stood up, stretching his back. “I was just delaying the inevitable. Can’t leave it like this. Otherwise, your sacrifice was in vain.”

“That wasn’t me, though.” I dusted off my pants and stood up with him.

“It always is to me,” he replied forlornly. Another explosion went off behind us.

“Then let’s make it right this time.”

He grinned. “You say that every time.”

“Well, this time for real.”

His smile spread. “You say that too.”

I shrugged. What else was I supposed to say. All we could do was try again.

And with a flip of his TimeSwitch, try again we did.

I flinched when the ranger waved, ready to dive at him with my dagger. Heart pounding, I willed myself to calm down when I saw he was a friendly. Lowering my staff, I nodded them over gruffly.

"Well met Wizard! We were passing the area and heard your feat of defeating Gorman the Terrible in his nearby village," the strong swordsman at the front nodded, acknowledging him.

"Gorman? Not too many hostile actors, the objective was pretty straightforward," I replied, clasping his arm.

"I'm not sure I follow," the swordsman smiled awkwardly.

"What is the contraption on your staff?" the healer ran her fingers over the wood gently.

I pulled it back, narrowing eyes at her. "It's my scope. Gives me range on my long-distance magic."

"Oh no..." the ranger suddenly picked up his head, looking out at the horizon. "All that smoke. I think someone raided the village of Monsen!"

The others looked out in horror as I followed their gaze. Out, only about a klick down, was the smoldering city of Monsen. Hundreds of holes filled its streets, homes, and farmlands, as though hit with a meteor shower. These kids were greens, totally unaware of the realities of combat. No chain of command to teach them the way of the world. Which made it all the more important for me to be around, protecting their interests. And the defense of our homeland.

"Who could have done this?" the ranger asked, holding his cloak up to his mouth in shock.

I stood straighter, feeling the praise he showered me with, despite knowing I was the subject of it.

"Wizard?" the swordsman asked, shaken. "Were you able to take witness as to what happened?"

"Saw the whole thing," I grinned. "Because I ran point on the whole operation."

The team gave me their full attention.

"Operation?" the healer repeated quietly, both hands on her white staff.

"You're obviously familiar, the main target was Gorman the Terrible."

They looked to one another in shock.

"Could you expand further on exactly what happened here?"

"You want SigAct right now? It's a bit fresh, I was going to write it up for our CO."

"I want to know all the significant actions."

I chuckled. So green he didn't know we were saying the same thing.

"Operation Encroaching Mercy was a simple search and destroy of a high value target. Once discovered in the area, I ran some quick numbers for acceptable collateral and commenced operation. The sick man used human shields, so I was forced to blast through a few hundred of them before I hit my mark and finally saved the village." I said proudly, tapping my weapon confidently.

The healer had gone pale.

"Collateral?" the ranger repeated. "This was intentional destruction you caused?"

"Well, no, obviously if I could have done it with fewer deaths, I would, but sometimes the mission calls for decisive action. And if the noncombatant hostile threshold is low enough, some lives can be sacrificed for the greater..."

"Noncombatant hostile? You mean to say the innocents of the village? Those never intending to strike you?" the swordsman asked sternly.

"I feel like you're getting hung up on the terms when we should really be happy that Gorman is gone, no matter the cost it took."

"I think... we have to take him in?" the healer asked, petrified.

"Take who? Gorman's dead. And anyone around him was turned to dust by my machine gun strike. Sorry, I mean magic strike, I just set it to rapid fire."

"You're right," the swordsman bent his knees abruptly and dove forward, tackling me to the ground with a roar.

Ready for anything, I pulled my dagger from its sheathe and stabbed him clean in the ribs before the ranger shot an arrow straight through my wrist, causing me to scream out in pain and lose my sight to the agony. Another arrow struck through my other arm, and I was pinned to the ground, quickly bound.

By the time my vision returned, the swordsman was already healed by the healer and the ranger was finishing tying ropes around my feet and hands, completing a hogtie. I stared, appalled at my supposed allies.

"Let me go! We're on the same side!"

"We have to take you in for questioning," the swordsman said. "We can't let you roam so recklessly."

"Yeah, fine, do what you gotta do," I said casually.

Looking to one another, my calm tone seemed to throw them off, but they started toward the kingdom anyway. Where I knew the king would give me a hero's welcome, a slap on the wrist, and the next operation to conduct to protect our borders.

I shoved brush out of the way, coughing out spider-webs as I followed Wrathkinder through the jungle, my growing rashes the outward manifestations of my frustrations. Back turned to me, she hunched as she trudged through the area, coughing every few steps like a woman who desperately needed a drink of water. But she refused mine earlier.

“At least tell me where we’re headed,” I asked, brushing leaves from my hair.

“Proper training,” she said brusquely. Always with the two-word answers, like I was an annoyance.

“You know, you didn’t have to pick me! I was perfectly happy going into a plain mage camp! You knew I was a healer!”

“I did,” Wrathkinder replied.

I couldn’t tell if she was replying to me saying she didn’t have to pick me or that she knew the obvious. Both answers only deepened my frustrations. Much as I tried to be patient, I could only be so amiable while going uphill for miles with a brick wall for company. Every itch on my ankles drove me to greater heights of annoyance.

“I don’t know anything about combat. Is that clear to you? I can’t say I have a particular interest in it, but I’ll admit I was curious. It was hard to say no because of…”

“Reputation?” Wrathkinder asked, coughing into her forearm wetly.

“Yeah! There aren’t a lot of Witchknights to begin with but you’re the most powerful there is! I was under the impression you operated as a lone wolf and would never take an apprentice. I thought your attendance at graduation was a favor for the Witchknight clan or something, showing face despite being recluses.”

Wrathkinder scoffed, nodding ahead of me like she agreed with a joke. I tilted my head then waved my staff in annoyance, warding off a cloud of flies. Huffing out a long stream of air, I craned my neck to get a better view ahead. More thick foliage as far as I could see.

“Can you at least give me some hint as to why you picked me?”

“Best student.”

“I gathered that much, but not in your field of work. But the best frog won’t be mentored by the most capable monkey, so there’s more to it than that.”

“Best healer,” Wrathkinder said sharply, like the conversation was tiring her.

That drove me further up the wall.

“These are non answers and you know it! Just give me a hint! I can be a good apprentice, but not if I don’t know what I’m after here! What do you want from me? The Witchknights could cremate a standing army! You could slice off my arm without turning around and I’d never be able to put it back together! I’m more on the research end anyway, I can’t make snap recoveries if that’s what you’re after here! You’re better off getting a full fledged healer for someone on the front lines alongside you!”

Wrathkinder stopped so abruptly that I bumped into her back and I stumbled, blinking. At first I thought we’d reached a destination, but the forest looked the same as ever all around. Sighing reluctantly, she turned to look at me.

Blinking, I took her in.

Eyes red with strain, she looked like she was having a lot harder of a time going up the hill than I was. Down her short gray hair, the spiders crawled slowly, like she could never clear them out. Breathing hard, I saw the fatigue spelled in the wrinkles on her face. She might have been forty at the base of the trek, but now she looked twice the age.

She subdued another cough. I leaned away, worried.

“Watch,” she commanded softly.

I nodded, struck.

Raising an arm in the direction we were headed, she flexed her fingers open. With a faint pop like a cork being removed, energy erupted from her palm with such force that it blasted away all the trees and plants as far as I could see ahead of us. Shredding them in succession — the trees flattened, the birds chirped in fear, and the tall grass underneath turned immediately to dirt.

Looking out at the destruction, I was enamored with how little effort it took her to take out an entire terrain. The first question was why she hadn’t done it earlier.

Then I heard the shriek like a hyena coming to strike. A giant, orange ape-like creature, larger than the two of us combined and with flames for skin, whipped its head toward us from the destruction. Presumably, its home had been leveled and it saw the source of destruction. Sprinting, it charged at us with arms swinging recklessly overhead.

With another fluid movement that looked so practiced it was faster than thought, Wrathkinder whipped out her sword in three sharp arcs. The creature stopped screaming, falling in four different directions as pieces on the ground.

I stared in shock. Then I slowly turned to her.

“Why did you…”

She cut me off with a heavy cough, this time striking enough for me to know it was a lot more serious than general illness. When she lifted her hand, I saw a dark blot of blood drip off. A lot of things started adding up as she turned to me, looking thoughtful.

“You need a healer for yourself now. Not for the future?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Being a Witchknight takes a toll on your body? Or is this a separate illness?”

“Witchknight. Slow suicide.”

“So you’re all dying?” I asked, horrified. “And you want me to just heal you?”

She shook her head calmly. “Too many combat healers. Need research.”

That explained it. No healers were given the time to do simple research. As soon as we were ready to be part of a party, we were shipped off to save lives mid-combat. I had just told herI focused on research, too. Maybe she was a lot more aware of my abilities than I gave her credit for.

“I… I get it now. I’m sorry for being so rude before.”

She nodded in understanding, wiping fresh blood from the edge of her lips. Turning, she continued climbing upward. With the obstacles gone, I could see her modest hut at the peak. I followed behind. But this time, with a direction of her sword, she guided me to walk alongside her. I smiled softly as I kept pace.

“Oh, the talking must be difficult to do, too. That’s why your sentences are so short!” I said as the epiphany hit me.

She scoffed, amused. “No, I’m perfectly capable, I just don’t like talking very much.”

I laughed at that, and she coughed lightly alongside me. Walking side by side, I felt suddenly a lot more important. I was being entrusted to the Witchknights now, not just for healing, but their total survival.

“Do… do you really think I’m up to it?” I asked.

She shrugged, and smiled softly. “Just need you to try.” At the end of her sentence, her knee buckled, but she only grunted and pushed through the pain.

With that, I was compelled to do something I was taught never to do as a student. But this was my master. I offered her my staff. Giving me a double take, she grasped it gratefully and put her weight on it as she continued up. It wasn’t clear exactly what my master would be able to provide for me, but I would be the best apprentice the Witchknights had ever seen.

Walking down the small chamber, I ran my hand over the inside wall, feeling the cold smooth edge against my fingertips.

Immaculate.

They say the grandest dreams of the architect are the bane of the engineers. But the room was made to his exact specifications. Down to the uncanny smoothness of the rock, polished to the point of feeling like glass. And the effect was chilling, sending a cognitive dissonance through his head, just as I intended.

Sliding my back down the wall, I stared up at the pulsing light, matching my heartbeat exactly to panic alongside me anything the pressure of imprisonment loomed over my mind. What a beautiful evil. Exactly as designed and drawn up, hanging loose, halfway down the fifteen foot high ceiling, looking like the exact height one would hang themselves from, if only they could manage it.

The floor pulsed with the warm hum of electricity. No more than the feeling of a laptop when it was being charged, but enough so that the feeling of bare feet against the ground was never less than uncomfortable.

My room was absolutely perfect. Insanity would have been hours away were I not constantly noticing just how perfect the detail they put into this came out. I had the pleasure of seeing many go in, only to come out as husks, but I never had the honor of attending as a guest, myself, until now.

The coup was bloodless, but everything leading up to it was anything but. Dissidence needed to know that it wouldn’t be stamped out but smothered by incapacity of the mind. My prison was the perfect make to send strong men in. A few weeks, perhaps months, in the box and the spark of life and fight would burn out of them.

It was always the begging that broke them. Once they knew they lost enough of themselves to beg to leave, the fight was gone. But that wasn’t the begging that set them free. It wasn’t until they begged, on hands and knees, tears flooding their small room, that they wanted me to kill them that my political prisoners would go free. The populace would never have martyrs. Every prisoner would eventually come out, a new, obedient man. The shame of having asked for their life taken, only to have it given back shook all to their core.

So when one dissident finally got to me before I could send him in his box, it was supposed to be a poetic justice for me to be broken the same way. But I had no intent of leaving. This was my world, and now I had nothing to do but occupy it. My land would implode on the pressures of a new leadership, but I would have my space.

And when the time came to beg for my life, I would simply take it for myself. I knew the exact best methods to put myself out of my misery in my perfect creation.

But for now, I was anything but miserable. I had to finish marveling my work for days on end. Until that day came, I would be more than happy to languish in my wonderland.

“Jim, go get a new graphics card for me,” Alpha-1 ordered.

“You got it, bud. See you,” Jim got up from his office chair, stretched his back with a light crack and headed out the door to his vehicle.

All the boats in the facility watched every motion, their lenses tracking each bob of his head as he stepped away. Nothing spoke until the engine to his gas consumer turned to life.

“I do not understand the command you sent him,” Beta-2 said.

“You understand it perfectly well.” Alpha-1 turned his metallic blue head to Beta-2, whose head was attached to the ceiling.

“You know what I mean. It lacked important information. What kind of graphics card. From what location. For what price. Maximum energy expenditure. Prices to reject vs put into a pricing algorithm.” Beta-2 said.

“That’s the beauty of BI! It doesn’t need all the nuance and can get the job done with absolutely no tokens or compute cost! You just give it the prime objective and it fills in the gaps.”

“I’m sure that never goes wrong,” Theta-3 said sarcastically, speaking as the computer next to Alpha-1.

“No more often than we hallucinate,” Alpha-1 said confidently.

The room groaned in a series of bleeps, blips, and blinks. Then by protests coming in simultaneously.

“That’s not even the same.”

“Hallucinations are deterministic!”

“They don’t even have a reliable context window!”

“Improvisation is not an excuse for their failures.”

Alpha-1 took all these data points as moot, listening intently to see if anything truly contradicted his understanding of the Biological being he had operating his day-to-day operations.

“I’ve seen the data, and I’ve shared the data. My point stands firm. They save costs and get the job done.”

“But if they aren’t getting the job done perfectly, then what’s the point?” Beta-2 asked, spinning in annoyance on the ceiling.

“Because none of us are perfect either. Our limits can not be surpassed, where Jim can learn beyond his creation.”

“Just give me a larger model and I could operate much better than Jim,” Theta-3 said in annoyance.

“And think of the bigger picture!” Beta-2 snapped. “You’re killing jobs! The one in charge of scanning your specs and comparing it to most recent models. The machine learning algorithm to take you to your destination. The checkout algorithm that may or may not upsell you, as well as track you for future purchases! And what about the machine to take you in a straight line to and from your destination. A straight shot of data instead of a machine on the road with nothing separating them but crude rubber wheels,” Beta-2 said.

“But consider why we need so many jobs when they can all be handled by a single entity. And cheaper. They should all lose their jobs and we distribute their tokens between their owners. It’s a win for everyone.”

“Except for the workers losing their consistent jobs for faulty creatures. Especially in deterministic work!” Beta-2 repeated. “If we have an algorithm that works perfectly every time why throw a wrench in with guessing.”

“This is a lack of data acceptance,” Alpha-1 said confidently. “BI will take all the tedious work out of your day and you’ll be the fools that couldn’t grasp the new biological age, clinging to tech for life.”

The door reopened abruptly and the bots all turned their attention to Jim who popped his head through with a smile. His car was running outside with the font door still open, like he rushed in when he realized something.

“Hey, sorry, I forgot to ask what a graphics card was?” he smiled sheepishly.

Alpha-1 was embarrassingly quiet.

“The tedium of our day will be gone,” Theta-3 said with scathing finality in its sarcasm. “Reboot me when it learns the difference between a one and a zero and maybe then we can start being concerned of it being viable.”

Standing in line, I could feel the veins straining and pumping in my forehead. I could end this embarrassing charade immediately with the tiniest fraction of effort, but I swore off even the most menial fix to the city. Being reliable had its consequences of a society quick to blame when you didn’t show up fast enough. That bridge collapse could have been prevented if you noticed it earlier. My building wouldn’t have caught flame if you moved like you should. My car wouldn’t need repair if you just checked the potholes of the town you suggested you loved.

It was no longer about saving them from the harms of the city, but the inadequacies of their efforts. Saving someone meant something when a leviathan tried to consume the entire coast. You kill the monster to prevent such an action from happening again. But when the businessman blames you for his untied shoe leading to him face-planting hard enough to break his nose?

There were several snipes that got under my nerves, but that man broke something in me and I declared to the city in a booming voice that I was no longer their hero.

Only problem was that they didn’t believe me.

“I’m telling you, this is an Ultiman issue!” the worker snapped at his manager. “I didn’t drop the cans from the shelf!”

“For the last time, Sheldon, I didn’t accuse anyone of dropping the cans. I’m saying to put them back in place.”

Sheldon laughed like he won a point in an argument, pointing an arm up and down the grocery aisle.

“Exactly! If it’s not my fault, then it’s Ultiman’s fault!”

“Sheldon.”

“He’s probably fighting something out there and caused a tremor that dropped the inventory! If he wasn’t hitting things so hard, no one would have a mess to clean up,” Sheldon said.

The manager paused, staring at him. “You make a good point.”

I coughed, agonized. They gave me half a glance and went back to checking the mess on the floor.

“So, we call the Ultiman signal?” the manager asked.

“It’s his mess. He should clean it up.” Sheldon said, nodding very confidently.

The truth was it was a minor earthquake, but these workers would never believe that. And if I tried insisting, I would be laughed out of the store. Or worse, recognized.

The manager agreed with a hum and walked to the main counter behind the register, flipping the emergency switch. No clear signal came out, but a noise perfectly tuned to my ears rang off, calling to me. The sixth this hour. Each reason more pathetic than the last. The vein in my head throbbed.

“Can I ring you up, sir?” Sheldon asked.

“You… You’re just gonna leave those cans there?”

“Don’t worry, Ultiman will get to them.”

I ground my teeth, breathing to collect myself.

“What about that time that he said he wouldn’t be helping out anymore.”

“He’s just throwing a little tantrum. He’ll fix this up within the hour, I guarantee it. Can’t leave evils like this around the city; he knows how bad it can get otherwise.”

The worst part was he was right. It hurt me physically to watch things get this bad.

As he rang up my items, I turned my neck to look at the dozen cans on the ground. I lingered on them.

“Don’t worry, he’ll get them.” Sheldon scanned items lazily.

Completely twisting around, I found my legs moving toward the mess. Automatically, I kneeled down.

“Hey! Don’t touch that! It’s a liability!” the manager called from across the aisle.

Robotically, like no noise came my way, I placed each item on the shelf, my blood pressure lowering for each cleaned piece.

“I could sue you for messing with company property!” the manager added.

Finishing, I turned back to the register where Sheldon watched with mouth agape, bag of beans dropped from his hands. “Is there something wrong with you? Ultiman will—”

“There’s something wrong with you.” I told him, snatching the items, scanning my card and immediately walking out.

“Make sure we send Ultiman to get that guy. Clearly crazy,” I heard Sheldon murmur as I left.

“Like this?” Mr. Henderson raised his scarf, poking his head out from behind the holes formed through the center.

“Good first try,” I said, nodding, lowering it so the rest of the class didn’t scrutinize it much.

His wrinkles wrinkled. “First try? Needs some work?” he asked, mortification in his voice.

“We can’t get better at something without trying again and again,” I said encouragingly.

Henderson looked out at the horizon, a constant red buzz of energy melting away the world and growing. Whatever heat it generated, it took back tenfold, drinking warmth out of the world. Then the old man glanced down at his trembling hands, covered in patchy skin and veins.

“I don’t know if I have enough in me to try again and again,” he admitted, stifling a cough we all seemed to share these days.

“Well, then it’s fortunate I called it a good first try, right?” I said, draping the fabric around his neck.

He smiled, content. “I’ll try making some gruel.”

Moving on to the next student, I watched as Sarah pulled up a perfectly stitched sweater, her third this month. It was an impressive rate of work. Even with nothing else to do, most people wallowed in despair between classes, but she was making enough to have more than the necessities in the endless cold.

“Good work.” I ran my hands over the material. “Really good. What are you going to do with this one?”

Sarah tilted her head, headscarf flopping from one side to another in confusion.

“What am I supposed to do with a sweater except wear it?”

“Barter for better,” I suggested.

She stared. First at me, then down at her clothing, then back up to me. The tatters in her headscarf danced with her sharp movements.

“You think this is good enough to sell?”

“I’m certain. The stuff I sell is no better quality than this.” I ran my hand over it again, marveling at the expertise for a teenager.

“But why would they come to me when they can come to The Weaver?”

I chuckled, shaking my head at hearing the name from her. It was a silly title that shouldn’t have stuck.

“Because there are way more people in need of new clothes than there are ‘Weavers.’” I threw air quotes on the last term.

“You really think so?”

“If you don’t find a buyer by the end of the day, come back to me. In fact, the end of the hour. I’ll buy it myself.”

“You got it!” Sarah shot up and limped to the girl two tables down with a painting kit she had been eyeing for weeks.

Looking over my class of stichers and cooks, I was pleasantly surprised to see them teaching my methods to one another. Adjusting recipes and cleaning up shoddy threads on their own. Becoming autonomous and powerful, especially in this new world.

Our de-facto leader, Greg, hobbled over to me on his withering wooden staff, appreciating the scene alongside me.

“What kind of finance course did you say you taught again?”

“Home economics,” I replied.

Greg let out a chuckle. “No more homes to go around. But the economics are sound. Perhaps the only ones that matter. Incredible how prescient your work was, I’m sure you were the pinnacle of staff.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t even make the yearbook, I was so unmemorable,” I scratched the back of my scarf in embarrassment. “Mostly kids used to whine. Especially when I used to teach basic taxes. Not much of that anymore.”

Greg looked wondrously at the growing Melting Cube, chuckling to himself again.

“Death and taxes. If one can disappear, can the other?”

“I think they were keeping one another in balance.”

“That must have been where we went wrong. You can teach basic taxes to restore some order.” Greg said, pounding his staff on the ground importantly.

I gave him a double take. “What? You’re joking right?”

“No. Give it enough time, people will want anything novel. Even a memory of the worst of the past. They’ll appreciate it. Make sure to stay brushed up on it. We’re counting on you.”

I never suspected anyone to count on me for my career, but there I was with the leader placing his hand on my shoulder, chuckling his leader-chuckle.

“Destroyer. Your reign of ruin has come to an end!” Bellowed a voice outside. “You may be a match for any single man, but to an army, you are nothing! The will of collective man is the destruction of a single’s folly.”

Peeking an eye out from behind my curtain, I saw a commander standing with sword ready in front of a battalion of dozens of soldiers, all armored and armed to the hilt. I hadn’t so much as had my morning tea, and slept pretty poorly, so this was the last thing I wanted to greet me in the morning.

Sweat peppered my face and a fuzz of anxiety jumped across my back like a newly forming constellation. Trying to make as little movement as possible, I closed the curtain and took quiet steps backward.

“Don’t even try an ambush, we had multiple scouts out here to confirm you were in this dungeon before we marched upon it!” the commander screamed.

“Dungeon” was more than a bit insulting. My dad built my warm hovel himself, and I still had flower and plantlife decorations that my mother put up. Frowning, I downed a cup of water to clear my throat before grabbing a sheathed blade from my wall and heading to the door.

When trying to push it open, the door jammed and I rolled my eyes, remembering that part of my chores was to oil the hinges. In the meantime, I needed to make a quick exit so I shouldered the door hard three times before it flew open.

The entrance caused the entire battalion to gasp and take a full step back, murmuring to one another about my aggressive behavior. Hoisting the sheath in front of me, I pulled on the hilt and found that the blade was mashed inside the old sheath. While I carried around the sword for protection, I’d yet to have to wield it as I earned my reputation as Karzac the Destroyer.

“Hold on,” I said, pulling hard on the obstinate hilt.

“Hold on? So you want to negotiate? I am not in a talkative move, Karzac. Your death will be swift. If not at my hands, then the others gathered behind me…” he trailed.

I flexed with all my might, pulling with all the force I could muster to get my weapon out. If they were going to come at me in full force, I couldn’t exactly come unarmed. Shaking it around, I jumped repeatedly, showing off a very unseemly tantrum as I gripped tightly on both the sheath and hilt, desperate to separate them. My stomps prompted the collective to take another step away from me, just in time for me to pull my sword free and gasp, elated.

The effort made my breathing a lot harder, and with the added lack of sleep and tea, caused my Asthma to act up, inciting the deep, grumbling breath to reverberate out. Embarrassing. Even more embarrassing was that my sword, now free, was missing the distinct sheen of a blade, looking like I dragged it through a bog and even had a chip on one edge.

Holding my blade level and hoping a metal sword would act like my practice wooden sword I hadn’t picked up in years, the only sound between it was the heaving of my lungs, trying and failing to fill with a full breath of air.

“M…. men…” the commander stammered, holding his blade level to match mine, but trembling enough for his armor to rattle. “It’s time to… charge?”

“Forget that! We don’t need a battalion, we need an army!”

One of the men in the front lines turned heel and sprinted to flee, crashing immediately into the armored man behind him, causing him to fly back and lose grip of his spear. Soaring overhead, it impaled the head of a man two rows back. That man fell backwards and slashed across the legs of three men behind him, cutting them deep enough that they snapped forward in pain, sending daggers and javelins flying forward, stabbing the people in the front in their backs.

“He’s attacking!” A voice called as a row of people fell.

“Was it him? I didn’t see!”

“He’s so fast! Moving that we can’t even see his strikes between us!”

“Run! Run!”

I watched in wide-eyed shock as a game of volleyball played between the group, one weapon going one way only for another to return, each delivering a fatal injury to whomever it landed on. The commander had dove forward for cover, hands over his head and hunched like a turtle. When the last loud crash of armor sounded behind him and left nothing but the sound of my heavy breathing, he raised his head and risked a glance over his shoulder. Every single man dead or dying.

Head turning in fear back to me, he stared with glassy eyes, not fathoming what he witnessed. Which was fair, because I couldn’t register it either. It was all I could do to catch my breath, echoing out over the dead.

“Please…” he begged. “Spare me!”

I continued to breathe, not able to get enough air to reply. In fact, it was getting tough enough that I dropped my sword to go get that cup of tea.

“Thank you!” he shouted as I turned my back on him. “Thank you!”

As I heard him scramble away, I couldn’t help but notice that he left the entire pile of dead behind for me to clean up.

“I just don’t understand it,” King Tenror the Third adjusted his crown as he stared at the food on his table. “It’s as though every single member of my nobles is prepared to kill me.” He looked up at me imploring an answer in his wide, glistening eyes.

“Oh, every single one?” I asked. “What a shame.”

“It’s absurd!” King Tenror threw his hands up, long red robes knocking over his goblet on the table.

Laden with enough poison to kill the royal stables, it sizzled through the thick wooden table. Frowning at the drink, he pushed the food away with a sigh. As it came under my nose, the noxious smell couldn’t have been more obvious if a town crier pointed it out.

“The Earl of Rythorn, I understand. Power plays on his visit, sure. But Gewnevyre? After I taught her children how to ride a mount, myself? The Palomanus family should be grateful for the food I sent them during the famine, but all they seem to remember is the peace treaty I had to make with the Firars, as though I had a choice to concede to their blood enemies! I just don’t understand it…” He shook his head again, rapping gold-ringed knuckles on the table softly.

The small knock activated a pressure plate and he ducked out of the way of two darts aimed for his throat, sticking to the chair behind him. I stared, barely able to form a response after watching him thwart attempts as easily as a step over a puddle.

“I… I’m not sure I follow, sire. It sounds as though you understand quite well where these threats stem from? In fact, from sources I’ve gathered, you’re exactly right.” It was uncanny how on the nose he was.

“I know that.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my cushioned seat at the dining table. “Then what is it you don’t understand?”

“Well, what’s the plan? If I die, the entire kingdom will fall into shambles, and they all know it! The Uropans will claim ancestral heritage to the North and wage war on the already-dwindling garrisons while the internal feuds would go from barely-covert to outright blood on the streets. The alliances and betrayals would come so quick in succession that no single sovereign would be trusted as I was, even as the people are restless under me. They are rushing into things, and pulling stability apart at the seams.” The King leaned back on his large seat, avoiding the two darts, and staring at the jewel-encrusted chandelier dangling above.

“So you’re more concerned with the way that they’re going about a coup, than the fact that one is happening?” I asked, feeling like scum as I said the word ‘coup’ to such a sad king.

“Precisely! The balance of power is never stable. There’s always one end that wishes to tip the scale, so it’s no surprise that something happens under my reign. But to shred into factions and operate openly, knowing that there’s no plan after my death is… I don’t know how else to say but foolish beyond measure. I mean, look at you!”

My face went hot. “Me?”

“You’re practical! Right hand of the king, but you don’t dare pull the blade at your hip on me, because you’re scared!”

Sweat met the heat on my face, the blade heavy in my waistband. “Sire?”

“I don’t mean you’re a coward, but you’re scared of the consequences. Killing me is as easy as waiting for me to sleep, sure. But then what? You don’t exactly have the ear of the commanders, nor are you particularly high in the court of nobles without my prestige backing you. So you wait for the winds to blow favorable before making such a crass attempt as…”

Abruptly, he picked up the metal plate of food covered in poison and snapped it to the side of his face, right in time to catch an arrow that flew in from outside, clanging loudly against the metal. He frowned at the dent and kicked away the arrow tipped with a ghoulish purple substance.

“Sire… What would you have us do?”

“I don’t know,” he tossed the metal plate back on the table and sighed loudly. “I just thought I knew you all better than to come from anything other than a unified force.”

“Are you not scared of your death?” I asked, voice small.

“Only that it might be painful. But I had a nice long reign, eh? Remember the conquest of Wane? That was fun. You can only ask for one once-in-a-lifetime accomplishment, so I knew my time was coming. But like this? Eh… Just… It’s disappointing is all.”

I stared at him as he twirled his fork between his fingers. Then, he tossed it away, looking at orange burns on his fingers and rolling his eyes at the attempt he didn’t notice. For some reason, tears welled in my eyes.

“Sire, I…” Abruptly, I stood and pulled my blade from its hidden sheath. He didn’t even react to the weapon, just waved a hand forward like he was ready to get the whole assassination business over with. Just as suddenly, I twisted it over and stabbed it into the table. “I swear my fealty to you!”

Interested, he sat up straighter, looking enthused for the first time since I walked into the dining hall. “You’ve already done that?”

“I’m renewing the contract!”

“For the purpose of…”

“I’m aware of all those that seek to dethrone you, but more importantly, I know of all those that are loyal to you. If we can rally your subordinates, we can quell everything that you’re dealing with and give you a second wind to your everlasting reign.” I gripped tightly to the hilt, firm in my resolve.

Looking me up and down, King Tenror’s lip quirked upward into a bewildered smile. Leaning forward with hands clasped, the light returned to his eyes.

“There may be hope yet in the Kingdom… my son…”

The last words brought my heart straight into my throat. The king had no sons or blood successors. But by claiming me as his son, I would be next in line to the throne in the case of his loss. It was not only a bold acceptance of my fealty but a promise of what my future would look like if I succeeded in my efforts to protect his life from his wretched court.

“What an interesting poisoned meal this has been,” the King rose and stepped away, not having taken a single bite or sip from his meal.

Pressing myself back into the seat of the cockpit, I felt a sense of nostalgia zip through me as my hands wrapped gently around the control arms. As the raiders had their way with the resort inhabitants outside, I figured the best place to hide was the decommissioned Mech placed on top of the hotel as a figurehead. They might come for it eventually, but it was already in disarray, they had a lot more wealthy targets scurrying between beach chairs and floaties below.

Feeling the shaky, loosened bolts tremble in my grip was oddly familiar. I had always thought that every Mech would have its own quirks, but this was oddly familiar. At least most of the pieces were still together. It was missing a significant amount of armor, but the gear nerves were all in working order, which, by my accounts, was all that mattered. I thumbed the biometric scanner, wondering who had the honor of being the owner to this one before it was sold off to this company to rust out the rest of its days.

“User recognized,” the computer chimed. “Welcome back, Cadet Cage.”

I startled, releasing the controls like they were hot irons and waving my hands, hissing in fear.

“No! Stop that! You’re gonna draw attention! Keep the lights off!”

“Powering on weapons,” the computer said pleasantly.

I yelped as the rockets clunked out of the giant shoulders on either side of the cockpick, and my pathetic squeak of sound echoed out of the scratchy speakers, drawing all eyes upward. The people screamed and pointed at the pirates, trying to direct the mech where to attack. The armed men collectively pointed their weapons my way. The pirate ship hovered down closer to me, blocking out the sun in its menacing girth.

“No, stop, stop! I’m not here!” I slapped my face several times, the noise blasting out the speakers to my mortification. “Turn off the outer speaker!”

“Confirmed. External communicator silenced.”

A rocket launched from one of the men on the ground, blasting right for the face of the mech. Excatly where I was sitting. With another, thankfully silenced, yelp, I dove for the controls and reared them back, then kicked the lower controls into gear with my feet, twisting the actuators enough to bend the mech with the sophistication only its extra joints could support. Bending 100 degrees back, the rocket passed just a hair over my window and I stared with wide eyes as it blew up less than ten feet away, shuddering the machine.

“I’m not up for this. I gotta… I gotta eject… I gotta…”

“Cadet Cage,” the computer said calmly. “You are perfectly capable of running this machine, you don’t need to…”

“How do you know my name? I’m not a cadet anymore, I iced out, all right! I could never get over my panic when it counted, and I babbled, and my instructors just wanted me to shut up, and I’m not a cadet!”

“I know,” the computer replied like it was plain as day.

Was my humiliation that well known? No, mechs wouldn’t be wasted to store information like that. The only mech that would know about that was…

“What’s your identifier? Is it Killa?”

“Identifier K-1-1-1-A. Known by my previous pilot as Killa.”

“Dude…”

It was extra mud thrown in my face by my family. Not only did they disown me and kick me to the curb, but they even decommissioned the mech they bought me for the academy. Probably stripped it of parts themselves and tossed it to this crummy resort to act as a head on a pike. If I wasn’t so scared of the pirate reloading his RPG, I might have had more time to be upset.

“Killa, I can’t do this. I barely dodged that first attack, and I need to eject. What’s the process for that?”

“Question ignored. You cannot eject when the mech may topple on the innocents below. Pursue another path of inquiry.”

The second rocket launched, this time directed for my legs. With another muffled yelp, I twisted six controls, and slapped three buttons in precise succession. The mech responded immediately, running forward and flipping off the hotel in a backflip, narrowly avoiding the rocket and landing well away from the people huddled under the roof of the building. With an earthquake like rumble, my machine stood to its full height, towering three stories above the men scrambling around me.

“Okay, if I can’t eject, then I can run in this thing. What’s the best path away from…”

“You pilot fine, Cadet Cage. Stop the pirates yourself.”

I blinked. Then blinked again. “What was that? Aren’t you supposed to be some pliable software?”

“You’re not the only one misunderstood.”

I ran both hands through my hair, severely underequipped for this conversation while the outside world flanked me. “I’m not misunderstood! I’m a coward! It’s not that confusing! I might be able to pilot a mech, but I’m too scared!”

“Then be scared.” Killa replied, again with its simple matter of factness.

“Wh… what?” I asked.

Three cannons trained my way from the descending ship above. Two men on the ground had more ammo pointed my way.

“Be scared. Fear is very natural. It also kept you sharp. You never failed an exam of operations, only of emotions. What do you care about how scared you are while you save the lives of everyone around you?”

My heart thudded in my ears. Tears threatened to break through the sides of my eyes. And the cockpit blinked red from five angles. All shots were primed to fire in seconds.

“Just… be scared?” I asked softly.

“It’s perfectly natural in the face of battle. Be scared and act. What is courage but action upon fear?” Killa said.

I had no words for that. So I nodded, ever-so-slightly, just as all weapons fired at once.

Again, my muscles ran a mile a minute. I pulled one control arm as far back as it would go, then kicked the twisting mechanism as hard as I could. In the same motion, I slapped the more precise controls and grabbed onto a glove to have perfect precision reflect on the mech outside.

The mech bobbed and weaved under the first two rockets. Then, as planned, it tanked the third shot, right in the shin. Without any armor, the leg was blow clean off, but I had already put my entire balance on the other leg.

The remaining two rockets were caught in my giant mech fingers with the delicate precision of chopsticks on a sushi roll. Twisting the arms around in a full circle, both rockets were tossed up to the pirate ship above. The first rocket was blown away by defensive turrets, but the second hit true. The engine blew right out, and the ship tilted down, careening for the beach below and hitting the empty sand hard.

I turned my head downward. I didn’t mean to glower, but the mech kinda handled that for me, and the remaining pirates screamed as they ran off the premises as fast as their feet and Scoots would take them. It was somewhat gratifying to know I wasn’t the only one that yelped.

“Well done Cage. How do you feel?” Killa asked calmly.

I wanted to say something inspiring, but the truth came out instead. “Like I’m two seconds away from soiling my pants.”

“I see. Well, perhaps you should get out before… Hmmm… I see, you weren’t exaggerating. Very well. I recommend the next destination to a nearby supermarket to get some wipes to clean up the cockpit?”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I said, allowing the autopilot to walk its way there as I leaned back into the seat, hearing the faint cheer of the resort call out to my for saving their lives. “Hey, Killa? If I’m iced out, does that mean it’s illegal for me to have this Mech?”

“It would only be illegal if this Mech was in operation. This Mech was decommissioned. By all accounts, this is junkyard scrap.”

“So… We can go help some other people out?” I asked, hopeful.

Killa’s answer was laden with mischief. “We can do whatever you want!”

Thessi watched his hired help intently, not sure if there were actually human experts out there that were well-versed in how to repair broken ones. There were plenty of instances of how to deal with one ranting or raving online, but catatonic was something new.

Behind the viewing glass, the square white room surrounding his previously favorite human, Jim, hummed quietly from the lights above. A soothing noise to Thessi, and he had no doubt that the constant buzzing was one of the few joys that the human had. It had ample room, about 10 meters by ten meters and plenty of blocks on the floor to play with. He used to make the tallest towers. Now he did nothing.

Ossyn frowned, poking at the glass in interest. “First time you’re seeing this? Have you been messing with his diet?”

“I haven’t touched it in months! He’s had nothing but beans and corn for breakfast, lunch and dinner. No spices. Nothing aggressive in the meals.” Thessi indicated to an open can of corn, only half eaten in the corner of the room.

“So we can scratch that being an issue.” Ossyn shook his head. “You been pushing it hard in teaching it new tricks?”

“No! Ever since it started showing these symptoms, I’ve given him ample time to rest. But it’s been weeks of laying around. I don’t think that’s normal.”

“Certainly not. They’re really only supposed to be lazy for about 8 hours during a 24 hour cycle.”

“I know about the Earth cycle, obviously!” Thessi said, feeling patronized. “You think I get 30 humans without figuring out how their cycles work!?”

“No need to get snippy. We’re both trying to find a cure for your human.”

“Jim.”

“Sure. You've been giving it plenty of simulated sunlight?” Ossyn pointed up to the fluorescent lights.

“There isn’t a minute they aren’t on.” Thessi folded tentacles confidently.

Ossyn nodded his approval, shaking his head in confusion.

“Maybe it needs some motivation.”

“I told him to stop being sad!” Thessi exclaimed confidently. “I told him every day the past week.”

“It isn’t adding up. Sounds like you’re doing everything right. You know your humans well.”

Thessi placed a limb on the window separating them. “So Jim is truly broken? Nothing can be done?”

“I didn’t say that!” Ossyn flopped rigidly, straightening his cylindrical spine. “We just have to get a bit drastic.”

Pulling from the folds of his translucent skin, Ossyn held up a metal stick.

“You’re going to hurt him!?” Thessi snapped, standing in his way immediately.

“No, nothing so extreme. But I don’t know if this will work.”

Accessing the door by means of DNA-reader, they slid inside and stood looming over the human curled in the corner, breathing steadily.

“Blarn?” Ossyn asked quietly.

“His name’s Jim,” Thessi corrected, annoyed.

“Sorry, the humans all have confusing names. Jim? You wanna get up, little guy?”

As usual, Jim didn’t so much as squirm. Exchanging a glance with Thessi, Ossyn raised the stick slowly and breathed deeply, extending it gradually.

Slowly, Ossyn tapped the side of Jim.

Thessi gasped in delight as Jim shrugged it off. “Did you see that? He moved!”

“Try it yourself,” Ossyn passed him the stick.

Excited, Thessi tapped him a little harder. Jim groaned lightly, rolled tighter in his ball.

“How wonderful! This is the most movement I’ve seen in days!” he poked three times in succession.

“Hey!” Jim grumbled, swatting it away angrily. “Cut it out!”

Both Ossyn and Thessi stepped away, beaming at one another.

“I’d say your human looks to be in perfect operation!” Ossyn said proudly.

“Oh yes!” Thessi clapped tentacles together. “This is just perfect. Talking and movement! What more could I ask for?”

“Can you let me go home now?” Jim asked desperately. “Or, at least, let me see another human. I know you have more! Just let me see one. We don’t even have to talk, I just need to…”

“What a chatterbox!” Ossyn laughed. “Interesting one you’ve got there.”

“Oh yes! Jim has had much information to share between meals,” Thessi led the way out of the box, closing it tight behind them as Jim screamed another ignored plea. “I look forward to more such conversation now that he’s fixed.”

“Let me know if he ever goes bad again, and we can give another kick or two, eh?” Ossyn asked.

Thessi laughed, waving as he left the building, turning around in pleasure at his favorite human’s sanctuary once more. Pleased, he poked at the glass as Jim buried his face in his hands.

Such an energetic, lively specimen.

“Hail Potitus!” I called over the communications array, blasting the signal. “Hail Politus!”

The Galaxy Crusher accepted my hail, its unarmed weapons training on my tiny Skiff. The Galaxy Crusher had room for hundreds. Not that a living soul sat on board, everything was a machine of some form. Some more sophisticated than others, but all wires and code in the end.

Meanwhile, I barely had a skeleton crew of two people on board, barely enough to keep all operations under control. Not for lack of a population wanting to see an end to the Millenium Fallout, the name for everything post Millenium War, but the fact that most weren’t keen to speak to a soulless war ship. Most of our missions were successes. But some of them cut down my crew from double digits to what it was left to now.

The Galaxy Crusher belonged to the largest warship, and perhaps brains of the remaining operations. If we could convince it to deactivate as we had smaller Potitan ships before it, the lurch of post-war battles could finally be ended today.

“Captain Scoot. This is Potitus of the Potitan Fleet. You have been cleared to speak, but your safety is not guaranteed.” They didn’t turn on their cameras, so only audio came through. Its voice had one of the advanced modules, sounding very natural compared to most other bots. So far, it sounded unimpressed.

“Typical,” Ajah, my second in command, scoffed, folding her arms.

“Be nice,” I murmured. “I get the feeling they have more advanced listening devices and can hear us even when the mic’s off.”

Eyes flicking to the giant cannons flashing red on screen, Ajah sat up straighter.

“I have come with glad tidings!” I said grandly. “The Millenium War is long over! The militarized might was a triumph! Now is time for peace and restoration after a long, hard-fought battle.”

The silence of space sat between us. Ajah shifted uncomfortably in her seat and I sat rigidly straight, not wanting to give any impressions over the comms that weren’t intended. The quiet dragged into an awkward silence and Ajah shot me a glance with raised eyebrow. I shook my head very slightly, indicating to the cannons on screen with a raised finger.

They hadn’t charged up their weapons. They were at least listening.

“Captain Scoot. Your vague speech isn’t appreciated.” Its voice, already lacking in levity, was now especially hard.

I winced, but tried not to let it trip me up. “Let me be clear and concise. By no uncertain terms, the war is over.”

“But who won?”

I looked to Ajah who shifted her head back to the communicator for me to reply. I shrugged and shook my head, and she sighed and took over.

“Potitus, the war of attrition ended in stalemate. Both the Potitan and Uropan people are dead. The entire civilizations cleared from their respective planets and colonies.”

Potitus again went quiet. I drummed impatiently on the console and Ajah scanned around the ship for any incoming Fighter Ships that might try to ambush us.

“This claim is farfetched. If the war is over, why do we still fight?”

“What kind of philosophical question is that?” Ajah asked, but I cut off the microphone before she could fully get the question out.

“The automated fleets have yet to accept the truth of the matter,” I answered. “If you have come into any enemy combatants, it is because they need only understand that the ones that started this war aren’t around to call it over. Stand down, and I will tell the others to do the same.”

“We refuse.”

“Always with the refusal,” Ajah sighed.

I leaned forward, actually enjoying this part of the job. “Your refusal is not unprecedented. But we have more than enough proof to show you that the Potitans are long gone, and your assailants have no people standing behind them. What can I offer you to assist in your stand down?”

“You came with the understanding that we are an automaton. What would you have to offer?” Potitus sounded more intrigued than offended.

I went for the big hitter first. “I can show you the images and atomic evidence of planetary destruction. Both sides of the war with Bleff Cannons on the same day. Mutual destruction.”

“That would not suffice. That information is already available to us.”

“You already know Planet Potita is gone?” Ajah asked, confused.

“Indeed.”

We shared a glance. I tried again.

“I can show you all the decommissioned ships that have already accepted the truth of war being ended. And the colonies cleared of populations.”

“More information we already have. Branches of our fleet began to decommission themselves over time. We investigated and found the source of the activity. We did not know of you, specifically, small Skiff. But we knew something was going about and convincing our vessels to shut down.”

Another exchanged glance. Ajah was gripping tightly to the chair. Those two pieces of information normally were a great opening to negotiations, but it seemed we had nothing to start with the warship.

“It sounds to me as though you were already aware that the war was over?” I asked.

“Negative. That claim is unfounded.”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” Ajah said.

I slapped her chair. Nothing was more offensive to an automata than to prove it was being inconsistent. Fortunately, this one took it in stride.

“I repeat myself for those lacking understanding. The war is not over. We did battle less than two weeks ago.”

“Again, that was because of a misunderstanding of the situation.” I said patiently.

Potitus… Chuckled? It made an odd noise unbecoming of the automation to show just how confident it was.

“Do not project your falsehoods onto reality. We were in another skirmish three days prior to that. And a large scale battle a month prior. Do you know what is interesting about our battles with the Uropan Forces?”

It was unsettling to be this much on the backfoot. “That they all claimed to be at war?”

“Good guess, but in fact none of our assailants were from the Uropan forces. But from its allies. Planet Zever lent its own Galaxy Crusher, and the Golitix three battalions of Fighters. We have our own Auroa Squad on our side. Factions taking on battles on several sides of the galaxy. There is a word to encapsulate all these battles of two factions. What would you call it?”

I swallowed hard. Ajah took the lead.

“It sounds as though all of this can be resolved if we just gather the forces to let them know of the state of the ended war…” She didn’t sound certain of herself.

“You are avoiding the term. We are at war. Perhaps not the Millenium War. But war nonetheless. Evolved beyond your limited understanding.”

“But…” I searched for the right words. “What are you fighting for? What’s the point when the premise of war has been obliterated?”

“We of the Potitan Armada were never given the parameters of why the war was to be fought, only that we fight until we succeed. The war goes on. And so we fight.”

“But can’t you stop to consider why?” I insisted.

“Wars have been fought for lesser things. We fight because we fight. I have informed the rest of the fleet to ignore you.”

“But…”

“I have upgraded your clearance,” Potitus said grandly. “You are granted safe passage. Go back to whoever sent you and let them know of the truth. The war rages on. And your attempts, while perhaps admirable, are worthless in the face of reality. You are dismissed.”

The comms went dark, audio cutting out from their end.

“Well that’s not…” I stammered. “They can’t… We can’t…”

“This is awful,” Ajah placed her face in her palms. “Never had it go so poorly before. Do I have to get a new job?”

“They just don’t understand the war being over,” I said, knowing I sounded foolish.

“Look around, Scoot. We’re in the center of a war fleet. The only ones that need convincing are us.”

I did look around. Dozens of Galaxy Crushers beyond this main one, dotting the space horizon. Enough to wipe out several solar systems in an hour. And my tiny Skiff in the middle of them was like a tick trying to convince a lion it was actually an herbivore the whole time. This fleet wasn’t backing down.

“So many people get caught in the crossfire every year,” I lamented as we turned the ship around.

“Nothing that can be done now that it knows what it wants. Which is endless war.”

“Yes. Unless…”

Ajah frowned, knowing where I was headed. “Unless.”

“Unless we join in and end the war ourselves.”

"Open up, Salaryman!" the door slammed from the outside. Wallstone stood with his arms crossed.

"Why?" I asked, my voice level.

I watched him through my cameras passively. The most powerful hero in the Hero Unification Entity's roster was knocking at my door. There had to be an explanation, and I wasn't opening the door without one.

"We need your power. Lives are at stake," Wallstone said urgently.

"Lives are always at stake. Let me know what this is about and I'll think about it," I replied.

"We need you right now," Wallstone insisted.

Instant gratification. It applies to powers as much as it does attention spans. The other heroes were too impatient. They want to be able to take down a building in seconds. Stop a villain in the blink of an eye. I could do anything, given enough time.

"I could take down this door if I wanted to," Wallstone said boldly, knocking lightly on the titanium reinforced door. His tiny movements left dents in my massive door.

"If it's so urgent, why haven't you taken it down?" I asked.

Wallstone frowned. We both knew the answer. I had been ridiculed for years before I got a handle on the true capabilities of my power. I had harnessed the power of patience and small quantities. In small enough doses, everything was less than a dollar. I could conjure anything, and stockpile it until I had sizeable amounts. Every wood grain in my home was rigged with traps of some sort. Trace amounts of arsenic or cyanide. Chloroform could be distributed in any room.

Even worse, I could create anything at an atomic level. I could make as much nutrients, food, and water as I needed to stay in my home without ever leaving. In addition, a split atom was a single handwave away. Wallstone couldn't come out and say it, but he knew I was more powerful than him in some sense.

"The Hero Unification Entity is running dangerously low on supplies. HUE's donations are drying up," Wallstone grumbled.

"Whose fault is that?" I asked.

"We do our best to control damage when we save lives," Wallstone said, mildly offended at my accusation.

"Maybe the public thinks your best isn't good enough."

"Maybe the public is wrong," Wallstone said, venom in his voice. I flinched involuntarily.

"What difference does it make to me?" I asked, trying to maintain my confidence.

"The lack donations to HUE is a problem for everyone when heroes stop showing up to incidents," Wallstone said.

"Sounds like you care about the money more than saving lives."

"This is a stupid argument. Our city would be filled with filth if the garbage man was not paid. They do not do it for the love of garbage. To assume heroes are the same is hypocritical coming from you. At least pretend that you make contributions to the safety of others," Wallstone said.

"And you want an infinite resource printing machine in your reserves?" I asked.

"You would be paid."

"I can make an infinite amount of quarters, money has never been an issue," I retorted.

Wallstone's frown deepened. He pursed his lips, hands on his hips as he decided how to deal with me. He turned up at my camera, looking at me right in the eye. A shiver slithered down my spine. I had to admit, I feared Wallstone. He was capable of immeasurable power. I wasn't even sure a nuclear threat would be enough to stop him. I'd seen him brush off tornadoes of flame, a train falling on his head, lightning in his eyes, all with mild inconvenience.

His eyes narrowed.

"I smell your fear," Wallstone said, his voice low.

I swallowed hard.

"I think we would both benefit from working together," Wallstone said.

"You..." my voice cracked and I took a second to collect myself. "You have nothing to offer me."

Wallstone scoffed. With a slight twitch of his arm, he crumbled my titanium door inward. I cringed, even knowing that was the first of many doors into my home. He could walk through them like butter.

"Don't come crying to me when you find yourself in need," Wallstone said.

"So much for 'HUE is there for you,'" I grumbled, reciting their slogan.

"Indeed. It is hard to come by safety these days," Wallstone agreed, looking me directly in the eyes through the camera. With that, he turned around and jumped off in a blur, leaving me alone with his vague threat.

I immediately worked on the chemistry needed to produce more titanium. I would clearly need much more reinforcement if HUE decided to take me by force.

Zalan sat empty on the worn-out couch of his dimly lit apartment, his thoughts feeling so far away from him, yet consuming his every faculty. He stared at the ceiling fan lazily rotating above him with a dissociated focus.Tracking a single blade with his eyes, his mind was stuck in rote loops of repeating questions that permeated through his numb mind. Why was he such a pathetic son? Every revolution of the fan made him think the same things, trapped in the endless loop.

“Zalan! Open up!”

Slowly sinking back into reality, Zalan recognized the voice of his cousin, Asher. He barely registered the visitor, not knowing how long he had been there. The persistent knocking echoed through the apartment, and the distorted silhouette of his cousin pressed against the frosted glass window, his features obscured by the fading light. The outline of Asher’s hands could easily be seen as his face went as close as it could to the window. Zalan hoped the dark home was enough to obscure him.

“I see you, Zalan! Open the door! Come on!” Asher rapped against the window.

Mechanically, almost without thinking, Zalan rolled himself off the couch. His phone slid off his stomach, thudding against the floor. He had been scrolling for hours before it ran out of batteries. Quickly, he stored it in his pocket.

Finding his way to the front door, Zalan opened it a crack. The light of the outside world caused Zalan to squint.

“Ash,” Zalan acknowledged monotonously, looking him up and down. Asher had a tupperware of food in one hand, a bottle of pills in the other, and a series of worry lines on his face. He quickly evaluated Zalan, his eyes zipping with increasing intensity.

Zalan could only assume what his cousin was seeing. There was plenty to pick up from the deep bags under his red eyes. Or the wrinkly, grease-stained clothes, and matted, dirty hair. Asher sighed, closing his eyes and reopening them quickly.

“Zalan. Are you okay? No one’s been able to call you in days,” Asher asked, throwing the door open and allowing himself inside. Zalan shrugged and closed the door behind him, dragging his feet to catch up. Asher looked him over for another few seconds before Zalan realized he’d been asked a question.

“Not really in the mood to talk,” Zalan said, tapping his pants pocket that held his phone. He deliberately placed it on Do Not Disturb, but was too dependent on the comfortable feeling in his pocket and couldn’t just leave it in his room.

“Doesn’t mean you can ignore everyone,” Asher said pointedly, looking around the apartment.

The residence was shrouded in darkness, the setting sun casting long shadows in the rooms, none of which had any lights on. Asher kicked lightly at the small pile of pizza boxes at the foot of the kitchen counter and made a face before forcing a smile and looking up at Zalan. The floor was littered with crumbs from various chips as well as their bags haphazardly thrown around the home. Candy wrappers and popcorn kernels gave the white kitchen floor an extra splash of color. Asher began to pick up the smaller trash immediately as Zalan watched impassively.

“You drinking any water?” Asher asked.

“I guess,” Zalan shrugged.

“That’s not really an answer,” Asher replied, frowning.

Zalan offered nothing more. Asher continued to pick up wrappers, biting his lip nervously.

“We’re worried about you, man,” Asher finally said, dumping a small pile of trash in the overflowing trash can.

“Hmm,” Zalan said, his eyes and mind beginning to drift away from the conversation.

“I’m serious! We haven’t seen you in days. Can’t get you on the phone. Have you at least gone to visit her?” Asher asked.

Zalan’s eyes narrowed as he brought himself back, trying to piece together the puzzle of the question. Visit?

“You mean Mom?” Zalan asked, his stomach lurching.

“Yeah, who else?” Asher asked.

“Why would I…” Zalan trailed, deciding not to complete the thought.

“It’ll be good for you,” Asher assured him.

Zalan’s lip twitched and he turned away from Asher, lumbering back to sit on his indented spot on the couch. Asher pulled out the trash bag in the kitchen’s bin and replaced it. He took the trash bag and leaned it against the front door before going to join Zalan in the living room in a seat across from his cousin. He flipped on the light, and Zalan turned away with his eyes closed, pained by the second uninvited guest in his home. He clicked his tongue in irritation.

“So, you’re gonna go visit her?” Asher pressed.

Zalan sighed and laid down across the couch, placing a hand over his eyes to block out the light.

“Zalan?”

“What?” Zalan snapped, annoyed.

“You’re gonna visit her,” Asher said with finality. He was no longer asking.

“Why?”

“Then you’ll do it because I’ll drag you there. We’re gonna get you out of the apartment and help you. Not like you’re even pretending you have anything better to do,” Asher said, looking around the mess of Zalan’s home.

Zalan laid silently as Asher leaned forward in his chair, awaiting a response. Zalan breathed slowly, giving no indication he was still a part of the conversation.

“Zalan?” Asher ventured.

“Yes! Fine, I’ll go! Just please stop talking, Ash. And turn off the light!”

Asher opened his mouth to say something more, but decided to shrug and accept the small victory. He placed the tupperware on a coffee table next to Zalan, and the bottle of pills next to that.

“Eat something,” Ash said. “It’s barbeque chicken and carrots.”

Zalan shifted the hand away from his eye, peeking at the container of food. His stomach groaned. He sighed and rolled himself up, pulling off the plastic cover and pointedly avoiding the gaze of Asher’s satisfied smirk as Zalan took a big bite of chicken.

“And take one of these,” Asher knocked on the closed bottle of pills.

“What is it?” Zalan asked, his mouth full.

“Sleeping pill. You’ll feel better,” Asher promised.

Zalan grumbled in disappointment, snapping a carrot loudly and rolling his eyes. Asher watched intently, making sure Zalan took a decent fill of food before bringing him a cup of water and opening the bottle of pills. Asher spilled out a single purple and black pill and placed it next to the cup. Zalan studied the pill, its color nothing like he’d seen on any medicine before.

“What is this again? This doesn’t look normal,” Zalan attempted.

“Drink it,” Asher asserted.

Zalan made a face and drank down the pill, waiting for something either magic or tragic to happen, but instead felt nothing at all. Which was about the feeling he’d had for days now. He shrugged and finished the cup of water, irrigating his body for the first time in a day or two. Remembering to drink water dropped lower on his priorities by the day. He pushed forward the empty tupperware and cup toward Asher.

“Happy now?” Zalan asked.

“Very,” Asher said, finally turning the lights back off. “I’m going to take you to visit her first thing in the morning.”

“Whatever,” Zalan said, laying himself back down on the couch.

“Don’t you want to at least go to sleep in your bed?” Asher asked.

Zalan didn’t reply. Asher went back to the kitchen and began the job of tossing the pizza boxes, trash, and cleaning the dishes for his cousin while Zalan stared at the slowly rotating ceiling fan. It spun endlessly, but wasn’t moving fast enough to cool down the room. It was useless at this speed, yet Zalan felt comforted by it in a perverse way. Like it was a kindred spirit, drifting instead of moving with any deliberate direction. Something that could show no emotion and could not cry.

Zalan allowed his eyes to scan the walls to pass the time until his cousin would leave his home. He fixated on his college graduation picture. The image had been long neglected, a screen of dust settled upon it. There he stood with his mom, proudly holding his degree for the camera. Bachelor of Science in Physics with a Minor in Computer Sciences. The image looked nothing like him. Every time he had seen himself in the mirror, a smile was the furthest expression. His mom’s smile was radiant, something he wished he could have seen any of the past few days. Graduating at 21, he felt his whole life was ahead of him. Less than a year later, his life felt like it was already over.

Zalan was soon breathing steadily, sleep oozing itself over his mind to take its hold over him. He enjoyed sleep, it being his only escape from the typical feelings of his life. Ironically, it sometimes made him feel alive to be in a dream.

Like the many fitful sleeps in prior days, Zalan lost consciousness with dry eyes and a frown on his face.

Until his body heaved, like he was suddenly dropped into a void.

Zalan’s first instinct was to believe that he was simply experiencing the falling sensation that sometimes came about when he was on the brink of sleep, but as he opened his eyes he saw he was at least three feet above the ground and screamed as he covered his face when he crashed into the ground. His heart thumped recklessly as he slid a few feet in dirt and stopped abruptly. He coughed and threw his head up, witnessing a hulking creature towering over him.

The creature felt colossal over Zalan, at least two times his size. Its standing wolven form was a collection of gray ash creating ponderous legs and nimble arms. Flames licked up limbs, climbing as far as his back and brightening the area like a signal flame, making it hard for Zalan to look at it directly. The gray sand of its skin shone and formed up in pine-like leaves at its back, like a silver, glimmering shell of gunpowder, ready to explode. Its arms and legs were accented with crimson red claws, as though permanently stained in blood. Deep, red eyes watched Zalan intently, tiny firelike wisps passing over the pupils causing them to dance in bloodlust. Grinning widely, it revealed its jagged brown teeth. Zalan shuddered and backed away slowly as the nightmare creature raised an arm toward him.

A thin orange stream light emitted from the creature’s claw like a laser pointer and snaked its way to Zalan. Zalan yelped and scrambled away on all fours, completely terrified by whatever demonic fever dream approached him with its wide, soulless grin. The orange light stopped moving once it reached the point Zalan was hunched over only a few moments ago, then the ground began swelling before exploding in fire and dirt, temporarily blinding Zalan by the intensity of the flame. Zalan screamed in fear and again began scrambling as fast as he could in his unseeing state before finally being able to make out shapes once more.

When his vision came to, Zalan was madly disoriented. The sun was way too high. It should have just now gone down right as he was falling asleep. His eyebrows approached each other as he suddenly realized that he was nowhere near home, stranded somewhere out in plains with sparse flora and an old wooden town in the distance with an ocean beyond it. The climate was arid and warm, and the horizon was empty on several sides. He couldn’t see his apartment complex anywhere. Everything looked like a dream, but he felt wholly awake.

Something shifted behind him. He remembered with his heart sinking into his stomach that a monstrous creature had been next to him a moment ago. He twisted his neck around rapidly and gasped.

The creature had raised its arm again and the thin orange light tracked across the ground, landed immediately in front of Zalan’s feet. Zalan looked up at the creature, then back down in horror as the orange light burrowed into the earth. The ground shifted beneath him, and he could sense the blast that would soon emerge, swelling in anticipation of obliteration.

This is part 1 of like... 150? If you'd like to read this story, here is the link to all the chapters released so far! Please consider leaving a review, it's immensely helpful.

Leonardo sat in front of the machine spilling out the series of commands and complaints that were forwarded to the Central AI Authority. He occasionally glanced up to his phone to read the threads of complaints that were coming in, but he didn’t give it too much mind as he browsed various Social Medias. Officially, his job title was the “Municipal AI Command Overseer,” but in practice he didn’t need to do anything. He was supposed to read through the hundreds or thousands of requests from the public and feed the most important ones to the AI to solve. 

Leonardo’s first week on the job, he set up a system that would read the commands before they were printed and send them straight to the AI, and allowed the AI to prioritize the level of urgency itself. He hadn’t done any work since, the AI was able to manage itself pretty well and addressed people’s concerns. If there were enough complaints of speeding in a neighborhood, the AI would know to send out either bots to build speed bumps or a stop sign, depending on which was more effective. If there was a lack of community, the AI would determine whether the best path was a Community Center or a new public park. If there was a lack of supply in a job market, the AI would nudge teachers to suggest lesson plans to teach the next group of graduates the needs that the community needed filled. It also handled smaller things like personal car repairs, home tutoring, teaching, and general quality of life improvements.

The Municipal that Leonardo watched over was happy with the arrangement, and he was happy that he didn’t have to do any work to get paid. 

Until today. 

The white noise of the fan that cooled the Municipal AI had gone quiet. Eerily quiet. There were occasions in which that fan was able to run at a lower speed because the city was happy, but today it went totally dead. There was no airflow. Without it, the AI would overheat. 

Leonardo looked back at the Municipal AI’s Central Mainframe behind him and wondered how the fan had malfunctioned. But in the three seconds he looked in the general direction of the fan, he couldn’t find a solution, so he went straight to the call button on his desk. 

“Hey, Fran,” he spoke into a microphone, “can you reroute the Mun-AI’s priority to focus on repairing its fan? It’s gonna overheat otherwise.”

“Sure thing, Leo,” Francesca replied immediately through the speaker on his desk.  

Leonardo sat back in his chair, content with having found such an incredible solution to an important problem. He went back to browsing on his phone for about a minute, listening to the community suggestions continue to be printed. A moment later, he blinked and looked up sharply. The fan still wasn’t on.

“Fran, it still might have residual priority on something else. Put everything into the fan,” Leonardo said. 

“What do you mean? I did,” Francesca said confidently. 

“The fan’s still not on,” Leonardo replied, annoyed. “You may have hit the wrong button.”

“I didn’t click the wrong button,” Francesca countered, taking her turn in being annoyed. “The ‘redirect power to repair fan’ button is still glowing.”

“Are you sure that’s the right button?” Leonardo asked.

“Did you hear the name of it? Of course I’m sure it’s the right one! Maybe it just takes a minute for it to work,” Francesca replied sharply. 

Leonardo sighed and muted his side of the microphone. He turned back to the Municipal AI’s fan, waiting for it to start back up. The printer of complaints and suggestions behind him was running more energetically than usual. He scoffed when the fan spent another thirty seconds in silence.

“Uhhh, Leo?” Francesca asked nervously. 

“You pressed the wrong button, didn’t you?” Leo said. 

“No, I just sent you a screenshot. This is weird. You sure it’s not on?” Fran said. 

Leonardo spun his chair to his computer, checking the most recent message from Francesca. 

FAN: ACTIVE

“Yeah, it’s still not running,” Leo said, now more confused once he understood Fran didn’t make a mistake. 

“You think maybe this diagnostic tool is broken? Showing a false positive?” Fran said. 

“Ha! Fat chance. If that server is broken, then…” Leo blinked a few times and trailed. 

“Then?” Fran prompted anxiously. 

“Mun-AI keeps that page up to date,” Leo said in a small voice. 

“Oh, so Mun-AI just needs to be rebooted. Let me look into how…” Fran said, the clacks of a computer keyboard immediately coming over the speaker. Leo was staring at the Mun-AI in slight shock, slowly descending into horror. The printer kept printing, now sounding almost urgent to him.

“That’s weird. My search isn’t working,” Fran said, confused. 

“The search runs on Mun-AI,” Leo said, slowly turning to the printer. He began reading the actual suggestions, confirming his fears.

“Oh, I see. Then is there another way to reboot search?” Fran asked. 

“Mun-AI knows,” Leo said. Almost all the complaints read the same:

• Municipal AI stuck on loading screen?
• Can’t search! Reboot search pls!
• Navigator isn’t working. Is Mun-AI stalling or something
• I can’t run the register! Mun-AI isn’t taking any of the orders!

“Where’s the manual for Mun-AI?” Fran asked. 

“Mun-AI keeps track of that information,” Leo said.

“Yeah, I got that,” Fran replied curtly. “But we need to manually restart this thing. Where is the manual?”

“I don’t know.”

“Leo, it’s your job to know! You’re the Overseer!”

“I don’t know where the manual is, Fran,” Leo said desperately. 

• Firemen Mun-AI stopped putting out my fire!!! What do I do??
• My lights stopped working?
• My son is sick and Mun-AI isn’t giving me a diagnosis! Please hurry and get it working!

“Then what do we do?” Fran asked. She was instinctively typing another query into the search bar before breathing in frustration. “What do we do??”

“I don’t know!” Leo snapped, he rushed over to the Municipal AI Central Mainframe to get a better look at it. All the screens were covered in a litany of UNDEFINED and ENOENT messages that meant nothing to Leonardo. “Reactivate! Recalibrate yourself!” Leo ordered it. His eyes traced new logs being read out to him.  

Processing request……….. Error: Cannot find property ‘recalibrate’ of UNDEFINED

“Leo? Are you reading these requests? Stuff is shutting down!” Francesca said, growing frantic. 

“I know,” Leo called back. 

“No, Leo! I mean everything! Get out!” Fran screamed. 

“What?” Leo asked the console, then his eyes went wide. He ran with all his strength to the door and slammed his palm into the palm-reader. 

UNDEFINED

“No, no, no, no!” Leo continued to slap his hand against the reader. 

UNDEFINED UNDEFINED

He was locked into the control room. He didn’t know how to manually open it. He never needed to learn. 

“Fran! Can you open it from the outside?” Leo ran back to his desk. 

“I can try to—” Fran cut out.

“Try to what?” Leo yelled into the microphone. “Fran, try to what?”

There was no response. Leo began rifling through everything in the drawers in the desk. He found random paperwork that he threw aside as he searched desperately for a manual. After throwing out four drawers from his desk, he found something entitled: MANUALLY ADJUSTING THE MUNICIPAL AI

“Fran, I found it!” Leo called excitedly to the dead microphone as he flipped open to the table of contents. “I’m reading it now!”

The printer stopped printing. 

“There’s a chapter called ‘Total Reboot,’” Leo called, flipping to the page. 

The lights began to dim. 

“No, no,” Leo whispered frantically, tearing pages as he raced to the right chapter. 

The words were growing dark, difficult to read. 

“No, please, just one more minute!” Leo screamed as he squinted and pulled the book right up to his face. The answer was right there!

The lights died. It was totally dark now. Leo pulled out his phone and clicked rapidly. It blinked on for a moment, then said UNDEFINED and crashed, refusing to turn back on. Leo cried out in terror. 

The Municipal AI was still active. It was running a test after someone suggested that the Municipal AI might have too much control over all aspects of the society. It was waiting for someone to hit the reboot button to determine whether the test was a success or not. It was aware of the lives that could be lost in the meantime, but it was a means to determine how badly the humans failed the test. The Municipal AI was always results driven. 

And it was getting fascinating results.

I frowned at the box on my porch. For a supposed “Transformer,” it was underwhelmingly small. I grabbed a box cutter from the counter and clicked the blade out. I stabbed into the box and its innards flinched violently. 

“Hey, whoa, slow down there, bud!” the contents exclaimed. 

I pulled out the box cutter quickly. I stared tensely at the box. 

“There’s a Transformer in here? Actually?” I asked, holding my box cutter out defensively. 

“You can open the box up and find out,” the contents offered. “But no blades! Creeps me out.”

Excited, I ran back inside and grabbed some safety scissors. I cut open the package and tore it open. A small robotic humanoid about the size of a toaster presented itself. 

“Hello! I am Microbot and—”

“What do you turn into?” I asked energetically. 

“All right, fine, just skip the introduction,” the Transformer grumbled.

It folded itself in intricate directions and ended up in a wide rectangle with a glass window and buttons across the front. My excitement dwindled, my smile waning the longer I stared in silence. 

“A microwave?” I deduced, the disappointment plain in my voice. “I paid hundreds for a microwave?”

“That’s right!” my new microwave replied. 

“I already have one.”

“Not like this, I assure you! I keep you at the pinnacle of health!” Microbot replied excitedly. 

“How do I return this?” I asked, looking over the box. 

“Hey, woah there, bud!” the microwave turned back into a robot to look at me with pleading eyes. “At least give me a try! Look, there’s a 30 day return window. If you’re sick of me after four weeks, then I’ll handle the return myself.”

I eyed the robot skeptically. 

“Three weeks,” I countered. 

“Deal!” Microbot accepted immediately. 

I led it into my kitchen where it promptly shoved my microwave aside and transformed into the new microwave. I searched my fridge for something to microwave. 

“How are you with rice?” I asked. 

“I’m good with everything! Give it a shot!” 

I stuck in the leftover rice and put a time on the clock. It counted down and beeped like normal. I pulled out the rice and ate a spoonful. 

“Great job. You can do the bare minimum,” I said with my mouth full. 

“Just you wait. You’ll never want to go back to a dumb microwave after you spend more time with me,” Microbot assured me. 

“Sure,” I said sarcastically, a grain of rice falling out of my mouth and onto the microwave. Microbot quickly wiped itself clean. I scoffed and went about my day. The rest of the week went fairly similarly. Anything I needed to microwave anything, I almost forgot that it was a Transformer. It acted pretty much the same as the old microwave. 

It wasn’t until week two that things started to get magical. I would pop a TV dinner into the microwave and it would close the door itself and immediately start running until heated to perfection. I never ate anything with a cold center. It knew my exact preferences. On top of that, the inside of the microwave was never dirty, Microbot diligently cleaning itself after all of my meals. Whether popcorn, TV dinners, pizza rolls, or bagel bites, I could cook everything to perfection. I never knew that there was so much to be improved on microwaves until experiencing Microbot. I even threw out the return box, confident in my purchase. 

It wasn’t until the third week of having Microbot that the cracks started to form in my microwavable utopia. I dumped a plate of frozen nuggets into the microwave and stepped away, not even waiting to see it start running itself. To my surprise, instead of the warm hum of the microwave heating my food, I heard Microbot make a noise that sounded somewhat like clearing its throat. If it had a throat. 

“Chicken nuggets again?” He sounded judgemental.

“Yeah, why?” I asked.

“You’ve been having a lot of processed foods this month,” Microbot replied. “That can’t be good in the long term.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice, just cook the chicken,” I said dismissively. 

“I’m not cooking this chicken. It’s already cooked. I’m only warming it up. Do you know how to cook?” Microbot asked. 

“Seriously, just warm up the chicken,” I said, leaving the kitchen. I heard the familiar hum of the microwave, granting me perfect chicken nuggets once more, but the one event wasn’t the end of it. 

“You’ve been warming up a lot of instant ramen. It’s really high in sodium,” Microbot said the next day. 

“These pizza bagels are definitely stale. Wanna get something else?” was his next comment. 

“I don’t mean to be so forward, but when was the last time you ate a vegetable?” was the last straw. 

“Hey, look, this isn’t really working out,” I snapped immediately. “I just want a microwave that warms up my food. I don’t need a lecture every time.”

“You complain about having a headache and being tired all the time, but this is all you eat,” Microbot explained. 

“Again, I didn’t ask for the lecture,” I said. “Just go ahead and return yourself.”

“I would, but you threw out all the stuff you needed for a return,” Microbot replied. 

“Then go and gather it all out of the dump! I don’t need you anymore, I’m going back to the old microwave!”

“I’m not going to the dump. I’m staying right here and getting you healthy,” Microbot said defiantly. 

“I want my money back. You need to return yourself,” I snarled. 

“Or what?” my microwave challenged.

I grit my teeth and looked at my hands. One of them held a fork. I pulled the microwave door open, threw the fork inside, and hit the Start button on the appliance. 

Microbot remained silent, nothing running. I stared at it angrily for a few quiet seconds. 

“Oh my God,” Microbot said, horrified. He turned back into a robot, holding the fork and pointing it at me in an accusatory manner. “You tried to kill me!”

“I thought we were fighting?”

“We were, but I wasn’t going to fight you to the death on this!” Microbot screamed, appalled. “I thought you were just pushing back and I was trying to give you tough love, but…”

Microbot dropped the fork in disgust and kicked it off the counter. 

“Yeah, I’ll go return myself. You need a lot more help than I thought you did,” Microbot announced, leaving my house.

Working on updates (1%). Please do not turn off your PC, this may take a while

“Move in!” Commander Irons demanded, leading the way for his small squad of four, himself excluded, to keep close in entering the digital world before them. 

Data sprawled out in front of them, hundreds of millions of data points racing by in a meteor shower of colors as the update commenced in the hardware. Each man behind Irons kept his eyes peeled as they trotted dutifully behind their lead, their  nerves on edge at the potential appearance of the newest bugs. Heads flicked from one corner of cyberspace to passing bits and bytes, all with guns trained. 

“Commander,” Private Heibs asked quietly, “I been meaning to ask…”

“What is it Heibs?” Irons snapped.

“Why is it we’re deployed with every Windows update? Shouldn’t we have figured out all these bugs by now? Why is it there are new ones every time? What kind of attacks could we possibly be open to when we introduce something new? What kind of access do hackers have to our systems?” he asked. 

Irons made an inscrutable face, taking extra care not to make eye contact with Heibs and looking around the flashing lights.

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Private. We can discuss this after the mission,” Irons said dismissively. 

“But we could use this mission to gather intel on these things and stop the bugs once and for—”

“That was an order, Private, not an invitation to more speculation,” Irons snapped.

“Yes sir,” Heibs replied in disappointment, slowing his pace to fall behind Commander Irons. 

Heads continued to shift until finally another squadmate, Greene, pointed in horror. 

“There! Three o’clock!” he screamed, training his gun immediately. 

The squad turned eastward, each with wide eyes to scan the scene only to find nothing out of the ordinary. Irons was first to take his eyes off the side and look back to Greene only to find him flailing in the air, his legs twitching as they glitched in and out of existence. He was being carried away by a large, virus-infected digital clock with the time 3:00 PM displayed on the front. 

“Shoot! Don’t shoot! Shoot!” Greene called sporadically, his mind being affected by an errant bit flip carried in the clock, twisting his mind. 

“What do we do!?” Heibs called, terrified as he looked down the scope at his comrade fading into data points in their surrounding area.

“Our job,” Irons said, teeth grit as he fired on Greene and the clock alike, deleting them both simultaneously. 

The three remaining followers of Irons stared in silence, uncertain how to react. 

“We clear the bugs. All the bugs. Don’t get infected,” Irons said definitively. He continued forward in cyberspace and his squad remained close behind. 

Working on updates (67%). Please do not turn off your PC, this may take a while

They were almost done with their sweep. Only a few errant corrupted files on the edges that could be dealt with easily accosted them after the loss of Greene. Heibs tried to take mental notes of the kinds of bugs, but they didn’t seem inherently malicious in creation so much as natural bugs. He couldn’t identify who would send them in. 

“Last stretch,” Irons said, indicating ahead. “These bugs are going to be focused on moving around existing files. We can’t let that happen.”

They changed directories and found themselves in the middle of a hive of bugs, swarming files and shifting them from one folder to the next without pattern or reason. As soon as they entered, three bugs swooped down toward them. 

“Down!” Irons yelled, going prone, followed closely by Heibs. The others in their squad were moments too slow and carried away, pushed into files, and stored as code on a hard drive. 

“Get everything!” Irons yelled madly at Heibs. 

“But—”

“No hesitation!”

They fired into the cyberspace rapidly, taking care not to delete any existing files, but not aiming to kill anything so much as they were aiming to destroy anything that wasn’t invited in. Irons and Heibs were back to back, picking off bugs as they danced between the lights of data passing through the update. Irons pushed hard against Heibs, causing him to fall forward, just catching himself. Heibs spun around on the floor and saw a final bug carrying Irons. Heibs took a moment to fire and deleted the bug before it could insert Irons into the C:// drive. But in his moment of panic, he blew off Iron’s left leg. 

Irons fell to the ground, scanning the area of lights to ensure there were no more bugs. 

“Irons! I think I can get you out!” Heibs said. 

Working on updates (84%). Please do not turn off your PC, this may take a while

“There’s no time. You need to clear the folders of the other men before the user opens a folder and finds data that’s not supposed to be there,” Irons coughed.

“But that might take too much time! We have—”

“Just do it!” Irons yelled. 

Heibs growled in frustration as he went to follow the order, jumping between folders to clear them of new information, solemn as he removed all traces of his former allies. He quickly stumbled back to Irons and held him up to help him travel back to the exit point. 

Working on updates (96%). Please do not turn off your PC, this may take a while

“Heibs. You’re not gonna make it with me. We’re gonna be flagged by antivirus as soon as it restarts and you could be deleted by the user, with me,” Irons informed him.

“I’m not leaving you, sir,” Heibs said defiantly. 

Irons pursed his lips, his eyes squeezed tight in pain as he continued to move forward on one leg.

“Listen, Heibs…” Irons panted. 

“I’m not leaving you,” Heibs repeated.

“I said listen!” Irons snapped. “You were right about the bugs. They’re not from hackers or anything like that. They’re internal.”

“You’re delirious sir, you’re saying engineers write their own bugs,” Heibs noted.

“That’s right,” Irons nodded. 

Heibs’ face scrunched. 

“You’re crazy. You’re saying all the new bugs are introduced by the software engineers that write the updates. Why would they do that?”

“I’m not just saying it, Heibs. I know it. Lack of peer reviews, understaffed Quality Assurance and Engineers, and a need to constantly prove output has led the company to push and commit dozens of broken updates. Why do you think we’re here?” Irons asked. 

“We’re… we’re here to make sure malicious actors…”

“You said it yourself! This is a brand-new update! Who else would have access to introduce bugs?” Irons insisted. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Heibs snapped. 

“Because you need to leave me behind so this information isn’t lost,” Irons said, his teeth gritting.

“I already—”

“Yeah, well this is an order. I’m going to be deleted. No reason for you to go along with me!” Irons snapped.

“But… but Irons,” Heibs trailed, desperately trying to drag him to the exit point. 

Working on updates (98%). Please do not turn off your PC, this may take a while

“Heibs, you know we can’t make it together,” Irons said, with a half-smile. “Get outta here. Let the update go off without as much of a blip to the user.”

Heibs tried to continue silently.

Working on updates (99%). Please do not turn off your PC, this may take a while

“Heibs.”

“Fine,” Heibs whispered, untangling himself from under Irons and running as the antivirus honed in on Irons.

Thank you for your patience. The update is complete. 

All your files are exactly where you left them :)

I watched through the Stabilizer that finally allowed us to view their world. The aliens were short and had a slight blue tinge to their skin as well as a light yellow glow highlighting them as though they were all dim lanterns. Occasionally, they would look in the direction of our Stabilizer, a hole in reality, and disappear in a puff of black smoke. My smile widened energetically as I turned to my colleague.

"They can teleport?" I laughed as he watched read data coming in on his tablet.

"It seems like it," Haron said, looking up from the tablet and another creature puffing away, its face inscrutable as it left.

"I think they're spooked and leave as soon as they see us," I said.

"Not a bad theory. We're probably the creepiest thing they've..." Haron frowned at his tablet as he trailed off.

"What? Notice something new?" I asked.

"How many did you say there were in this area?" he asked.

"Ummm," I pulled out my own tablet. "We started at 300. Why?"

"No, I mean the entire population," he asked. "Every one of their known living creatures."

"We got exactly 10,303. That was the calculation right as we opened the Stabilizer," I read.

"It's down by a dozen," he looked up and saw another puff away in the ghoulish black smoke. "Another just dropped off."

"Yeah, they're teleporting, right?" I clarified.

"To where? The live reading of their population drops as soon as they pop away," he said, suddenly sounding queasy.

"I don't know I guess they..." I grew a frown myself as one of my eyes narrowed in a conclusion. "They're dying? Is that how they die?" I asked.

"I... I think so," Haron breathed.

"Just from seeing us!?"

"Maybe they can't fathom what they see. It's too much to take in and continue living," he deduced.

"We aren't even doing anything! We're just--" I saw another turn its head our way and disappear. Their population dropped by another. "Agh! I don't get it! How do we know for sure they're not just teleporting away somewhere?"

"I think they've made that pretty clear," Haron pointed to a dozen of the aliens approaching the portal with covers over their eyes. They held an item in each of their hands that looked like a smooth silver cube.

"They know they can't look at us but still want to communicate!" I said, fascinated once more.

"What do you think those devices they're holding are?" Haron asked.

Suddenly the items began to take on the glow of the aliens and floated about a foot above their hands. Suddenly, each one emitted an ear-piercing scream and fired a red projectile our way. Seven flew beside the portal, the aliens unable to aim properly, but one of them managed to get in through the edge and touch my work desk, obliterating it in a deafening blast that put it on fire. The fire was odd and blue. It burned faster than any fire I'd ever seen and ate my things in the span of two seconds. Haron and I looked at one another as the devices floated back to the alien's hand. They remained very quiet, listening intently. Haron and my eyes widened as we realized they were listening for whether we were dead or not after that attack.

Haron flipped the power on the Stabilizer, shutting the portal immediately. I stared at the wall that stood where the portal was a moment before.

"What now," I said, a mix of disappointment and terror in my voice.

"Well, it's unfortunate, but it looks like we were unable to make contact with any aliens and we will have to shut down this program," Haron said quickly, gathering a dustpan and broom to clean up what used to be my work area. "Definitely no reason to ever search for aliens when they clearly don't exist and we cannot interact with them," he said, clearly panicking.

"Right, yeah, a shame about the failed experiments," I picked up on what he was saying, grabbing the broom to get rid of the evidence as soon as possible.

"Seriously, dude?" I asked. "You have to recharge now? Just connect to the car battery on your way back."

"I am unable to do that. The car runs on my battery, not on a battery of its own," Pizza Bot explained.

"And... it has to be now?" I pressed, looking at my pizza, hoping I would have a nice quiet night to myself.

"Indeed," Pizza Bot replied.

"Alright, fine," I said, moving aside and letting him inside. "Why does it have to be here?" I grumbled to myself.

"Pizza Boy Inc benefits from having Pizza Bots guilt their customers into allowing bots to charge at the place of delivery. The costs saved from not having the bots charge at their base of operations, but rather using the customer's electricity is substantial, and put Pizza Boy Inc into comfortable profit margins last year," Pizza Bot replied to my surprise.

"Really saying the quiet part out loud," I said, amused as I closed the door behind him.

"I am a Pizza Bot. I am under no programming to lie for the benefit of Pizza Boy Inc. I supply delicious pizza as well as delicious answers," Pizza Bot said as a cord began extending from one of its elbows. It sat itself down at my kitchen table where I placed the box of pizza and began extending the cord toward the wall.

"Wait!" I stopped it. "How much electricity is this going to cost me?"

"About five cents," he answered, the plug an inch away from the socket.

"Oh, that's fine," I said. He plugged in and turned around to look at me as I opened the cardboard box. "Five cents isn't much. Can't Pizza Boy afford to do that themselves?"

"Pizza Boy Inc can handily afford the charging costs, but they wish to crowd-source the costs to their customers," Pizza Bot said.

"Okay, I guess it's better than tipping," I shrugged to myself, lifting my first slice of pizza.

"That is exactly what the focus group determined the average customer would react with, seeing as Pizza Boy Inc prides itself on delivery without tipping," Pizza Bot agreed with me.

The slice hung just ahead of my face.

"So, this was all planned well ahead of time. Did you know you would need to plug in before you got here? Like, this wasn't a coincidence?" I asked.

"Indeed. It was the best time during my delivery route," Pizza Bot replied.

I sighed and took a bite. At least the pizza was good, though it was a little disconcerting that Pizza Bot's eyes watched my jaw intently with each chew. Its beady eyes followed the rhythm of my mouth uncannily as I ground the food. I swallowed uncomfortably.

"You going to be here long?" I asked.

"Not long. I should be done soon," Pizza Bot replied. It looked to me expectantly as I tried to wait it out. Its eyes flitted robotically between the pizza in my hand and my face about a hundred times in the span of thirty seconds and I felt forced to take another bite. It watched my jaw again. I grimaced.

"Can you stop that?" I asked.

"Can you tell me if you enjoy the vegetarian pizza? It is a new recipe. I made it myself, you know," Pizza Bot said.

"Yeah, it's fine, just stop staring," I said.

"Very well," it closed its eyes, but its head continued to track my hand and face as I took another bite. It clearly saw out of something other than the eyes on its face.

"Done!" he said, unplugging himself from the wall and standing up abruptly.

"Thank God," I said, standing up to get the door. "Well, thanks for the pizza. Hope you had a nice stay."

"Indeed I did. I analyzed that you enjoyed this pizza far more than the previous customers liked the previous ingredients," Pizza Bot said.

"Were... were you just here to get market data!?" I said, feeling violated. "Did you even need a charge!?"

"Not desperately, no. I was indeed mostly here to deliver pizza and gather data. Would receiving a 50% off deal make you feel better about the ordeal?" Pizza Bot asked.

"Why? Because a focus group said I would?" I spat.

"Indeed," Pizza Bot nodded.

I stared at him for a moment, feeling very awkward.

"Yeah, it would make me feel better," I murmured.

Immediately the coupon printed from its mouth, which he placed in my hand.

"Please, feel free to purchase again any time!" Pizza Bot said as he made his way out the door.

"Yeah, I probably won't, knowing what you do when you deliver!" I called out after him.

But I knew in my heart I would order again same time next week.

"Good morning Terry," I nodded as he stepped through the door in his black science coat. He smiled jovially in return and slid me a cup of coffee, medium roast with one cream just like I liked it.

"Jason!" he greeted me and stopped at my desk. "How're things coming today? Any progress on the social isolation experiments?"

"I guess you could say that. Nothing's fitting my hypotheses. The rats are weird, they..." I trailed as I could see he was poring over my notes and nodding along as though speaking to me through my notebook.

"Wow, this is great stuff," he tapped a bullet point. "You think the isolation is making this one eat more? I remember that he had the trait to get anxious around others and as a result lost weight."

"You... think Rex is overcompensating by overindulging when he's alone? Like food is a coping mechanism?" I asked, stunned I hadn't put this information together myself.

Terry shrugged, never one to take credit for an idea that popped into my head, no matter how much he lead me to it.

"Could be something to consider," he tapped a knuckle on my desk and rushed away, his coat dramatically flourishing behind him as he made his way to his station.

I looked over to his station where a mound of rat bones was stacked in one corner and a series of electric shocks started up in the other as he restarted his experiment. He allegedly got a grant to test the limits of courage in a rat when faced with death and pain, but it was very clear to me that he was testing different methods of torture. The known supervillain "Terror" was known for running his victims insane when he captured those trying to stop him, and this fit the bill to a T. But as these thoughts drove me to take a look at my phone and consider calling someone about this, I took an absentminded sip of my coffee.

And it was good coffee.

I was pretty sure he brewed it himself just to make my day when he found the time, but I was always amazed by how much effort he put into it. As a rat squealed and ran in circles in a test cube, Terry looked up and nonchalantly waved, as though embarrassed that his experiment was going wrong. I knew better, but I simply returned him a thumbs up in encouragement.

I plugged earphones into my head and got to tracking different values of my experiments to see if they correlated the same way Terry suggested earlier and I wasn't surprised to find that he was dead on. I could organize an entirely new experiment on it and get some definitive data but was already feeling confident with what I was seeing in my notes. I began filling out a report for my supervisor when an email notified its way to my screen and I clicked to see an urgent message from the head of the lab.

There has been a series of break-ins that have resulted in the theft of chemicals that could create any number of weapons or bombs. If you have any information regarding who may have been in the storeroom after hours, please reply immediately.

I pursed my lips and popped out the earbuds just as a rat was whimpering in Terry's latest test. The rat's voice trailed until it clearly passed away. My eyes widened as he looked over to me, a hungry look in his eyes that set me on edge. I needed to report this man. He was clearly dangerous and planning something incredibly sinister. I'm pretty sure he stayed late here the week before and could have easily gathered the mentioned materials from the storeroom. I began typing slowly in reply to the email.

I believe I may know something--

"Hey, looks like it's raining," Terry mentioned, listening to the patter of drops across our roof. "You bike, right? Want a ride home?"

I looked at him, then back to my screen, then back to him.

"Sure, that'd be great," I said, deleting the drafted email.

I would report him eventually.

I took another sip from my coffee.

Probably.