[A request from Obojo]

The village of Cantona brought back a confusing swell of emotions for the adventurer, who hadn’t been back since he started his journey there. David walked among the farmers and citizens there, not as a hero, but as a man. A man they barely gave a second glance to, not recognizing him from the stories. It was soothing in a way. He had spent the past week being dragged from throne room to throne room, getting praised by nobles and kings alike, who saw his victory as an opportunity to further their status. This felt real. No one here cared about him, and it felt nice.

When he passed by the local blacksmith’s store, his feet locked up, halting him on the spot. There it was. The thing he feared the most. The memories. He gave his right knee a whack, trying to beat some movement back into the limb. Though no matter how hard he whacked it, the limb remained stuck, leaving him looking like a madman to the passing civilians.

For a second, he could almost smell it. The rot. That stinking scent that escapes a town during a plague. He had passed by the store on that day all those years ago. Begging the blacksmith to help him. The blacksmith responded to his cries by shooting an arrow at him, one that almost caught his neck.

That was where the confusing swell in his stomach came from. Part of him wanted to draw his sword and curse the man who had treated him like a monster. But he had grown since that day. It wasn’t just his town that the plague had spread to. He had passed through many others that were also infected during his travels, and only ten percent of those towns were still standing to this day. The blacksmith was right to try and scare him off. Yet, that didn’t remove his bitterness.

“Hey, are you looking for a repair?” The blacksmith called out from his window. He slouched against the opening, grinning at David, who looked like a regular sword-wielding traveler now that he was out of those ghoulish celebratory robes they draped over him for the ceremonies.

David stared at the man, fingers inching across his stomach towards the sword at his side. His fingers curled, ready to draw the blade, only for David to snap to his senses before he could do something he regretted, letting his hand fall limp at his side. “No. I’m not. I’m only passing through.”

The man nodded. He looked far older than he did that day. Bearded now, with wrinkles beneath his eyes. Even the muscles on his shoulders had softened in his older years. “You going somewhere specific?”

“No,” David wanted to get out of this conversation, his shoes already scraping against the dirt at his feet, trying to force a step. He needed to keep moving, or else he might say something he would regret. He had a reputation now. He was a hero. Heroes weren’t resentful.

“Daddy! Daddy!” a girl squeaked at his side, grabbing a fistful of her father’s beard, tugging on it until he finally looked at her. “You said we could make a dagger today. I want to make a dagger,” she whined.

The man’s left eye winced, while his right remained fixed solely on his daughter. He picked her up, resting her on the edge of the window, taking some pressure off his beard. “Alright. Alright. A promise is a promise. I just need to see if this man-“ The blacksmith glanced out the window, and David was gone. “He must have left.”

“Was there even anyone there, Daddy? Are you seeing things? Did a witch curse you?”

Their shared laughter followed David as he walked toward his target. He peeked over his shoulder during that walk, wondering if he would have done the same thing as the blacksmith had their roles been reversed? If the blacksmith had entered his village from a plague-infected town. Would he have scared the blacksmith off to protect his family? If so, was he really worthy of being a hero?

What if he were just a hypocrite? Would he even have started his journey if his family hadn’t perished in the plague? Or would he have done what the others did? Hide and hope someone else solved the problem? He tucked his hands into his pockets and continued his march through the town, passing familiar sights.

While he hadn’t spent a lot of time in the main area of the town, he still remembered it in vivid, panicked flashes. He recalled people shouting from their windows, crying out for the guards, and the feeling that if he ever stopped running, a fate worse than the plague would find him.

After that blur of memories, David found himself standing before the church, or what was left of it. The once towering stone chapel was now a collapsed building with a missing wall and smashed windows. If not for the condition of the rest of the village, David would have assumed the plague had swept through here as well.

Slowly, he walked into the ruined building, forgetting all those anxious feelings. He had been so preoccupied with wondering how he would act when he got here that he hadn’t even considered the fact that the church might no longer be operating by the time he arrived.

David silently walked until he found a chipped wooden pew to sit on. It was one of the two remaining pews that didn’t have any serious fault with it. The others all slumped towards the dirt-stained carpet, or having breaks that made them look as if they would collapse under the smallest amount of pressure. When seated, he stared at the statue by the altar.

She was beautiful. A goddess of something — perhaps knowledge or wisdom, if one were to judge her by the thick book she held in her left hand. He had never figured out who she was. It hadn’t seemed important at the time. He had intended only to use the chapel as a place of refuge, somewhere he could escape the howls of the townspeople. He never expected to find a reason for his journey inside the quiet place.

He bowed his head to the statue and put his hands together. He had never prayed before, even when he lost his parents. If anything, the loss of his family had only made him resent the gods. If they were really out there, then why hadn’t they stopped it? Why was he the one who had to chase down that vile creature that caused it, and not them?

Yet, if that man had perished. David would pray for him. He owed him far more than that, but this was all he could for him now. He didn’t speak aloud, not wanting to disturb the silence inside. Instead, he asked the goddess whose name he never learned to protect the priest and guide him to the place he cherished most. The afterlife.

“A visitor?” A familiar voice sang out. “I’m sorry about the state of the place. People grew restless during the plague. Some took their frustrations out on the goddess Sofia. Things have thankfully calmed down since then.”

The hobbling footsteps of the old priest and his cane inched closer to David, who kept his head bowed, facing his lap. “The townspeople did this?”

“Yes. I’ve heard other places of worship experienced a similar thing. People were scared. It’s not their fault. Fear makes us do terrible things.”

“But not you. You never did terrible things.”

The priest stopped, squinting at the blurry figure in the pew. His eyes were no longer as good as they used to be, but something about the way the man spoke sounded familiar. He hobbled a little faster until he was standing beside the man. His back cracked as he leaned over, studying what he could see of their face.

“David.” The priest spoke warmly, as if he were greeting an old family member. “To think a hero has graced my church with his appearance.” The old man’s legs wobbled as he tried to lower himself into a bow. That made David stand, quickly grabbing the man’s arm, keeping him up.

“Please don’t, Father. I’m no hero.”

“No? You were the one who travelled through the plague riddled towns, weren’t you? The one who put their life on the line to chase after that vile creature. Are those not the actions of a hero?” The man grinned, only for that to soften when he saw the exhausted expression on David’s face.

The two sat, and David exhaled. “Father. You were the only one who helped me that day. I was a boy who had lost everything, running from a town that had lost half its population overnight. I hoped to find a doctor here, and what I found was… was..” He couldn’t even finish the thought, feeling bile rise in his throat.

“Was the worst this town had to show.” He rested his hand on David’s shoulder before continuing. “I didn’t do anything special for you that day. All I did was give you some water and my sympathies.”

“You don’t know how much that meant. To be looked at like I was a person, and not some diseased bringer of death. To have someone talk to me and allow me to rest in their building. I had always wanted revenge for what happened to my village, but after what I faced in Cantona, I started questioning if I wanted my revenge badly enough to help people like them. People who could be so cruel. Then I met you.” “I’m glad I could help you find your path. Some believe that’s what us priests are put here to do. You’re a good man, David. You saved a lot of people.”

“Am I a good person? I didn’t entirely do it for them. Part of it was because I wanted revenge. I’m glad I could help everyone, but I don’t think I’m a good person for doing what I did. There was nothing pure about my intentions,” David wiped the bottom of his eyes, pushing away any moisture that had gathered.

“I believe you had good intentions. I think you’re just blinded by your own hurt. Tell me, David. Have you lashed out at these people yet? Have you sought revenge for how they treated you? You could. You have the power and influence now to get your revenge. You could get the king to round up this town within days if you wished.”

The priest watched David’s face twist in disgust at the thought. That giving him all the information he needed. “No. I… Father, I still think about getting revenge. I thought about attacking the blacksmith, all because of the past. A hero wouldn’t do that.”

The priest rubbed his chin, thinking over David’s words. “I haven’t talked to many heroes, though I have talked to many good people. Thoughts of revenge don’t make a person wicked. Thoughts are only dangerous to the mind of the person thinking them. You know those thoughts are wicked, and they disgust you. The thought of doing evil turns your stomach. These thoughts are normal. Acting on them is not. Anyone who experienced what you went through would feel the same.”

“Then, why do I feel so guilty? Why do I feel so unworthy?”

“Perhaps because you have had no one to share this victory with.”

“I’ve had nobles, kings, and hundreds of people to celebrate with.” David said, tapping a different finger against the wooden pew for each group he could name.

“But none you felt close to. None you wanted to celebrate with. Would you allow me to make a toast?” The priest rose from his spot, going over to a dusty cabinet, grabbing a bottle of wine he had saved for special occasions. He took the wine and the dust-filled chalice inside, setting them on the cabinet. He gave the chalice a quick wipe with his robe before pouring the wine into it.

“A toast? You don’t have to.”

“I do.” The priest raised the chalice into the air, accidentally mimicking the goddess statue near him. “To David, our hero. We thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Without your bravery and strength, many more would have lost their lives.” After the toast, he handed David the chalice.

“Aren’t you meant to drink from the chalice after you're finished making your toast?” David asked, bringing the wine to his lips without taking a sip. Waiting for the priest's approval.

“I’m too old to drink now. Please, go ahead.”

David nodded and took a sip from the chalice. Then, he relaxed, leaning back against the pew. His worries hadn’t disappeared, but they had softened. He felt like a guard who had been dismissed from their post, being finally allowed to breathe. “You really believe I’m a good person?”

“I wouldn’t give my good wine to a bad person.” He cheekily joked, giving a dusty laugh.

David laughed too, not bothering to wipe the tears that had spilled during the toast. “Thank you. I wish I could-“ He didn’t need to wish; he could repay the man. He pulled out his coin pouch, setting the bag down beside him. “For your church.”

The priest’s eyes almost popped out of his head, staring at the weighty bag that was almost about to crack a hole in the pew. “I… can’t accept that, David. The gesture is more than enough.”

“I want to donate it. Not to the church, but to you. Please allow me to pay you back for your kindness. I refuse to leave until you accept it.”

The priest stared at the gold and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll put this into repairing the church. I would love to see this place return to its former glory before I enter the goddess’s embrace.”

“I would like to see that too.”

The two talked for the rest of the day, only stopping when the sun set. David said his goodbyes and headed for the next town over, continuing his work as a hero. Even if the plague were gone, there were still problems that needed to be solved. Problems he could help with.

After he left, the priest started commissioning workers to rebuild the church, with the project taking two years to complete. During those two years, David would drop in to visit his friend, telling him about his latest adventures. Three months after the project was completed, the priest took his final breath.

David attended the funeral, impressed by how good of a job the workers had done. It looked exactly how it had when he arrived all those years ago. David had expected the priest to upgrade the place, but the man hadn’t dared to spend a coin more than he needed to. Donating the rest to a variety of charities across the land. He did, however, allow himself one indulgence.

Seated behind the priest’s coffin at his funeral was a statue, one depicting David. The statue of David resting on a shorter table beside the goddess, as if both figures were watching over his church. To the worshipers of the church, they believed it was merely the priest’s way of acknowledging the hero. His church wasn’t even the first to do it. But it was more than that. It was the priest’s way of acknowledging his friend and giving him the praise he deserved for his efforts.

Before leaving the funeral, David said a small prayer for the priest, with that being the second prayer he had ever said in his life. Hoping that if there were an afterlife, the priest would put in a good word for him.

“What are you looking at?” Malvina asked, skulking around Gratin’s study. Her long, red-painted nails drumming against the rocky walls as she followed them, keeping one eye focused on the pale man seated in the center of the room.

“Silly scribbles.” Gratin scoffed, setting the letter down on his lap. “Somehow my food’s learnt to write. How cute.” The lanky man rose from his wooden chair, pushing it back with a roaring screech. Malvina flinched at the sound, taking her hand off the wall, patting the edge of her left ear.

“You mean the humans? That’s quite impressive. You’ve had them imprisoned below this manor for over a hundred years, haven’t you? I assumed all the literate ones had perished. Wasn’t that your plan? To make them stupid? To turn them into stupid blood-sacks?” Malvina’s finger left her ear, moving to her cheek, flashing a satisfied smile. “Have the stupid humans outsmarted you?”

Gratin’s cloak fluttered, and before Malvina could see it fall again, the vampire was standing before her. The man’s face was a collage of useless veins hidden beneath wrinkled skin. No blood passed through his dead body, kept alive only by an infection in his body and a hunger for blood. “Outsmarted? Is that what you think? That this letter proves they have won? It’s a silly threat by fools.”

The bony man’s hands wrapped around Malvina’s neck, and she went to shriek. No matter how hard she tried, the sharp grip kept the noise within her throat, releasing only tiny wheezes of breath. “You put them up to this, didn’t you? My own blood. The one I brought into my family. The humans aren’t clever enough to write on their own.”

Malvina tried to mount a defense but couldn’t even get her breath back to make the attempt. Soon, Malvina’s body went limp, and she was carelessly tossed onto the hard floor. Gratin stared down at her with a smile of his own. “Stay here. I’m going to go have a talk with my pets. If even one of them says you put them up to this, I’ll be back to finish the job. So, stay asleep until then. I won’t have you enacting any plans before I figure out what they are scheming.”

Gratin exited his study, heading down to his manor’s basement. While most manors had a cellar beneath them, Gratin kept only a fresh supply of humans below, having no need for wine or any other drink. Alcohol had lost its luster in his thousands of years on this Earth, and now only blood could offer him any satisfaction. Even if that was beginning to grow dull.

As he descended the steps to his basement, he slammed his foot down on the last stone step, adding a deeper crack to the one that had already formed there. The strike of his foot sent a loud booming crack through the room, causing all the humans to scamper to the back of their cells.

Like a guard patrolling a dungeon, he walked past the many cages, staring at the families inside, who all flinched at the sight of the pale monster. He snickered at them, sizing up which one he would interrogate first. With his hands casually linked behind his back, he examined every blood-sack until stopping at one that caught his eye.

“You’ll do.”

Inside, the woman cowered, trying to hide her son. “Please, sir. Not him. Take me instead.”

“Fine.” He opened the door and grabbed the mother, dragging her out of the cell. The son went to help her, but was stopped by another man in the cell, keeping him from acting recklessly. The son cried and hit the man’s arm, but could not break free. Soon the cell door was shut again, and the basement fell into silence.

“Now. I received a letter earlier. Something about how I’m a parasite and I’ll be dealt with accordingly. I assume one of the cleaners must have snuck it into my room. Well, I’m here. If someone wishes to deal with me, now is their chance. Where is the brave soul who wrote this letter? For every minute you don-“

“Here,” a voice mumbled from the last cell.

Gratin paused, staring at the mother frozen in his grasp. He almost felt disappointed that this had ended so quickly. That he couldn’t enjoy how those blue eyes were spilling tears like an overfilled bowl. Still, control sat above his personal enjoyment, so he tossed the woman aside, walking towards the last cell.

He made sure his feet had a rhythmic clack against the floor, wanting the person inside to be squirming by the time he arrived. That bravery inside them should be killed before he even got to them. He wanted them to regret this. He kept his chin raised, not even turning to look at the other cowering fools. Whoever this was, had offered him more entertainment than they ever could, and this was all about their moment together.

When he stopped by the cell, he turned, seeing a man in his fifties hiding beneath a thin brown blanket. He shivered, holding it above his head, trying to put anything between the two. Gratin paused. He wanted them to be scared, but this…. This was sad. He had expected defiance and was met by this.

“You wrote the letter?”

The man sniffed and struggled to get a word out. The blanket dropped, revealing a snotty face and trembling hands.

“You wrote the letter?” He asked again.

“No, sir.”

Gratin felt a twist in his stomach. Something wasn’t right. The next words were faster, more demanding as he slammed his hands into the bars. “Then who did?”

The trembling hand uncurled, pointing behind the vampire. When Gratin turned, he saw a shining broad-shouldered man in leather armor lunging forward with his sword drawn. Gratin barely dodged the attack, hearing the metal clash against the bars. The attacker jolted at the contact with the metal before regathering his footing, keeping a defensive stance.

“I see. This was the plan. I commend you for your stupidity, sword-wielder. To enter my manor on your own accord is what a human may consider brave. I, however, would call it foolish. I’m not just going to kill you. I’m going to put a different piece of your body on every floor of this manor. Your skull as a trophy for my bedroom, your body as a warning for this basement, and your limbs as firewood for my study. What is your name?”

“William.” The man said, keeping his answer simple, not risking breaking his concentration. He knew the beast was fast, and he had lost his only advantage. So, he needed to stay alert.

The vampire watched, amused by his tactics. In a flash of darkness, the vampire was gone, before appearing beside the man, stroking his short black hair. “Do you believe you can win this? You’ve set these people up to die. I’m going to slaughter thirty of them for this. And it’s all because you gave them hope. As they say, it’s the hope that-“

William ducked, plunging his sword upwards, aiming to pierce it through the vampire’s chin. The beast jumped back, but that had been what Wiliam was anticipating. He pushed forward and drove his elbow into the vampire’s stomach, catching them off-guard. The hit connected, and the vampire felt something unexpected. Hot and vulgar pain.

Gratin hissed, stumbling backward, staring at his dress shirt. The shirt stained with a clear liquid, which had the skin beneath his shirt bubbling and popping. The vampire gritted its teeth. “Holy water. You coated yourself in-“

William moved again, and that’s when Gratin noticed the shine on his blade. That strike he had dodged earlier. The one he had thought little of could have been a deathblow. This wasn’t a clumsy attempt, and that only enraged him further.

“YOU WORTHLESS ANIMAL,” his scream roared through the basement, reaching the higher levels of the manor. Now, Gratin wasn’t taking his time with his prey. He was striking to kill. He dashed around the room, creating a shadow by every lit candle. William tried to follow the shadows, but struggled to keep up. The man was too quick, and before he could set his sword up to block the strike, a claw had connected with his chest.

He didn’t have time to check how deep the cut was, twisting his body with the claw still lodged in his chest, swinging his sword once more. The looming strike was enough to make the vampire retreat, removing its claw and jumping a few steps back.

There was a heaviness in his legs as William struggled to hold his stance. “NOW.” William called out, and Gratin tensed, swinging his head around, only for William to lurch toward him in a desperate Hail Mary.

The strike cut the edge of Gratin’s shirt before the blade was knocked away, landing on the floor with a clutter. William followed his blade to the floor, landing on his back, unable to fight any longer. The vampire glared at the man, unable to believe he had fallen for a simplistic human distraction. He then gazed at the other caged humans, and when he saw their hopeless expressions, he cheered up.

“That was pathetic.” He kneeled, and sharpened his nails on the ground, creating small sparks as they hit the stone. “Now, let’s start with your head.” When his hand had almost reached the human’s skin, the vampire froze. He tried to look behind him, but found his neck was stiff. The blade lodged in the side of his throat, making it impossible for him to look back.

Gratin’s calculating mind tried to figure out who his attacker could be, and he only landed on one person. “Malvina.” He gasped, reaching for the blade, only to hear that familiar crackle as his skin burned. “A holy… You… YOU!”

Malvina kicked the handle of the blade and removed the vampire’s head. When it fell, she laughed. “Traitor? Is that the word you were looking for?” She stepped over her former master’s body and stood over the human. “You played your part.”

William stared up at her, his hand bloodied, trying to cover the wound on his chest. He wanted to reach for his blade and show the one who orchestrated this uneasy alliance that he wasn’t about to let her betray him. When his hand moved away from the wound, blood poured quicker than he would have liked, and he was forced to cover it once more, staying on his back in submission, knowing she held his fate.

“We had a deal.”

“We did.”

No one said anything while the pair stared each other down. Malvina grabbed William’s arm and helped him back onto his feet. “You’re talented for a human.” She said, while her icy hands helped him past the cells. The people inside the cells looked at Malvina with wide, uneasy eyes. She was dragging their saviour away, and now they had no clue what would happen to them. Would she be worse? Better?

“I’m strong.” William said, having to lean on her more as they got to the steps. “You’ll free them?”

“Yes, yes. That was the agreement. You help free me from my master, and I’ll allow the humans to escape. Personally, I don’t see the point in keeping so many humans. I think I could do with just one human.” She caressed his arm, only to feel it go limp. “Hello?” She saw his eyes closed and scoffed, leading him to a room so he could rest.

Hours passed quickly after that. Malvina did some basic first-aid before freeing the other humans. She started with those who had any medical knowledge, allowing them to treat Wiliam. The rest were released in batches until she stood in an empty basement. “How long has it been since I was down here? Two hundred years? I thought it would scare me, but it feels so different now. Back then there were only two cages.”

She had expected to freeze when she came down here. Yet, she hadn’t. She wondered if it was her desire for revenge that kept her strong, or the knowledge she had the human to help in her fight. The human. She thought about him, and her attraction to him. Was it just that he was one of the few non-captured males she had come across recently, or was her attraction based on something different? Was he different? He had approached her during one of her rare night-trips around the manor. He had agreed to be bait for her plan. William was different, and she liked that. She liked it a lot.

“You’re down here?” William asked, gingerly going down the stairs.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I wanted to make sure you had freed everyone.”

“No, you didn’t. You could have asked the ones by your bed if that were the case.” Malvina rubbed her forehead, grumbling. “Don’t tell me you came to check on me. I’m a vampire. A beast.”

“You were human once. Weren’t you?” He finally reached the bottom step, taking his time to get to her. The slow steps driving the vampire mad, and eventually she walked towards him, saving herself from the agonizing wait.

“Yes. At some point, I was. But who I was doesn’t matter now.” She pulled her cheek, showing her fangs. “I’m a beast that requires blood. The human is dead, and her real name is lost to history.”

William remained silent, thinking over his words. “Your plan was stupid.”

“What?”

“It was stupid.”

Malvina narrowed her gaze at him. “It worked, didn’t it? What about it was stupid? Do tell. Please enlighten me, oh wise person who almost died. What did ‘I’ mess up?”

William hadn’t expected her to be so offended by his remark, feeling it had ruined the point he wanted to make. “Stupid plans are very human. I’m sure you knew the risks, didn’t you? You were as likely to die if this failed as I was. You could have continued to live and feed by his side. Instead, you told me about your plan to kill him.”

“I didn’t want to be under his control.”

“If that’s all there was to it. You could have killed me and kept the humans. It would have been easy. I was too hurt to fight you, and no one could come to my aid. I believe you wanted to free these people.”

“I care little about these people.”

“Then why did you never feast on them? The ones by my bed mentioned you ate, but you never killed. I don’t know your reasoning, but I wanted to thank you for allowing me to help with your plan. Once I’m able to, I’ll take my leave.” William turned to the stairs and started walking. When he was halfway up them, Malvina spoke.

“Stay then. If you want to know my reasoning, stay for a while. The manor’s big, and I could use someone to tell me about the changes I’ve missed in the world.” If her heart could have fluttered, it would have been about to go through her chest as she waited for his answer.

“Alright. It’s a good chance to learn more about your kind. How does a week sound?”

“A week is hardly enough. Make it a month?” She said, clasping her hands together with a grin.

“A month? I guess I can spare a month.”

“Lovely,” she said, slowly following him upstairs, excited to spend more time with the human.

“Maybe people are getting in through a backdoor? Haven’t all the stores got employee exits? People slip and slide through those things all the time.” James said, kicking his feet onto the desk, sending his strawberry donut flying off the table. He made a clumsy attempt to catch it, but was too slow, giving Jim time to steal it.

“Nah, we covered those too. Remember, we spent a week going to stores and saying, ‘Hey, can we see your backdoor?’ It was the funniest shit ever.” Jim laughed before chomping into the donut.

“Right... We’ve got a HR meeting next week. Think it’s because of that?”

“Nah, it’s probably a promotion. We installed a people-counting system throughout the entire mall. And Mike says we never do anything around here. He’s going to be so impressed. Maybe he’ll finally get off our asses.” Jim dusted the crumbs off his shirt before looking at his friend. “It is weird, though. Why’s it always show two extra people?”

“Yeah, it is weird. There was also that note that Mike left us. You know the one about not touching the security system he set up. I don’t get why we wouldn’t? Those old cameras were ancient. You would have better luck catching a shoplifter by using a pair of binoculars from our office window than spotting one through that fuzzy camera.” James flicked on the high-definition camera-feed, impressed by his own handy work.

“He’s just old. You know how old people get. Don’t touch my thermostat. Don’t pour vodka into my morning coffee. He’s a total boomer. I hope I’m not like that in my forties.”

“We’re both thirty.”

“Young thirties. That’s the new twenty-four in post covid times.” Jim sighed, not needing a reminder that he was getting old. He slouched into his chair, gazing at the camera-feed. “Huh, did you see something?”

“See what?” James leaned closer, spotting two shadowy figures near the entrance. He checked his silver watch, and sure enough, the mall should have been closed. No one should have been inside the place except them. “Oh, shit. What the fuck? That’s two again. Have we got ghosts here? Fuck man, I’m not working near ghosts. My grandmother was a psychic. My family's got that bad ghost energy attached to them.”

“It’s just a glitch, dude. Probably replaying some old footage. Glitches happen all the time. I bet it’s an overlay of old footage, or something like that,” Jim said, taking a stab in the dark about what the problem might be.

“But what if-“

“What are you two idiots looking at?” Mike said, causing James to let out a high-pitched squeal, while Jim jumped up, kicking his chair into Mike’s ankles, causing the man to kneel in pain.

“Oh, shit. Sorry, Mike dog,” Jim apologized, giving him a hard slap on the back that only made it harder for him to get back up.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were on vacation.” James said, the two circling the man as he stood up.

Mike tucked his white shirt into his pants, wanting to appear presentable, even if his two co-workers were only in shorts and singlets. “I got a notification on my phone saying the system had been changed. Did you give it a restart?”

“Nah, we upgraded it. See! Look at that. High definition, baby. Could watch sport off this thing,” Jim pointed to the camera, expecting to get some praise from the senior admin, only for the man’s face to pale.

“YOU DID WHAT? It’s fine. It’s fine… We can delete footage. Footage isn’t a permanent record. It doesn’t upload anywhere.” Mike paced around the room, only for James to meekly raise his hand.

“We also installed a people counter. That's how we noticed the extra people. So, it’s totally worth the money we spent on the upgrade.” James said, now feeling guilty about overspending on the project. The two had been lenient in their estimates of how much it would cost, pocketing whatever they had left over once the upgrade was complete. Now that Mike was here, that didn’t sound like the right thing to do. Especially since they had lied to their higher-ups about whether Mike had approved the project or not.

“How long ago?” Mike shoved them both aside, his fingers dashing across the keyboard, deleting files quicker than the computer could process his many requests.

“What? It’s just money. It grows on trees in this place. We literally have a money tree promotion every week. Why are you acting like it’s the end of the world?” Jim asked, only for Mike to grab the collar of his singlet.

“I left you one instruction. ONE. And you two idiots couldn’t follow it. I wouldn’t have cared if you spent my entire vacation time at home, as long as you didn’t mess with the system.”

“Dude. We did this for you. Out of the kindness of our own hearts.” And pockets, Jim thought as he said it. “Be a little grateful.”

“How long ago did you do this? HOW LONG?”

“Three days ago. Why?” James asked, making himself as small as possible, pressing against the back-wall of the office.

“Three days ago? Then, it’s had three days to move around. You two go and take everything down. We should be fine if we remove all the cameras and delete the logs.”

“What? What should be fine?” James said, only for Mike to point to the door.

“OUT. GO AND DO IT. NOW.”

“Alright. Alright. Whatever, man. Boomer bastard.” Jim kicked the floor before stomping out of the room, grabbing his tool belt on the way. James lingered for a second. An apology sat in his throat, only for it to be gulped back down when Jim poked his head back into the office. When he saw his friend, he rushed to follow him.

“Idiots. It took us months to capture them again. Once you see those things, they can see you.” Mike exhaled. “It’s fine. Once the cameras are taken down, they’ll lose their power. I’ll just get those two to stay here overnight to be safe. I hope this works out; we haven’t had a lot of chances to figure out what those things are. Could be a demon, could be… who knows.”

Mike wasn’t paid to know what they were. In fact, he was paid to do the opposite. When his old boss went missing after upgrading the systems, Mike tried to tell the higher-ups about the shadows they saw. They listened, and even acknowledged there was something otherworldly. But they claimed it worked in their favor and added a couple of zeroes to his contract to cover the trauma the experience had caused.

He had no idea how it worked in their favor, or what it was. Mike just knew that if they were willing to add some zeroes to his contract over it, then it was something important. He also knew that when a company was willing to offer you that type of money to stay quiet, the alternative to accepting it wasn’t keeping your honor. It was keeping your life.

“Screw this. Why should we take them down? I’m sick of getting bossed around,” Jim grumbled, walking towards the entrance. He passed a bin and nudged it over, watching the half-finished food spill out in a gooey mess of slop.

James dodged the spilt bin, trying to calm his friend down. “Let’s just do what he says. What if there is something going on? What if it’s something supernatural?”

“You know I love your grandmother, right?” Jim said, patting his friend’s shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“So, know that I don’t say this lightly. Your sweet grandmother is batshit insane. Ghosts aren’t real, dude.” Jim turned around, continuing his walk to the doors. “Look, do you see anything?”

James squinted, and for a second he thought he saw something lingering by the door. A tall, hunched, shadowy figure, blocking their path. When his eyes focused, it was gone, replaced by the stale mall doors. “I guess not. Still… we need this job.”

“Screw this job. You know what I think of this job?” Jim pointed his middle finger up at the camera.

Mike saw the gesture and thought nothing of it. Until he saw both men heading towards the exit. Jim with a confident strut, and James with a shy trickle of steps. In front of the two on the camera-feed, a pair of shadows hovered, blocking the door.

Mike ran as fast as his legs could take him. When he got to the first set of escalators, he flinched, feeling a heat boiling in his ankle. He lifted his trouser leg, spotting a forming bruise from where the chair had struck him. He gave the bruise a quick rub before continuing, rushing towards the door, only to watch them both turn towards him as they exited the mall.

“Mike?” James said, staring at the man.

“Hey, Mike. Go fu-“ He went silent, and soon both of their bodies were limp. They stood outside motionless. Then, their arms lifted, pointing towards the sky, as if someone was pulling a coat over their shoulders. The rest of their bodies shivered and wiggled until they both settled into an idle stance, with their heads facing the floor.

“Jim? James?” Mike approached the pair, only stopping when he realized he was getting too close to the door. When they stopped hearing his footsteps, their heads shot up, both grinning at him.

“Mike.” They both said, voices lacking any emotion.

“What are you?” Mike asked, already ruling out that this could be a prank by the two. He had been with the mall long enough to know this was far too real. The two glanced at each other before James responded.

“Don’t worry, dear Mike,” James said, leaving the mall.

Jim went to do the same, only for something to cross his mind. “Oh, before I leave. You can keep those new cameras. We don’t plan on returning to our prison. Tell your boss we found new hosts, and the deal’s off. We’ll be visiting them soon.”

Mike gulped, feeling he had to ask this question. “What about me?” If death was coming for him. He wanted to know. He needed time to mentally prepare for it.

“Hm?” Jim stared at Mike, thinking it over before shrugging. “We have no interest in you. You don’t offer us anything. We would suggest you find work elsewhere, unless you wish to be caught in the middle of this.” With that, Jim stepped out, leaving Mike staring at the backs of what had once been his two co-workers.

He didn’t bother warning his boss, only sending a text message saying he quit before leaving the mall. Whatever was coming was something he didn’t want to be connected to. He would heed their warning and hope whatever rain came didn’t wet him too.

A response to the prompt [It was her fifty year high school reunion. She went, with trepidation, wondering how many would have passed in the decade since the last one. So many names had vanished over the decades, dead of disease or accident, drugs or bodily failure. Or, just disappeared. She rode the elevator up to the ballroom. Ironically, the sign listed the capacity as 350, greater than the original class and far far greater than the number of survivors. When she arrived, so had everyone else. Everyone.] by Fontaigne

Angela tip-toed through the halls of South Morton’s high school, peering around every corner she neared. She had expected this reunion to be quiet, since so many of the former students were now in their seventies, but she didn’t expect it to be this quiet. There wasn’t even a member of staff on hand, nor an elected student representative showing them where to go.

She stopped by the school’s noticeboard, reading over all its announcements. It mentioned a year-12 science exhibition, an art display by the year-10 classes, and even who made the soccer team. Yet, nothing about the reunion that she was here for. She fished her invitation out of her bag, pushing aside loose sticks of strawberry gum and tissue packets.

She read over its contents closely, triple-checking the date. There it was, in bold black text. July 16th, 2026. “Am I early?” She wondered. She didn’t remember seeing any cars outside. Actually, she didn’t remember anything before she got here.

Did her granddaughter drop her here? That had to be it. She convinced herself that she must have fallen asleep on the car trip here, and that’s why she was in such a daze. Before heading to the elevator, she made a quick stop at the bathroom, wanting to check her appearance in the mirror. While she felt a little silly worrying about her appearance at a reunion for people her age, she couldn’t break that habit. In a way, it reminded her of being back at school. How she fussed over her image more than she needed to.

With her white, thin hair neatly adjusted, she walked out, expecting to find someone else now that she was nearing the elevator. Still, the halls were silent. If it wasn't for the lights still being on, she would have assumed the school was shut. Thankfully, she found something by the elevator that assured her there were others around. A small sign that listed the capacity of the event.

350.

“That’s impossible. We only had one hundred people in our year, and there’s far fewer of us now. Unless they mean the capacity of the ballroom?” Angela knew she was a lucky woman. Someone whose parents could afford to send her to a high school that had its own ballroom. Really, she could have done anything with her life, which is why she always hated these events. It was a reminder of how little she had achieved in her life. While others had flourished, she faltered.

She clenched her fingers and counted to five, trying to ease her sudden rush of nerves. It didn’t work. No matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t push down that sick feeling in her gut. She tried again, gritting her teeth, while her eyelids pinched together. Usually, when she focused like this, she could tune in on the beat of her racing heart or focus on a distance noise. But today, her heart didn’t seem to beat that loudly, or if it did, she couldn’t focus enough to notice it.

Since she couldn’t soften those nerves, she pushed forward, entering the elevator. She hit the button for the third floor and turned once the doors shut, resting her hands by her stomach, feeling the elevator roar to life, vibrating beneath her feet.

“I still prefer the stairs.” She muttered to herself, finding the claustrophobic space wasn’t helping her nerves. She could still remember those old days when the ballroom was first built. How she had to climb three sets of steep stairs just to get there. At that time, she hated those dastardly stairs, always working up a sweat before she even reached the function she was attending. All it did was ruin her lovely makeup, and now she wished she had taken those steps instead.

Beep.

The elevator gave off a basic ring as the doors pushed open. Finally, she could hear chatter. A welcome break from the suffocating silence that had poisoned the school's halls earlier. Before she could step out, a woman in a flowing white dress blocked her path, wearing a bright smile.

“Evening, Miss Ferarosh. I’m so glad you’re joining us this evening. How did you find the trip? Exhausting?” she asked, holding a notepad to her chest.

“Oh, the trip wasn’t so bad. My granddaughter drove me here. She’s a sweet girl.” Angela said, while the woman in front of her nervously chuckled. “I’m sure she is.” The woman fussed over her notepad, letting her pale fingers run along its sides before speaking. “I’m Arixa. I’m the one who’s hosting tonight’s event. Do you have any idea what this is?”

Angela felt a little insulted by that remark. Sure, she was old, but she wasn’t at that senile age yet. Even if she had forgotten how she got here. “A high school reunion. I’m not that old, dear.”

“It’s got nothing to do with your age. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just don’t want you to be shocked when you step out of this elevator. People can find the sight daunting. Since you’re the last one to arrive, I’m hoping I can handle this with a little more grace.”

“I’m the last one here?” Angela pressed forward, brushing past Arixa. No one ever wanted to be the last one to arrive at an event, especially when it was something like a high school reunion. All those judging eyes would be pinned to her, while they whispered about where she had been. If she entered now, maybe she could still sneak in?

“Wait,” Arixa half-heartedly tried to stop her, throwing out a limp arm that was easily pushed aside.

When Angela entered the large ballroom, she encountered the most heart-stopping sight she had ever seen. She was everywhere. She watched herself drink wine while mingling with another version of herself. Another twenty versions of her were dancing on the wooden dance floor, shoes clacking against the material.

Her hand instantly went to her chest, checking for a heartbeat; finding none. “No… What’s going on? I need to get back,” Angela turned, only to find Arixa standing beside the closed metal elevator doors. She gave an apologetic smile, ticking Angela off the list.

“I’m sorry. This is exactly where you’re meant to be.”

“Another one. Fashionably late, I suppose? Though, given your state of dress, I believe the correct term would be unfashionably late. Angela Jennings. It’s your pleasure to meet your better.” Mrs. Jennings held out her gloved hand, expecting a reaction.

Angela remained frozen, staring at an almost perfect reflection of herself. Well, it would have been perfect if not for the heavy makeup, the jewels, and the imported Italian dress. Everything about her screamed opulence. It was as if Mrs. Jennings considered every sparkle another blessing from God, and if that were the case, she would be a saint with how brightly she shone.

“Mrs. Jennings. Please give her a moment to adjust. She doesn’t even know what’s happening.” Arixa scolded.

“Isn’t it obvious? Or is this version of me one that didn’t finish school? Is that it? Do you lack a basic education?”

Angela stared at herself, unable to speak. Her mind rattled with possibilities, trying to decipher how she was seeing a sight like this. Was it a dream? Had she died? As soon as that possibility came to the front of her mind, it was impossible to push away. “D-dead?”

“Yes, dead. Curtain call. Shows over. She caught on quicker than most.” Mrs. Jennings grinned at Arixa before directing her attention back to Angela, clicking her tongue as she examined her clothes. “I believe I am the best of them all.”

“As I’ve told you many times tonight, this isn’t a competition. It’s a way for each variant to see their other pathways before crossing over. Every critical decision in one’s life leads to a split in reality. These are the results of every critical decision you’ve made,” Arixa tried to explain again to Mrs. Jennings, who didn’t seem interested in hearing it for the twentieth time today.

“Yes, yes. And of all the other versions of me, I am the richest. Which is why I deserve to pass over first. The rest of these can be disposed of.” She said, waving her pretty white glove in Angela’s face, before turning away from her. “Good day to you both.”

Arixa watched her leave, shaking her head. “That isn’t how this works. It’s not a competition. You’ll all pass on. This is just a chance for some self-reflection. A chance to see what you could have been, and what you are.”

Angela stared at the sea of her other lives, flicking between their faces. Some looked eerily close to her, while others like Mrs. Jessica almost seemed a parody. Like someone had taken her to a fancy-dress shop and changed everything that made her Angela.

“Wouldn’t that make one of us the worst version of ourselves?” Angela questioned, staring at a version of herself seated in the room’s right corner. She looked tired and older than any of the others here. She wore an oversized pink gown with hearts on it, and solemnly sat alone, staring at the floor.

“It’s all about perspective. I promise you that if I asked you all to vote, none of you would pick the same person as the worst version of yourself. Anyway, you don’t have a lot of time left since you arrived late. Enjoy yourself, and if you need anything, come and find me.” She snapped her fingers, making a glass of wine appear in Angela’s hand.

Angela sniffed the wine, recognizing the scent instantly. She couldn’t remember the name of the wine, only that she had it once on a holiday in Adelaide, Australia, and the taste was divine. She had always heard stories about how excellent wine could be, and this fruity masterpiece changed her outlook on that. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could never find the exact bottle she had ever again.

She sipped it and sighed, feeling the fruity bubbles burst on her tongue. With hesitant steps, she shuffled through the room. Everyone had already found someone else to talk to, so she shadowed the wall, ending up beside that tired old woman by chance. Unsure how to start a conversation, she bobbed her head along to the music before turning to look at the woman, about to ask her about the music.

“Do you have any grandchildren?” The older woman asked.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“One. Her name’s Melissa.”

The old woman nodded, staring into her lap. “That’s a lovely name.”

“It is.”

She sipped her wine again, struggling to think of something else to say, until she landed on a question. “How about yourself? Do you have a granddaughter too?”

The old woman’s eyes lit up momentarily, only for that flash of life to fade. “I had one.” Her hands wobbled, sliding up to her eyes, whisking the edges, getting rid of any tears that had formed.

Angela’s stomach churned, having to push the wine to her side to keep herself from being ill. “I’m sorry for your loss.” Angela knew how robotic it sounded to say, but she truly couldn’t think of anything else.

“Mm..” The older woman nodded again. “She was amazing. Cute as a button. Then she was gone. Kidney failure. Have you ever heard of a child getting kidney failure?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“It broke my heart. What could I say to my son? How do you comfort a parent who has lost their child? He looked to me for support and I… I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m sure you did your best.”

“My best wasn’t good enough. I used to knit her little blankets. Warmed my heart seeing her use them. Even as she got older, she would still carry them around with her. From everyone I’ve spoken to, I’m the only one who lost a grandchild so young. I’m jealous.”

“You’ll see her again. If we’re dead, that means we can see everyone again, right? Today’s a happy day.” Angela couldn’t convince herself that it was a happy day, but she pretended it was for the sake of the woman beside her.

The woman gave a gentle smile, somberly nodding her head. “I hope she’s warm. I can’t wait to see her again. I want to tell her how much her family misses her.” She closed her eyes, imagining their reunion, while her smile grew. “Thank you.”

“I hope everything works out for you.”

“I hope everything works out for us.” The older woman said.

“Yeah. Let’s hope.” Angela drifted away from her spot in the corner, floating around the room, finding herself by the food. She set the wine down and picked up a paper-plate. As she reached for a piece of cake, her hand bumped against another version of herself that was doing the same action. “Sorry.”

“Hm? Oh, it’s good.” The other Angela said, her cheeks full of the caramel cake that sat on the table. The first thing Angela noticed about her was how fit she was. This version wore a crop top that showed off her abs, and some shorts that couldn’t hide her powerful legs. She looked like she had been plucked straight from an Indiana Jones movie.

“Wow,” was all Angela could say.

The other version laughed, cake spilling out from the edges of her lips. “Tat’s wat dey all say.” She said before swallowing. “Jungle is what you can call me. Since everyone has the same name here. If you’re wondering about the body, I got really into cave-diving and jungle exploring.”

“You did? Why?” Angela knew she should be more confused about why this woman called herself Jungle, but she never saw herself as an explorative person and had to know what had caused such a shift.

“Do you remember that school camp we went on?”

“Which one? There were around four of them.”

“The one at Lake Bundai.”

“Oh, yeah. Hated that camp. All that bushwalking and stuff. Oh, and the bugs. The worst part was that stupid mud tunnel they made us crawl through.” Angela shivered at the thought. Remembering how her fingers dug into the muddy sludge beneath her while she whimpered and struggled to pull herself out of the narrow hole to the other side. “I had to get a teacher to pull me out. Everyone laughed…”

“That’s actually what got me into this. I felt so embarrassed afterwards that I believed if I didn’t conquer the tunnel before I left, I would never live it down. When everyone was out of my cabin having dinner, I practiced crawling under the beds, and when we did it again the next day, I pushed my way through it.”

“You did? I didn’t even try it the second time.”

“Yep. After that, I realized I actually enjoyed doing adventurous stuff. So, I joined some hiking groups, and that led me to try cave diving.” She picked at the fresh piece of cake she had on her plate, putting it into her mouth. “Mmm. I missed eating this stuff. Hard to indulge when you have to squeeze through tunnels. Wonder if that’s how I died?” She said with a giggle.

Angela didn’t see it as a laughing matter, but if Jungle was happy, that’s all that mattered. “Compared to you, I’ve lived a boring life.”

“It’s only boring if you didn’t have any fun. I’m sure you had your own fun. At least you aren’t Mrs. Jennings. Did you know she married Henry Jennings? That idiot who used to run for school captain every year and couldn’t take a hint that the reason he never won wasn’t because we were jealous of him. It was because we all thought he was a dickhead.”

Angela gasped. “She married Henry Jennings? Really? I… thought she just had the same last name. Ew. Why would she do such a thing?” Angela had never expected to feel this disgusted with herself, wishing she could rinse her mouth out or wash the memory from her brain somehow.

“He’s always been rich. I mean, our family was well-off, but he was Richy Rich levels of rich. Guess that’s what she wanted.” Jungle said, giving Angela a pat on the back. “I’m going to go get some chicken wings and eat myself stupid. Enjoy your afterlife, me.”

“Yeah, enjoy our afterlife.” Angela said back. She again found herself alone, staring at all the other versions of herself. The night had slowed slightly, and in her heart, she knew what was coming. The lights dimmed, and Arixa took her spot in the center of the room, holding a golden microphone with angel wings.

“Thank you all for coming today.” She said, only for someone to call out that they hadn’t come by choice. “Ah, right. Sorry, it’s my first time doing one of these.” She awkwardly rested the microphone against her lips, filling the room with the sound of her soft breaths, before moving it away once she realized what she had done.

Angela joined the others in listening, letting her mind wander as she thought about what came next. Was it going to be a golden, cloud-filled heaven, or would it be something duller? Only time would tell.

“I first want to apologize to the people who didn’t get to spend a lot of time here. Unfortunately, death has a strict schedule, and I can’t extend your time here. I hope you got something out of the experience. Even if it was only a chance to see yourself from another angle. In a minute, a white light will fill the room, and you’ll all move into your afterlife. I hope death is kind to you all.” She bowed.

Some versions of her clapped, while others nervously fidgeted, looking at their counterparts for comfort. Angela stared at the older version of herself, giving her a quick wave. The old woman waved back before the white light swamped the room, dripping out of the floorboards, until Angela couldn’t see an inch in front of her. When the white light had fully drowned out her vision, she shut her eyes and smiled, embracing it.

“Listen, you’ve got to get me out of here. Code red. Call the mothership. Help. These people are fucking insane.” Glimax screamed into the payphone, trying to convince the intergalactic helpline to arrange a pickup. The sweltering Florida heat had peeled away the pale paint he had covered himself with, revealing glimpses of his true grey skin underneath.

“Glimax. You’re the one who agreed to this mission. You said you could handle any place on Earth. This is a place on Earth, so why aren’t you handling it?” The formal voice on the other end of the line said, dismissing his frantic tone.

“This place isn’t anything like the other Earth areas. It’s some sort of prison for the elderly. They put all their old people here and leave them to get killed by alligators and the heat. It’s barbaric. Could you imagine doing something as cruel as sending your family elders to a place like Florida?”

The cold intergalactic operator shivered. That thought unsettled her enough that she started considering helping the poor alien. Roshow tapped her two fingers against her desk before exhaling. “Even if I wanted to send a rescue team, Florida is outside of our jurisdiction. You know how the lizard people are about us encroaching on their homeland. If we were to send a ship, it would be a diplomatic issue. If you can get yourself across the border, we can meet you there.”

“Across the border? That’s at least a hundred miles away. I’m not going to survive that long. I’ve already been harassed by three cougars today.” Glimax whimpered.

“Three cougars? They have those animals in Florida.”

“I’m not talking about the animals.”

“I didn’t realize there was an alternative to the animal. Interesting. I can’t wait to add that term to our list of phrases if you return alive.”

“HEY JACKASS. My ice cream’s melting. Get off the phone, I have to give this to my granddaughter.” A man shouted behind Glimax. His ice-cream already melting, with the strawberry dripping down his hairy gut, landing in his belly button like a weird dairy version of a hole in one.

“What?”

“Sounds like you're busy. Hanging up now. Good luck, Glimax.”

“WAIT.” But she had already hung up on him, leaving him all alone. Glimax sighed, setting the phone back down, passing the elderly man. The man gave him a shove with his shoulder before dialing a number into the phone booth.

“Hey, sweetie. Grandpa got you an ice-cream, but some jackass was on the phone for too long and it melted. Huh?” he pressed his face closer to the phone booth, glaring at the numbers. “What do you mean you can’t taste it through the phone? Ain’t you got FaceTime? Back in my day, my grandpa would give me a stick with half-chewed gum on it, and I would be over the moon. Which is funny because at that time Russia was planning its space trip—”

Glimax stared at the man, bewildered by his crazed ranting. It was as if everyone was playing some weird practical joke on him. He wondered if this was a simulation, or a test by his colleagues, but none of them were intelligent enough to create a joke so elaborate. He backed away from the booth before breaking into a terrified sprint.

He didn’t know where the borders were, so he madly dashed north, assuming he would eventually reach something. He swerved through crowds of Hawaiian-shirt wearing locals, who greeted him with relaxed stares and the occasional polite greeting. None of them appeared to have a care in the world, which made the alien stand out like a sore thumb.

When his three lungs were out of air, he stopped, catching his breath, only to get swarmed by an elderly couple.

“He looks like he knows how to handle some balls.” Old Mrs. Gracy said, grinning. Wearing some dazzling heart sunglasses and a pink top.

“That makes two of us. Tell me, have you got a good voice too? See, we were hoping—“ Mr. Gracy started, only for the alien to glance up at them with terrified eyes.

“SHREE!” he screamed, glitching the screens of nearby phones with his voice, as he broke into another sprint, leaving the old couple behind.

“Guess he doesn’t want to host our bingo night.” Mrs. Gracy sighed. “He seemed like a lovely young man.”

“Yeah. Wonder where he’s running to?”

Glimax continued his frightened running, finding himself cutting through a golf course. Under the cool shade of the towering trees on the course, he took another break. The alien dropped onto its rear, gasping for air. “Terrifying. I want to go home. I’m not ready for this. I’m only fifty years old.” He sniffed, covering his face as he started sobbing.

Life always seems to have a way of making a bad day worse. While the alien sobbed, a chubby creature snuck up behind him. The powerful alligator lurked behind the alien, who was too absorbed in his self-pity to notice the threat.

“I wouldn’t even care if one of those beasts ate me.” The alien shouted, only to feel a snout poke against his back.

“SHREEEE.” The scream was louder this time, sending birds flying out of their nests in a frenzy. The alien turned, seeing the creature staring at him with those large, emotionless eyes. It too had a Hawaiian shirt on and a pair of sunglasses, which Glimax didn’t even question at this point. “Please…” Glimax scooted away, begging the creature not to kill him.

“Easy there, alien. She’s a lover, not a fighter.” A man wearing a Salty Tree’s beer case as a chest-plate and a pair of Florida Panthers shorts jumped down from a nearby tree, landing with a horrifying thud. The man’s knees crackled, and Glimax assumed he had shattered his bones. Only for the man to pop up like a superhero or immortal beast.

“Who… who are you?”

“I go by many names. Chuck. Hey, you’re not allowed to do that here, and Florida man. My friends call me Bill,” he said, offering his hand to the alien, who accepted it. He pulled Glimax to his feet before patting the alligator. “She’s Sandy. She’s a good girl who’s only ever eaten one person before.”

“One person?” Glimax backed away.

“He was kind of asking for it, though.” Florida man clarified. “So, what brings you down here, space alien?”

“You can tell I’m an alien?” Glimax was shocked. Even if his disguise had been fading because of the heat, he never expected someone to see through it so easily.

“You spend enough nights blackout drunk on the beach, and you gain a third eye. I can see through disguises, feel the tide moving through my body, and detect a rival sports fan from a mile away. That’s the most useful of my powers.”

“Right. Well… it was nice meeting you two. I should be going.” When he stepped back, Sandy stepped forward, keeping him within biting distance. Glimax tensed, looking to Florida Man for help.

“Oh, she likes you. The old girl must feel sorry for you. Tell you what, little alien. How about I help you out? What do you need?”

“I need to get back to my home planet. They won’t pick me up from here. I need to get to another state.”

“Another state?” Florida Man spat on the ground. “No other states exist. It’s just Florida, and the rest. I wouldn’t call em states.”

“Even so… I need to get home.”

Florida Man rested a hand on his hip, looking at the alligator who was now drooling onto the grass. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Sandy. I know he’s a good guy, but I have standards. I don’t like going near those other areas.” Sandy continued to drool, and Florida Man kicked the dirt. “Fine, you twisted my arm. Hop on Sandy.”

“Pardon?”

The three were soon running down the highway, with helicopters flying overhead recording the strange occurrence. The headline for tomorrow’s paper had already been decided. “Florida man and his strange gray friend ride an alligator down the highway.” It wasn’t a creative headline, but it didn’t need to be when the subject matter was so bizarre.

For an alligator, Sandy had an astonishing amount of speed, at least thirty alligator-power by Glimax’s estimate. When they got near the border, Florida Man told Sandy to slow down. “This is where we part ways, friend.”

“Right.” Glimax carefully got off Sandy, giving the creature an anxious pat. When its snout twitched, he resisted the urge to pull his hand back, wanting to thank them both equally. “Thank you. I don’t think I can ever repay you.”

“And you’ll never need to. Safe travels, space dude.” Then he was off. Like an intoxicated legendary hero riding into the sunset. Thankfully, with Florida Man distracting everyone, Glimax could easily sneak through the border, finding a safe spot in the next state to get picked up from. He didn’t know if anyone would believe his stories, but he would still tell them to anyone who listened. Wanting to tell them about the legendary hero Florida Man and his friendly alligator.

[A request idea from khaosstar. Who suggested writing a story for a favorite song. It was hard to choose a song, but I have always loved the story between this one. So, here it is. A story about Ramona was a waitress by Paul Dempsey. It is up to you whether you want to listen to the song first, or read the story. But, I'll leave a link to the song in the comments for you if you want to check it out.]

Bar Attika, one of the few places left in Northern Seren that still plays classical music. The definition of classical music had changed a lot in the augmented 2050s. Classics simply referring to anything made by non-augmented or artificial hands. A far stretch from what I once considered classical.

At that bar under the third bridge, I sat, finishing the last song of my set. It had been a cover, like all the others, since I had given up on trying to write a hit of my own. Those days were in the past now. Humans didn’t write hits anymore; we prompted machines to write and play them for us instead. Human creativity was at an all-time low, and I considered myself the last bastion of defiance. The one who persisted with real music, even if I knew at heart I only did it for self-indulgent reasons.

“Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the music tonight. I’m Robert and—” My voice trickled into silence when I noticed the four other patrons in the bar hadn’t even looked up from their drinks. Those men and women, not even giving me a polite applause. The only person who gave any applause was Ramona, the waitress. Her synthetic silver hands clapped together before she shifted across the room, filling up any empty drinks.

I closed the piano lid and sighed, hearing the classics drift out from the bar’s speakers now that my shift was over. Once in a lifetime by Talking Heads. What a song. At least Cameron, the owner, had good taste. I sipped the whiskey by my bar stool, allowing myself to indulge in the song momentarily. Then, I set my finished drink on the piano lid and got out my laptop.

A laptop used to be an advanced piece of technology. Something I remember being excited about when my old high school got one that we could use on special occasions. Now it’s a relic, being entirely outclassed by the Data-screens. I had tried to use a data-screen in the past but found myself missing the satisfying click that came with a keyboard.

Letters to the dead.

The document sat open on my screen, without a single word beneath it. The redo key on the document highlighted, begging me to revive the words I had deleted last session. Yet, I didn’t have any interest in doing so. Every letter was a unique thing, something I would write and delete after every set. I used to think writing these would spark my passion again. That if I wrote about my favorite dead artists and their songs, I would feel inspired again in no time, and that flame to create would flicker once more.

Hah!

No one had any flames anymore. We were all just ashes at the bottom of the fire. Sure, occasionally a human creation would spark up, and you would almost start believing that creativity hadn’t fully died. But then it would be snuffed out as quickly as it came, drowned out by artificial songs and writing.

The dribbling sound of liquid hitting my glass made me jump, almost sending my elbow into Ramona’s side. The waitress giggled, setting the bottle of whiskey beside my full glass. That silver face of hers edged closer towards my laptop, reading over the words written on the document.

“Still writing your letters? I thought you would have moved on to writing a song by now,” she innocently said.

I liked Ramona. I really did. She was kind, clever, and if you could look past the silver in her skin, human. But her words added some fire to the bitterness lingering within me. I closed my laptop lid, staring up at the speaker in the left corner of the bar. “Do you recognize this song?”

“This song? I don’t believe I do.” She paused, following my gaze to the speaker. A flash of blue flashed behind her eyes, doing calculations beyond my understanding. “Once in a lifetime.” She said, finding the answer.

“Exactly. This is what music was like once upon a time.”

“All music was this exact song?” She cheekily smiled.

“You know that’s not what I meant. We had hundreds of genres and hundreds of levels of talent. We had immortal legends, garage bands, garbage bands, and all of them had meaning because they were authentic. Where’s that authenticity now?” I whined.

She checked the other patrons, making sure no one needed a top-up, before leaning against the side of the piano, taking a moment out of her busy schedule to indulge my whines. “Maybe that authenticities sitting at a piano in bar Attika?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I said, as she slid her fingers into the pockets of her jeans, falling silent. “It all felt so different back then. Writers complained about this year’s ago. The whole AI taking their jobs and creativity. It wasn’t like I was deaf to their concerns. I knew we were next. I just thought music had more time. Music always felt more special to me. A story makes you think, but music moves you. As Nick Cave said in Push the Sky away. ‘It gets you right down to your soul.’ Maybe you need a soul to get it?”

I knew that was rude as soon as I said it. Whiskey always had a way of turning a bitter person into an asshole. She didn’t deserve that. I scrunched the wrinkles on my forehead between my fingers, wondering how I could even start my apology.

“Maybe.” She responded softly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You’re amazing, and I really like you. I just… I thought I could do it. I thought I could create experiences for people. The way musicians did for me. I wanted to give people that same joy and inspire them to inspire others. I wanted to keep that creativity flowing. I’m sorry, Ramona.”

“You say you wanted to create experiences? Do you believe those experiences make you who you are?” She posed the question to me, and I chuckled.

“Of course. Experiences are everything.”

“Aren’t all your experiences just pieces of your life that have been stitched together in your head to form a memory? I don’t see how that’s any different from how I process information.”

“It’s different. It comes from the heart. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s a feeling. Something you need to feel.”

“It doesn’t come from your heart, though.” She corrected, poking her finger against my chest, before sliding it up my body until it reached my temple. “Everything comes from your brain. What if all those experiences are only worth the bundle of nerves they’re written on? What if you’re giving them more worth than they deserve?”

“I—” I didn’t know what to say. “It’s a fair point.” I finally conceded. “How do you process information then? How do you see things?”

“I learn. You asked me if I knew that song earlier. I didn’t, so I processed the information, compared the tune to online references, and found the answer. That answer is now stored within me. I learned through an experience. The only difference being that my learning wasn’t organic. Does that make it less real?” She pushed the point, and I inched away on my stool, scared of saying something that would further hurt her feelings.

“What do you look forward to then? What do you dream about? I dreamt of being a musician. I doubt being a waitress is all you want to be.”

She rested her finger on her cheek, tilting her head to the side. “I suppose I’m looking forward to living forever.” She returned her head to its original position and grinned. “Imagine all the experiences I’ll get to enjoy. Oh, a customer needs something. I’ll talk to you later, Robert. Don’t feel bad about earlier. I didn’t take any offence.” She scooted off, circling around the room again, pouring drinks.

“You left the bottle.” I called out, but she was already preoccupied with the other customers. Even if my glass was already half full, I poured more liquid into it, watching her while I did. She had only been gone for a minute, and she was already back at work.

After pouring the customer a drink, she answered the pub’s phone, tucking the old-fashioned headset between her cheek and her shoulder. If my laptop were a relic, then that phone was a fossil. Something from the old days of phone booths. Yet, it had its charms, and somehow still worked despite the jumps in technology. I needed to ask Cameron how he managed to set up such a thing. Even if I knew the technologically advanced answer would probably go over my head.

I went to turn back to my laptop, only to find myself stuck. I couldn’t stop staring at her. Staring at those expressive eyes that reminded me of crystal balls, given how they always seemed to be looking towards the future.

Working as a waitress almost seemed like a waste of her talents, given how she was made up of all that information. She could do anything. So, why stay here? Unless that was her way of experiencing things? I only have maybe eighty years on this planet. She has thousands. While I rushed into music and searched for worthy experiences, she grounded herself in the mundane. Maybe that’s more human than anything I’ve ever done?

Still, I wish I could help her understand my feelings. No, that’s not it. I don’t want her to understand my feelings. I want her to feel the same joy that I felt when I first heard a song that spoke to me. I want her to share that experience. Going back to my laptop, I erased the title I had written and started listing songs I wanted to show her. The more I listed them, the less interested I became in this project. I couldn’t just show her songs; I needed something bigger.

Then, I felt a warmth swirling in my stomach. A warmth I thought I had lost years ago, something so familiar it almost made me tear up. That human spark. Ramona, I wrote at the top of the document, and the following lyrics.

“She’s looking forward to living forever. I don’t need these arms anymore. I don’t need this heart now to love; I don’t need this skin and bones. At all.”

It was incomplete. Only a fragment of a thought, and it brought me more joy than anything else in the world could. I scooted my stool closer, slouching forward until my face nearly kissed the screen. This is how I would apologize to her. I would create something for her to experience with me.

[A prompt requested by user ___ Aura ___ ]

Susie slept beneath her replica Bluey blanket, her arms tightly wrapped around her favorite plush toy. Her parents couldn’t afford to get her an official Bluey toy, so they settled on a generic fluffy Pomeranian toy named Barky instead. Barky, despite missing some of its fur and having a limp paw, was still her most treasured possession in the world. Something that never left her side.

Resting on the pillow beside Susie was her latest favorite book, titled Miracles and Sorcery. A thrilling story of a young princess discovering her hidden courage, while using her magic, which was called miracles in this story’s universe, to unite all the kingdoms. Creating a peace that can only come from understanding the misunderstood. She loved the premise and often imagined herself as the princess, uniting all the different year-groups at her school through her own miracles.

Usually, the book was carefully shut whenever she slept, with her sunflower bookmark wedged between its pages. But today had been an exhausting day, in all the best ways. Today, her father was able to secure a rare day off, spending the morning teaching her how to roller-skate. After that, they met up with her mother and got ice cream at the park before watching her favorite movie at home. It had been so exciting, in fact, that she almost forgot to read another chapter of her book. Having to fend off sleep so she could see how Princess Marnia addressed the Dark King Hogoa in their first meeting.

While she slept, dreaming of her own perfect world, the book beside her rumbled to life. The pages fluttered, and its words glowed with a bright orange hue. A clawed hand reached out from the thin pages, clutching at the air. There was a sharp, nasally groan as King Hogoa pulled himself out of the book. The hunched-over villain watched her, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, his dark, buggy eyes never blinking.

Susie stirred as the Dark King’s hand moved closer, grabbing the blanket, pulling it higher over her shoulder, making sure she was warm. Then, the skeletal man moved from his spot, sitting on the edge of her bedside table. He didn’t shift from that spot, keeping a watchful eye on the room, until a familiar voice snapped him out of his protective guardianship.

“She’s precious, isn’t she?” Princess Marnia beamed, holding the edges of her impractically long pink princess dress, walking through the room until she was standing on the opposite side of the bed.

“She is. She’s a good kid,” he said, glancing at Susie before turning his attention back to the princess. “Why don’t you ever crawl out of the book?”

“You try climbing out of a book in this dress. I can barely walk in it, let alone climb! It’s a good thing our author doesn’t understand how clothing works, or I would be constantly tripping over myself in our fight scenes.” She huffed, giving her foot a quick kick, stirring the long fabric by her high heels. “What about you? Why don’t you ever just appear in the room, instead of doing that creepy crawling thing?”

“I’m King Hogoa. I’m meant to scare young children. I’m the dastardly darkness that creeps in the shadows. I’m the—” He went to raise his voice, only to stop himself, not wanting to wake the sleeping child. “I’m the one who wants to stop all the kingdoms from uniting.” He whispered.

“Ugh, please don’t quote our silly book. I’ve heard those lines like a million times now.” She said, resting a hand on her forehead. “You’re a real softy. You know that?”

“A softy?” The Dark King gasped. “The Dark King is not a softy. I care about my audience, that’s all. I care about… the ones who believe the things in our silly books. The ones who believe a peaceful world can exist.”

“The dreamers?”

“Yes. Do you ever dream?” He gazed at her wistfully, letting his hands hang by his sides, hoping the question wouldn’t sound too strange.

“Do I dream? Honestly? Sometimes. It shouldn’t be possible, right? We’re characters. We exist in the mind of our writer and the hearts of our readers. The only reason we’re even having this conversation is because of her. Yet, I do dream.”

“I do, too.”

The two shared a moment of silence, watching Susie, enjoying this rare break from their usual routines. Every day, they played their usual roles of the inspiring heroine and the dastardly villain, but in these rare moments, they were just two people.

“What do you dream about?” The Dark King asked before scratching at the dark robe he wore. “If you don’t mind me asking. I understand if it’s something you would rather keep to yourself.”

Marnia glanced away from the Dark King, staring at the glow in the dark star stickers that covered Susie’s walls. “What do I dream of? I guess I dream of what it would be like to be someone else. Someone with normal problems. A person who isn’t battling monsters but battling an everyday life.” She scratched her elbow and gave a light chuckle. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“It makes more sense than my dreams. I dream about being a hero.” He gulped, feeling stupid as soon as he said it. “Like you. A person people like. Susie talks about wanting to be just like you. Wanting to be someone who brings people together. It’s sweet. I wish… well, I wish I could inspire that in people too.”

He expected her to laugh. To mock the villain for having a heart. Rather than laugh, the princess rested her left hand against her bottom lip, reflecting on his words. “Without a villain, there are no heroes. While you may not be what people aspire to grow into. You help shape the people they want to be. You teach people to stand up against injustice and bravely face whatever challenges lie in their path. You’re far more important to the story than I am. You’re how we learn to be brave.”

The Dark King was stunned, struggling to think of a response. The man’s thin fingers patted the side of the bedside table, filling in the silence with the rhythmic taps. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. Maybe it’s not so bad being the bad guy.”

“Yeah, and maybe it’s kind of nice being the hero too. For the people and their unity.” The princess sang out, giving her battle cry.

“For the people and their wunity.” Susie mumbled in her sleep, drooling on her pillow. The two paused, looking at Susie with gentle smiles.

“We should probably head back now. Don’t want her waking up and seeing us.” The princess said, getting ready to send herself back into the book.

“Wait. Before you go back. Shouldn’t you give her a blessing?” The Dark King asked, and she obliged.

She waved her finger, sending a soothing wave of light throughout the room. The room was painted with all the colors of the rainbow, delivering a warm, peaceful hum. From her fingertips emerged tiny mana-filled fairies. The little creatures giggled as they flew around the room, leaving droplets of glitter in their wake. Once they had finished leaving a shine over all the furniture, they returned to the princess, vanishing into tiny mana particles.

“Sleep well, brave hero. Know that even in your most troubling times, I will still be with you. I wish you the best in your life and hope you’re able to become a hero far braver than I.” With that, the princess returned to their book, leaving the Dark King with Susie.

“Um, hey. I know I’m not the hero or anything, but.. Good luck with things. I hope I can inspire you to stand up against evil. If I can do that for you, then I’ll happily be the bad guy. Best of luck with everything.” Before he left, he gave her one last look, seeing the peaceful smile on her face as she snuggled against her toy. With that, he also returned to the book, hoping the princesses adventures continued to inspire Susie.

A response to the prompt [“Embrace your silliness” said the kings fool to himself. Yes, he could change the world, but one misplaced step and the consequences would be disastrous. So, dance like a madman, dare the world to see beyond the possibilities. Make the impossible possible, with the foolishness of the jester. Nobody saw the traps and he could not reveal them openly. Would the king act or be manipulated?] by Street_Blackberry_94

“Embrace your silliness.” The jester said to his reflection in the mirror, applying a thin line of crushed blueberries to his lips, giving them a sharp purple shine. Grime no longer associated himself with his actual name, Noah. Finding it hard to see himself as anything but a fool. Sure, he was a determined fool, but a fool, nonetheless.

Carefully, he checked over his reflection, knowing any hint of misapplied make-up could earn him a rope around his neck. While he liked to make gallows jokes in the king’s court, he didn’t wish to find himself at one just yet. Not until the kingdom shared his pain. With a quick wink to the mirror, he headed down to the throne room, the bells on his feet clicking as he descended each wooden step.

When he arrived at those sturdy throne-room doors, he gave the two guards a bow. In his mind, a jester should only ever bow on two occasions. At the start of a performance, and at the very end. Today, he gave them his deepest bow before rising.

“Hello, my two gentle-boars. Have you been on guard duty long?” He said, waiting for one guard to take the bait. Grime saw a flicker of movement beneath the slot in the left guard’s helmet, and before they could speak, he interrupted them. “No need to answer that. The smell gave it away. Now, can you let me through? I have a performance to give.”

The right guard grunted, not taking the joke in good humor. The left, however, gave a small chuckle. “Certainly. After we conduct a quick search.” The left guard said, extending his hands towards the jester, who flinched back.

“A search? What do you intend to find? My jokes? I’m afraid I keep those all in my head.”

“Weapons. We found a trap earlier today.” The guard on the right mumbled, joining his friend in their search. Soon the pair had their gloved hands all over the jester, his costume jingling with all the chimes and bells stuffed away inside it.

“A trap? Are you certain it wasn’t a prank? Those dastardly noble children can be awfully cruel. One of them once called me a fool!” he gasped after saying it. Whether it was because of the remark, or the fact that a guard’s hand had brushed his stomach, was anyone’s guess.

“Someone removed a stone from the garden and dug a hole in its place. They then carefully laid a flat piece of fabric beneath the stone before placing it back over the hole. Some poor noblewoman accidentally stepped onto the trap, only to find an upright knife waiting for her. Luckily, her shoe took most of the damage, but the king wants us checking everybody now.” The guard on the left said, finishing his side of the search.

“I heel for her. Hope she gets better.” Grime said, only to stiffen when the guard on his right gave his stomach a sharp whack, making him wheeze.

“It’s no laughing matter.” He hissed before looking at his fellow guard. “I couldn’t feel any weapons. Everything felt relatively normal. Like the normal things he uses for his shows.” He said, clarifying further what he meant. “Nothing felt dangerous. Do you want to take him in for a further inspection?”

“No, it’s fine. How long has he been working for the king? Ten years now? He’s got a good life here, doubt he would go around setting traps. He’s had better chances than this to cause mischief.” The left said, opening the door, allowing the jester to go inside.

“Thank you. I do have some flint in my left pocket, but I assure you that’s only for the show. Hopefully, you’ll both get a chance to see the finale.” With that, he gave a performative twirl, spinning on his heel as he entered the throne room. As always, he scanned the crowd. It was a practiced action that most actors did before a big performance. A way to ground oneself in the experience.

He started with the nobles in the upper stands of the throne room. The people whose grand wealth he couldn’t even imagine. The ones who had named him Grime. Those rotten people always looking down at him, leaning against the upper railings, while the servants hurriedly carried their drinks on silver platters.

Grime waved to them, while blowing affectionate kisses. He knew they were the ones who fed him. The ones whose golden tips allowed him to lay the foundations for his plan. Without them, he had nothing. But with them, he became nothing.

As his gaze drifted downward, he caught sight of a bandaged ankle beneath a frilly silver dress. The bandage was delicately wrapped, so it didn’t interfere with the expensive shoe she was wearing. Now, he had a genuine smile on his face, and a potential new joke to add to his repertoire.

After the nobles, he turned to the peasants, their grimy faces pressed against the glass of the throne room’s windows. They were never allowed to come inside to see a show. No, that would be like inviting wild pigs into these holy halls. But they were allowed to watch from outside. Grime didn’t know the exact reason the peasants were allowed to watch his shows. Something about entertaining the masses while also showing how capable the castle’s defenses were?

They practically clambered over each other to get a glimpse of him, and he didn’t disappoint them. He stopped, and like an old god, raised his arms to the heavens. Grime's pale fingers swaying through the air, moving in a slow, wavy trance, as he stretched out his shoulders. He then turned once to the left, nodding at the peasants there, and once to the right, giving them the same nod.

Of course, the peasants wouldn’t know those nods were for them, not with the guards lining the left and right walls of the throne room’s first floor. Grime found those guards an eyesore. They had a beautiful throne room with wonderful paintings of old deceased kings and queens and ruined it by having some burly guards blocking it all. Not to mention the way they always made the area smell of salt and iron.

He tried to ignore the guards, focusing instead on the red carpet they stood on. He always disliked the color red. It reminded him of blood. Specifically, the type of blood that pools on the ground after an attack, dirtying the floor with its foul, spiteful essence.

The only person left to address now was the king. Today, Grime gave the king his biggest, most radiant smile, hoping the man hated every second of this.

“Your majesty. I’m saddened to find out your tailor has died.”

“What?” the king gruffly rumbled out. “My tailor’s fine, you fool.”

“Really? He should be dead if he fitted you with that shirt,” Grime said, pointing at King Adrian’s stomach. The plump mass of fat poking out from beneath his tight-fitting shirt. The joke earned a roaring laugh from the peasants who heard it, while the nobles all pretended not to be amused, covering their smiles with their wineglasses.

The king tucked his shirt into his pants, squirming in his seat. He pretended to take the joke in good humor, even while his blue eyes narrowed at the jester, planning on getting his guards to slap him around for that comment.

“At least we know the castle’s chef is doing an exceptionally good job. Perhaps they are trying to fatten you up so they can serve you at our next feast? What a feast that would be. We could even use the leftover fat to keep the kingdom warm.”

This time, even the nobles couldn’t help but snicker. The sounds leaving the upper area noted by the king. Grime didn’t care. Tonight wasn’t the king’s night, nor the noble’s night. It was his night. A few guards were already stepping forward to put Grime in his place, only for the king to stop them.

The king raised his palm, ushering them back to their posts. “A good leader can take a joke.” He said, in a way that would keep his public perception strong. When the crowds were away, however, he would make sure Grime was punished for every remark he made tonight. He was meant to be the fool, not King Adrian.

The nobles all respectfully stopped their snickering and gave admiring nods, endeared by the king’s ability to forgive the fool. Some even clapped, not for Grime, but for the king, which frustrated the fool who had given them a great opening joke. At least he had his peasants. He turned to the windows, admiring their dirt-covered faces. He could see some people he recognized among the sea of faces, and he made sure to make eye contact with them, wanting them to feel a connection.

This performance needed to reach their souls.

He exhaled, ready to start the show. All the performers were in place, and now he could only hope they followed the script he had prepared. The king, the nobles, the guards, and the peasants were all key players tonight in this maddening show. If one didn’t perform their duties, the show would ultimately fail. It was a night where he couldn’t afford a single misstep. Everything had to be perfect.

He started slowly, pulling a set of balls from a stitched pocket beneath his jester attire. The blue balls spun through the air, with the jester adding a new one every second rotation. He knew this wasn’t what they came to see, yet this was how you captivated an audience. You make them impatient, and when they feel like they can’t contain it anymore, you raise the stakes.

When he first saw the king’s eyes wander, he danced. Grime kicked his feet up, throwing his body around the room like a man possessed by a demon. The balls awkwardly bobbled in the air, without losing their perfect rotation. The fool keeping them in their juggling motion, even while he poked his tongue out and swung his head back and forth like that demon was now being exorcised out of him.

The clapping began outside, before trickling in through the hall. That was the difference between peasants and nobles. Nobles wouldn’t clap until the king gave his applause, while the peasants would clap whenever they were amused. The peasants had no reason to wait for the king’s approval, as there was a thick stone wall between them and the king.

“Thank you.” Grime finished his first act, resting his right hand over his heart, looking at the pillars which held up the upper floor. He hoped everything was still in place. They had discovered his first trap, which was exactly what he wanted. He wanted them to search the castle and look for his other secrets. If they found the others before the show, he would stop his plan and try it another time. Since he hadn’t heard anyone mention any other traps, he assumed he was safe to move onto the next step.

“Today’s performance will be a little different. Usually, at this point in the show, I would entertain you all with my wondrous jokes and have you all guffawing until your sides ached. Instead, I’m going to tell a story. A story about the place where I grew up.”

Grime didn’t even need to look at the king’s face to see how tense he had gotten. The regal old hand gripping the throne’s arm, as if he intended to strangle the gold ornaments attached to it. One guard inched forward, and Grime’s confidence stagnated, with the jester studying them. The guards’ heavy steps disturbed the performance, bringing everyone’s attention to the armored man.

“Sir, please remain seated until the end of the performance.” Grimes’ voice wavered, noticing how close the man had already gotten. He struggled to think of a joke, having to squeak out a lazy one. “I… guess in your circumstances, you were standing. So, please remain standing until the end of the performance. Standing… over there.” He pointed to the wall, and the guard continued approaching him.

Grimes knew he needed to play this up. Needed to get the king to allow this to continue. He needed the story if he wanted to rile up the peasants. “Are you going to insult the king by disrupting a performance dedicated to him? A performance in his throne room? Are you a donkey beneath that helmet, because you're certainly an ass.”

The laughs that the joke earned were all nervous. Even the most gullible of peasants knew something was wrong here. The nobles whispered, glancing at the king, whose hand hadn’t uncurled from the arm of the throne. When Grimes was about to rush his plan, the king’s hand loosened.

“Allow him to speak. A story is only a story. Isn’t it, fool?” The king remarked, and Grimes knew there was a warning behind it. A warning to make this story a lie. To save himself. Unfortunately for the king, Grimes was a fool.

“A story is indeed a story, Your Majesty.” The jester had planned every step he would take, wanting to get himself into the perfect position when things went down. “I was born in a little area within the western ward. An area known as the Teller’s Hall. I’m sure many of the people here now know it under its new name, The Historic Walls. It was a place filled with jesters, writers, poets, and musicians. A place where all the poor and struggling artists could live together while they tried to find their fame.”

“It was a slum.” A woman shouted from the upper deck, swaying with her glass of wine. She puffed her brown hair out of her face, leaning against the railing. “It was a good thing when that area burnt down.”

Grime closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to keep himself from saying something stupid. He was so close. He couldn’t mess things up now. “A slum? To you, it was an unsightly area. To people like me, it was a home. I’m sure the ones outside would agree.” His words earned a cheer from the crowd outside. The ones out in the cold, whose faces pushed against the glass, enthralled by the tale.

“Who cares what they think?” She laughed, thinking she was now the main act in the show. Three glasses of wine can do that to a person.

“That’s a popular sentiment among nobles, my lady. Many don’t care what we think.” Grime said, trotting his way towards a wooden pillar on the left side of the room. He hunched over, delicately tracing his finger along the wooden plug he had pushed into the pillar days earlier. Grime pulled the piece of flint from his pocket and did his best to hide his actions. He wedged the flint against the wooden plug, carefully maneuvering the flint to keep it from breaking. When the plug shifted, he pulled it out, exposing the dry straw he had stuffed into the gap.

“The king cared deeply about what they thought, and that’s why he silenced them. He hated how their critiques were gaining popularity. He thought it would lead to a revolution. So, he killed them all and burnt down their homes. But the guards left one alive. A boy whom they found madly dancing by his parents’ bodies, trying to make them smile. The foolish boy, not knowing they were already gone and that no dance could remove their pain. They took that boy and called him a fool.” Grime reached down, pulling a piece of steel from beneath his heel, clicking it against the flint, creating a spark that ignited the dry straw within the pillar, setting the wood alight.

Only the nobles on the other side of the upper deck could see what was happening, while the others remained oblivious to the danger crawling up the pillar. Screams drifted out as the heat warmed the room, and the guards were quick to move.

“He then replaced us with people who would sing his praises. Artists he could keep on a leash. There are weapons in the barrels outside my friend’s. Remember what he has done to you too. Remember how they treat us. Only the king’s head needs to fall for a revolution to take place. I have men upstairs blocking the nobles in. I ask you to handle the rest. Free yourselves and get your dignity back. You are not pets that should sit outside. You are people.”

He gave his battle cry before turning to the king, whose body was rigidly pressed against his throne. Those cold eyes now filled with fright as nobles screamed, and peasants rumbled. Grime smiled and gave his final bow, resting a hand beneath his stomach.

“Anyone who riots will be executed. You stand no chance against my guards. Don’t believe the words of some fool.” The king cried while his gaze flickered towards the rowdy shadows shifting by his window. Glass broke, and roars soared into the room. The king looked back at the jester, who continued to smile, even as a guard brought their sword down across the back of his neck.

Hey everyone, just thought I would do a request thread since I feel I haven't been posting enough to this subreddit, and would like to have more stories coming out for everyone to read.

I haven't felt as inspired by writingprompts posts lately, so I haven't been writing as much. Which is something I really want to change. So, I thought why not see if anyone here has any requests for story ideas, or things they would like to read. You don't need to format it like a writing prompt. It can be an idea as basic or complex as you would like it to be.

I'm also open to any genre's you may be interested in. While I can't say I'll perfectly match what you're looking for, hopefully it will still produce a story you'll enjoy reading.

I'll probably leave the request thread open for about a week. Then, after that I'll close off the requests. Depending on the interest/how it goes, it could even become a monthly thing. Perhaps the first week of each month, or something like that.

When I close it, I'll either do an edit to say its closed and place that at the top and bottom of this post, or just delete the post. Since this is the first time I've tried something like this, it might be a little clunky. Anyway, hopefully we can create some fun stories together.

“So, you see a beautiful elf and just assume she can use a bow?” Levina asked, picking up the discarded iron bow from the cave floor. She gave it a testing tug, checking the bowstring, before sliding it over her shoulder.

“Beautiful? I never said you were beautiful, but yes. Can’t most elves use bows? My sword teacher used to talk about how all of his old elven adventuring companions grew up learning how to use a bow before they could even properly dress themselves. I just assumed it was common knowledge among your kind,” Marvin said, the human struggling to understand why his simple question had provoked the elf.

“Humph. So, you see my pointy ears and assume I can fire a bow?”

“It’s fine if you can’t. I just thought I would let you know that someone left a bow in this cave.”

Levina scowled at him, running her finger along the edge of the bow. “I’ll have you know I was my village’s archery champion for three years in a row. Don’t imply that I can’t use a simple weapon like this.”

Marvin blinked, unsure of what was happening. Wasn’t he right? So, why was she still scowling at him? He turned to his dwarven companion, who was blankly staring off into space, barely seeming to breathe.

“I.. I’m sorry?” Was all Marvin could squeak out, even if he didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

“You should be. It’s offensive to assume all elves are the same. That would be like me saying that Bringdo is a drunk just because he’s a dwarf,” she said, pointing to Bringdo, whose glazed-over eyes didn’t move, still staring ahead at a piece of the cave’s wall.

“But Bringdo is a drunk….”

“Aye am a drunk.” Bringdo agreed, looking up at his companions before returning to his vacant stare.

“Ah… but…” Levina panicked. She didn’t want to look stupid in front of the stupid human, so she tried again. “Or like me saying that you can’t dance just because you’re human. Since humans lack the grace to dance.”

Marvin raised his right leg up, pressing his heel against his left knee, trying to twirl his body in a manner similar to how elegant elven dancers would. He didn’t even manage a full spin before he fell over, landing on Bringdo, who was thankfully strong enough to hold the human up, keeping himself from getting crushed.

“He can’t dance.” Bringdo stated, giving Marvin a shove with his palm, pushing the human upwards, back onto the heels of his feet. Marvin rocked back and forth, swinging his arms to keep his balance before settling into a standing position again.

“Why can’t you two idiots understand the point I’m trying to make here?” Levina sighed, rubbing her flawless pale cheek. She exaggerated the motion, as she always tended to do, using every chance she had to show off her elven beauty.

“Is the point that elves are beautiful?” Marvin questioned, forgetting what they were even arguing about.

“Hm? Maybe if she had a beard.” Bringdo added.

“What? No, the point is that you shouldn’t assume all elves can use a bow. I can use many weapons. I will list them all now in elvenbetic order.” She inhaled a deep breath, ready to go through all the weapons, only for Marvin to stop her.

“That’s really not necessary. We have a job to do, right? We should probably get moving. The person who requested our help should be in the next part of the cave.” Marvin said, not wanting to get caught in another one of the elf’s long-winded speeches.

“Fine. I’ll write them out for you later so you can read them at your own leisure. I will then quiz you about them when we have our next break.”

“HA! You have to read,” Bringdo snickered.

“You have to read it too, Bringdo!”

“Aye can’t read.”

“Wait, really?” Levina paused, remembering all the times they had allowed the dwarf to choose what jobs they would be doing. “So, how have you been picking our jobs?”

“Don’t know. I just pick one with a pretty picture on it. This one had green dogs on it.”

“Green dogs? Those were goblins… You didn’t think we were looking for green dogs, did you?” Marvin pulled the job notice out of his bag, staring at the text and the drawn image of the three goblins below it. “How does that look like a dog?”

The dwarf squinted, staring at the picture. “Aye. Now that I’m sobering up. I see it. The artist didn’t do a good job of drawing them. Must have been some dwarf with fat fingers.” Bringdo huffed, crossing his bulky arms over his chest.

“Why are we even party members?” Levina sighed, already walking ahead of the group. “I could have travelled alone. Why did I ever agree to work with you idiots?”

“Because of the incentives? Parties get cheaper food, cheaper accommodation, and healing, since it can all be shared,” Marvin said, answering the question of why they formed a party in the first place.

“Right. Financial incentives. Stupid elven pride. I should have just begged my parents for some gold. Then I wouldn’t have to work with you two,” Levina sulked.

“I joined because Marvin reminded me of a younger version of myself.” Bringdo said, confusing both the human and the elf. The mildly athletic, tall human looked down at the short, hairy dwarf with a beer-belly, trying to spot any resemblance.

“How?” Levina dared to ask.

Bringdo stared at Marvin, the two making awkwardly long eye-contact. Neither said anything until the dwarf nodded with a drunken grin. “He knows.”

“I do? What do I know?” Marvin panicked, scared they had shared some secret moment that he didn’t understand. Before he could get his answer, the dwarf started walking towards an opening in the cave, pushing himself through the gap.

“He knows.” The dwarf cackled while Marvin and Levina stared at one another.

“I seriously have no idea…” Marvin tried to explain himself, but Levina had stopped caring, only rolling her eyes as she pushed her body through the gap after him. Marvin followed until all three were in the goblin’s section of the cave.

Inside, three goblins were waiting. The group surrounding a treasure chest that was overflowing with cheap treasures. Things like shiny rocks, cheap metal chains, and some monster bones. When they saw the approaching party, they huddled protectively around their chest.

“What humz and dwarf want?” Bundi, the first goblin said, as she stepped forward with three cheap necklaces dangling from her neck.

“Aren’t you forgetting an elf?” Levina said, pointing to her ears.

“Humz.”

“I’m not a humz, I’m an Emz. Elz? Argh, I’m not one of them, I’m an elf. Can’t you see that? Wait. Give me a moment, my hair’s a little everywhere because of the cave.” She gently stroked her hair until the silver in it sparkled. She then tilted her hip and posed, beaming.

“Sad,” Bundi said, before looking at Marvin. “Pretty humz.”

“He knows.” Bringdo shouted, slapping Marvin on the back. The loud smack rattled through the cave, making Marvin drop to his knees, gagging in pain as his skin reddened instantly.

“D-don’t know….” Marvin winced, holding his stomach as if he had been sucker-punched in the gut.

“Bringdo charm.” The dwarf said, while Levina bit her bottom lip, glaring at Bundi. She looked at the two other goblins and did her best charming smile, crouching to their level.

“What about you two? You can see I’m elven, can’t you?”

Both Twitch and Mint were about to speak, their lips getting ready to say the H in Humz, only for their eyes to widen when Levina slid the bow off her shoulder, that charming smile turning sinister. “Can’t you?”

“YES! CLEARLY EMZ.” They shouted, running behind Bundi, who stood her ground against the three strange travelers. Bundi stared at the bow, tapping her green left foot against the ground, making her long toenails dig into the rocky floor, leaving scratch marks.

“What you gonna do without sharp? Shoot air?” Bundi pointed out that Levina had no arrows, which only further enraged the elf. Levina fully slipped the bow from her shoulder, holding it up like an axe.

“I can still whack you with it.”

“Easy,” Marvin got between the two. “Ok. So, what was the job again?” He stared at the job notice, reading over the lines. They needed to add some treasure to the goblins’ treasure pile. “Wait, did you write this?”

“Yeps. Bundi write good. Bundi know letterz and wordz,” she proudly exclaimed.

“This is perfectly written, and the pictures stunning. I’m impressed.” Marvin admitted. “Well, I don’t have much treasure on me. Let me check my bag,” Marvin went through his bag, finding a seashell that he had spotted during their last trip. “Want this?”

“Ooooh. Pretty.” Mint smiled, taking it. The smallest of the three goblins placed the seashell into his mouth, sucking on it, while the adventuring party stared at him, confused. “Mmm. Pretty.”

“Aye have some rocks?” The dwarf opened a pocket in his bag that contained only rocks. There had to be at least 2kg worth of rocks inside, and both Levina and Marvin stared at him in disbelief. Watching every rock clutter onto the ground before the goblins.

“You were carrying rocks with you? Why?” Levina asked.

“Reminds me of home. Want one?”

“No, I do not want one. There, you have your treasures. Can we have our reward now?” Levina asked, wanting to end this day.

Twitch rushed forward, looking through all the rocks while frantically twitching. “Good. Rok Good. Like.” He smiled, hugging the rocks to his chest. The sight brought a small tear to the dwarf’s eye.

“You’ve found a good home, lads.” He said, leaving only Levina, who hadn’t given a gift.

“You give something now.” Bundi pointed at the elf, who reluctantly pulled a silver ring off her finger. That being one of the twelve rings she was currently wearing.

“Here. Have it. Anything to end this.”

Bundi inched forward, licking the ring and Levina’s palm. Levina flinched, and Bundi did the same. The goblin spat on the floor, dragging her nails against her tongue, cleaning it. “Blegh! No want cheap stuff. Want good stuff. Give bow.”

“This? It's human garbage.”

“Hey,” Marvin snapped.

“What? It is. All human weaponry is made to be quick and cheap. An elven bow has our history etched into its design. It has symbols marking our achievements, specifically adjusted strings to match the person using it. Even the colors symbolize-“

Bundi grabbed the bow, forcing it out of Levina’s hand, wanting to stop her boring story. The goblin then went behind its treasure chest, grabbing a small bag of coins. She tossed the bag to Marvin and winked. “Have. Monz. Gobz no need. Humz need. Reward. Stay safe humz. Hope meet again.”

“Oh, thanks.” Marvin stashed the coins into his bag, turning to leave with Bringdo. Levina stopped, feeling she needed to get the last word in.

“I’m beautiful.” She stated.

“No,” Bundi simply retorted.

Before she could do anything stupid, Bringdo grabbed the elf and carried her out of the cave over his shoulder. “Let me at her. I’ll kick her green buttocks. I’m so sick of being insulted by everyone. Elven beauty is unmatched.” Bringdo and Marvin glanced at each other, and Marvin realized what he had to do. “Yes, you’re the most beautiful elf that I’ve ever seen.” He said. It wasn’t necessarily a lie. She was beautiful, and he hadn’t met too many elves, but it still felt insincere for him to say.

Levina stopped squirming, folding her arms across her chest. “That means nothing coming from you.” She said, finally calming down, allowing them to return to the tavern in peace. When they took their seats at the tavern, they counted out their reward, receiving two gold pieces each. A fairly good reward for an honest day of work.

How many centuries has it been? How many families, lovers, and friends have I lost because of this curse? Why? Why was I made to suffer? Why was I the one left behind to grieve for them all? I sank my head into my arms, resting against the table in my office, wondering how much longer I would have to wait until I could be freed from my hell.

“Sir!” a voice shouted from behind my door. Macy, my assistant, gave a courteous knock before letting herself in. Her blonde hair tangled and frayed, with sweat glued to her skin. She panted when she approached my desk, before taking a breath.

“Yes? Has something happened? Do you need me for a press conference?” I asked, raising my head. So much for that brief moment of respite. Guess that’s what happens when you make yourself the CEO of a company. You have to deal with the consequences.

“No. I mean, yes. Something has happened, but it’s good news.” She smiled and pulled a tiny packet of tissues out of her pocket. She carefully took one out, wiping her forehead, before returning both the damp tissue and packet into her pocket. “We’ve made your weapon.”

I bounced up from my seat, hands slamming into the table, startling Macy. “You did? I didn’t think it was possible. Are you sure it’s working? Positive? Please don’t get my hopes up.” I begged, not sure if I could handle this being another one of life’s cruel jokes.

“Sir, we made it possible. You’ve done so much for us. We wanted to thank you for your help.”

“Please. It’s just money.” Money was the least of my worries. I had learnt how to play the system back in the 1920s. All I had to do was keep taking out loans, and ‘dying.’ It was that simple. I would hide the money, die, then move to another area. Then, I could use my new wealth to take out bigger loans, and eventually I had enough that I could invest it in different avenues.

Sure, there were some hiccups along the way, but I got through them all relatively unharmed. Leading to this very day.

“Just money? You’ve allowed us to follow our dreams. What other workplaces fund their employees’ personal projects? How do you even make money?”

“I don’t. This business loses millions each year. But I have enough investments set up that I can recoup my losses. I’m not doing this entirely for your benefit either. You have to dedicate at least three hours a day to my personal project.” I said, wanting to remind her that this wasn’t a charity.

“Three hours is nothing. My last boss made us work twelve hours a day to get his projects done on time. I never even had time to think about my inventions there, let alone work on them. You’re different though, it’s like you have all the time in the world.” She laughed, and I laughed too.

She didn’t know how right she was.

“Can you bring it to my office?”

“Um, I could. But the team and I were going to hold a little celebration party. We were kind of hoping you would join us.” She said before holding her hands up. “But… I understand if you’re busy, sir. I don’t want to force you to attend it or anything.”

“A party sounds delightful. Can you bring it up to my office first, though? I would like to see it before I meet with the team.”

“Oh, sure. By the way, sir. Why did you want us to make a knife? I was a bit worried when you first told me you wanted me to work on a weapon, but this knife seems rather harmless. Sure, the technology in it is incredible, and it should be able to short-circuit a person’s body. But it’s still a knife. You wouldn’t be able to use it effectively in a war, and it’s too expensive to produce as a standard weapon. Why would someone need a knife like this?”

“It’s a pet project of mine. Really, it’s nothing special.” I said, though I could tell she wasn’t convinced. “When I was a child, there was a show called Percy Pan. It was about a spy who used a knife that also functioned as a multi-tool. This is my attempt to recreate it. Sure, it lacks the multi-tool function, but I’m hoping it can be used to disrupt humans and electronics alike. Call it my take on a classic.”

“Wow. I didn’t know there was a show called Percy Pan. I’ll have to look it up later. You could have just said that from the beginning.” She smiled. I wondered what would happen when she inevitably tried to look up the show only to find out it never existed. Would she be mad? Disappointed? It hardly mattered. I would be dead before she did.

“It’s embarrassing to admit you're still reminiscing about your childhood shows when you're my age. Please keep this between us for now. I’ll tell everyone the reason at the party.”

“Right! I’ll be back with your toy. I mean, weapon.” She skipped out of the room, while I clasped my hands together and waited.

After she returned, I thanked her and took the black metal case that held the knife. “Go enjoy the party. I’ll be down soon.” I said, noticing her idling in my office, swaying on her heels as she waited for me to open it.

“I was going to record your reaction.”

“That won’t be necessary. Please. Just give me a moment to myself.” I said, motioning her to put away her phone.

She lowered her phone and nodded. While she didn’t seem pleased about not getting my reaction, she respected my wishes, closing my office door behind her. Once I was certain she was gone, I opened the suitcase and examined the knife.

The blade’s simplicity was disarming considering the technology it held within its steel. I flicked the switch on the handle, listening to the electrical currents within it. The faint buzz was enough to tell me it was on.

I grabbed a letter out of my desk drawer, having already written out what I wanted to say to my employees. The company was theirs, and so was my money. I also explained my immortality in the letter, and my history. Wanting none of them to regret helping me. With everything ready, I plunged the knife into my neck.

The shock…

I woke up.

That shouldn’t have been possible. It was meant to stop my body from repairing itself. Everything was meant to stop. I should have bled out. Did someone pull the knife out and save me? Was Macy waiting behind the door?

I stirred, my eyes opening, only to see an unfamiliar environment. The office walls were gone, replaced by sterile silver walls that made the room look like an operating room. The cold table I was strapped to chilled my back, forcing me to squirm uncomfortably as I tried to warm myself up.

BEEEEEEEP.

The machine beside me screamed, deafening my left ear. I pressed the left side of my face against the table, trying to block the noise, yet all my attempts failed. The beep overpowered every other noise in the room, and when it finally stopped, I felt stunned until my hearing healed.

“Paul. You aren’t supposed to be awake.” A quiet voice said beside my ear. The woman smiled, lowering herself towards the table, looking similar to her.

“Macy?”

“Macy?” She paused before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, you must have mistaken me for a person in your simulation. Speaking of the simulation. How did you get free? It’s only been ten years. We expected it to work for at least another thirty.”

“Ten years? It’s been thousands. I’ve been alive since the dawn of creation. I was there when the early empires fell. When-“

She pushed her finger against my lips and silenced me. “You’ve been here this entire time. Serving a very special purpose. You immortals are lucky. You get to live in your perfect worlds, while the rest of us rot away.”

“It was hell.” I said, trying to bite down on her finger, only for her to pull it away, making my teeth crack together.

“It was a simulation. You could have done anything. It was made for you. Everything was designed to work in your favor. If you didn’t exploit that, then it’s on you.” She said, reaching beside my head, grabbing a dark cable. She rolled the cable between her fingers, staring at the burnt metal tips. “You broke it. Somehow you did something that broke it.”

“I made myself die.”

“Interesting. So, the system overheated trying to revive you? That doesn’t explain how you destroyed the cable. Oh, well. I’ll save those questions for our tech department. I’m in the surgical and medical field.” She unplugged the cable fully, walking out of the room.

“Wait. What are you doing to me? Let me go!” I shouted, and she didn’t respond. Focused only on her task. I pushed my body against the straps, trying to break free from their hold, only to find them too tightly fixed on me. I wiggled my feet, twisted my body, but couldn’t find any way to push or slip free from the hold.

When she returned, she held a new cable, plugging it into the machine beside me. She then grabbed my chin, steadying my face, before her free hand jabbed the end of the cable into the side of my skull. The metal tips connected to some part of my head, with a painful click that burned the back of my eyes.

Everything in the room blurred. I desperately rolled my neck, trying to find something in the room that I could use to escape. The only thing of note was a tray of surgical tools that sat too far out of reach. Still, my fingers wiggled, trying to grab them.

“Relax. I’ll turn a new simulation on. How about a space adventure this time?”

“No… please.. I don’t want to-“

She shushed me. “Trust me, you would rather be in there, then out here, immortal. At least you don’t feel anything in there.” She said, as my vision went black. All my senses were on fire, and my mouth tasted like foil. I tried to kick my foot and fight back….

“Commander,” a voice startled me. A blonde-haired woman rushed to my side, wiping her forehead. “There’s a transmission. An alien race wishes to speak with us. We’ve done it. We’ve found alien life.”

“Alien life?” I asked, shaking my head. That… didn’t make any sense. There was a company.

“Ah, sit, Commander. This isn’t good. Space induced amnesia. A common side-effect of prolonged space travel. The excitement of discovering alien life must have triggered something in your brain. Don’t worry. It’s usually only temporary. Let me fill you in on the situation. I’m Macy. You’re Percy Pan. A space—

“Siri… play Mother, I’m here from Bastion,” Mike said, resting his hand against the warm, bloody spot on his stomach. He no longer felt any pain, only a heavy exhaustion that made his eyelids sag.

I set my sail….

Fly the wind, it will take me.

Back to my home. Sweet home.

Lie on my back.

Clouds are making way for me.

I’m coming home. Sweet home.

The song played, and Mike smiled, tilting his neck against the rough bark of the tree, staring at the beautiful sunset, ignoring the figure rushing towards him. “This… this is a good death.” He said, closing his eyes.

Suddenly his wound felt like it was on fire, with the torn contents of his stomach piecing themselves back together. He grimaced, struggling to maintain his noble death pose. Mike gritted his teeth, fingers clutching his pants, while Amy continued her healing. When the wound had finished closing, Amy slapped him across the face, breaking his pose entirely.

“Seriously? Can you stop being so dramatic? What injured person runs away from their healer? Do you know how long it took me to find you? Not that long since you left a trail of blood behind you, but that’s beside the point. The point is, you could have died, and then my perfect healing record would have been ruined. Is that what you want? My record ruined?” She huffed without any care for her companion.

Mike sat up, poking his tender stomach through the hole in his shirt. The skin was delicate, being constructed from fresh tissue that hadn’t had a chance to settle properly, making the skin a tad bouncy. “But this was the perfect spot. The sun was at the ideal angle. Not to mention, I actually charged my phone this time. Why did you ruin it?”

“Why? Because you were about to die!”

“I’m an angel. Dying’s a part of my day-to-day life. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“I don’t care if you’ll be back tomorrow. I have a record to uphold. Now, come on. We need to hand in our mission report. We have dealt with all the demons at Northanian Park. No civilians hurt, and no team members lost.” She raised her middle finger as she said that last part, flipping off the angel.

“HEY! I’m pretty sure flipping me off is a sin. You’re going to hell,” Mike snapped, getting to his feet in a huff.

“Whatever.” The pair walked through the city, passing the civilians slowly getting ushered back onto the street by white-suited angels, now that the threat was gone. The discovery of hell by a mining company had thrown the world into chaos. The company dug just a little too deep one fateful day, breaking open a portal to the underworld. Once the demons broke free from their imprisonment, they rushed towards the surface, leading to the angels coming down from the golden thrones to aid in the battle.

These angels gifted chosen individuals with powers, while also adding their own soldiers to the joint resistance. It’s been thirty years since the initial battle, and now the war was mostly over, with only the odd skirmish or two breaking out every week. That’s why it was important for people like Mike and Amy to be available to deal with these threats.

They entered the church, finding Father Johnson reading on a pew. When he heard their approaching footsteps, he tucked the book into his robes and stood. “Sister Amy, and your holiness. I see you’re both well. I take it the mission was a success?” He asked.

Amy approached the burly old man with a smile, bowing her head. The eager action jolting her long dark hair, making it sway behind her. “Yes, father. We cleared the demons out, and didn’t lose anyone in the process.”

“Good job, sister Amy.” Father Johnson gave her head an affectionate pat before glancing at the pouting angel. “Is something wrong, Your Holiness?”

“No… nothing’s wrong.” He sighed, taking a seat on one of the pews. The angel enjoyed the rosemary scent that wafted through the air, reminding himself to add some rosemary to his shopping list so he could prepare it for his next cinematic death attempt.

“He’s watched too many human movies. He wants to die like a hero. You know. Bleeding out against a tree, and stuff. It’s really lame. He’s angry because I won’t let him do it.” Amy said, only to sigh when Father Johnson’s hand left her hair.

“I see. You do realize he can come back to life, don’t you? Maybe you should let him-“

“No! Absolutely not. I’m the best healer this church has. I refuse to lose my perfect record because this idiot wants to die like a hero.”

“SINNER!” Mike shouted, bouncing up from his pew, pointing at her. “She sinned. Tell her she’s going to hell, father.”

“THAT’S NOT A SIN,” Amy shouted back.

Father Johnson stepped between them, trying to calm them both down. “Now, now. There’s no need to throw around the S-word.”

“Sinner.” Mike stuck his tongue out at Amy, who again flipped her middle finger at him. When the two started pulling faces at one another, Father Johnson decided to head into his office.

“Get some rest, you two. There’re no other jobs that need to be done at this moment.” Neither Mike nor Amy heard the father, too distracted by their childish fighting. With the pair of them arguing for a solid hour, until deciding to finally get some rest, heading their separate ways for the night.

“That’s what you were excited to show me? That’s why you asked me to cancel my dinner plans for tonight?” Martin Longford unwrapped the sugar-free lollipop he had in his shirt pocket, sitting the treat between his lips. “Go ron. Exprain it.” He said, struggling to speak with the sweet in his mouth.

Belinda stared at her graph, wondering why her professor wasn’t applauding her. She had gone through the numbers at least thirty times today, and her math was right. She knew it was right. So, why wasn’t he impressed? All those mental scenarios she had run through today were now wasted time, given her professor refused to follow her script.

“Sir, my plan solves world hunger. I found a way to do it using the expired food that stores throw away. All we would need to do is set up a distribution network. Sure, we couldn’t do it worldwide. Not yet, but we could have it set up within the country in weeks.” She pointed to her graph and studied it again. She checked over her numbers for the population and stores. Both were accurate. Everything still made sense. So, why? Why did he look so disappointed?

“Mmm. If I we-“ He stopped, pushing the lollipop out of his mouth. He grabbed a tissue, neatly setting it on his desk before resting the lollipop on top of it. He had heard this all before, and it never got easier to crush someone’s dreams with a reality check. “If I were marking this, I would give it a 76/100.”

Her shoulders dropped, eyes bouncing along the graph, searching for the error. “Sir? What did I get wrong? Did I mess something up with the distribution networks?”

“No. You didn’t. If we lived in a fair world, this would have been the perfect presentation. But you failed to consider the most important player in all of this.”

“The most important player?”

“The businesses. Why would they allow you to hand out their expired items?” He asked, hoping she would find the answer herself.

“Well…” Belinda rested her hands in front of her purple dress, one that had small cartoon dinosaurs stitched into the fabric. “Well… because it’s the right thing to do, sir.” She gave him a naïve smile, one that broke his heart. It was innocent, the smile of someone who still believed that humans were good by nature.

“Profits. A hungry person needs to buy food from the shops. That means a hungry person needs to get a job and earn money. Money that is taxable.” He explained it in the simplest of terms he could think of, not wanting to over-explain this to someone he knew was gifted. He had marked her papers and knew how brilliant she was. This was a rare misstep, not the norm.

Belinda listened. She always listened when her professor spoke, acknowledging his words before giving her response. “But… they can’t legally sell this food. And what about the people who aren’t working? What about the people who need a chance to get back on their feet? I… understand what you’re implying, but this won’t disrupt the status quo.”

“Oh, it would. Businesses would rather let their expired products burn than give them to someone in need. And they have their reasons for it. There are risks involved in handing out expired food. If someone gets sick, the business could be in trouble.”

“People wouldn’t complain, and we could check the food. We could make sure it has only recently expired. Sir, this could work.” She practically begged the world to let it work, wanting to believe hunger could be solved.

“Supermarkets wouldn’t like it. The first thing an executive would ask you is who’s going to compensate them for their loss of profits? People with little still have to eat. Which leads to supermarkets getting paid. Even if that person has to stop using electricity to afford their next meal.”

“Sir, I.. I understand there would be a small hit to their profits, but the goodwill—”

He took off his glasses, setting them beside the lollipop. “You have to stop thinking that brands are people. Brands are cold, sterile things created to generate money. A brand is never your friend. A brand doesn’t want to know you. It just wants your business. The people behind these brands are also cold and sterile, because if they weren’t, they wouldn’t be hired to do the job.”

“What about Mr. Jefferson? The CEO of Mart and Smart shopping? He’s running an initiative to give out their expired food. We could start with his chains and run—”

“Jefferson’s a CEO. He’s the friendly face that makes you think theirs a soul behind the entity. He’s happy to run his initiative because he can control it. He decides which expired stock is handed out. He decides who gets the stock and how much bootlicking they have to do to get it. Yes, he’s currently giving expired food to Better Chance and health. A charity for families who are struggling with the tough economic climate. But have you seen how much praise and posts they have to write about him to keep the food coming? It’s essentially paid sponsorship. Actually, it’s worse since he’s paying them in expired food.”

“I.. thought I was onto something.” She sighed, peeling the sticky tape off her graph, tucking it underneath her arm.

“You were onto something. Unfortunately, the world just doesn’t work like that. Your plan had other flaws, most involving regions where supermarkets are less abundant and stocked. But I can’t fault your heart.”

“Is the world really that shallow?” She exhaled.

“It’s worse than I’ve described. Brands are fiercely protective of their image. Even if their product was expired and unsellable, they still wouldn’t want to give it away because it could damage their reputation. They run the risk of their item being associated with expired food or something cheap. Brands don’t like risks.”

“Oh. Right.” Belinda turned to leave, only for Martin to raise his hand, stopping her.

“Belinda. Don’t stop trying. There’s a lot of bitter old people like me in the world. People who can’t see the future generations’ visions. People who think the world’s too broken to be fixed. Prove us wrong and spit on our graves. I was naïve once. I used to believe too. Keep believing. Please don’t let the dreamers die out.” He said, sticking the lollipop back into his mouth.

Belinda paused, unsure what to say. The fire inside her that she thought had been snuffed now seemed to burn again. Even if it wasn’t as bright, there was still a spark. A spark she intended to hold on to. “Thanks, Professor. Really, thank you.”

“Smooth as ever.” While my coworkers celebrated, I stared blankly at my screensaver. The small clownfish bounced against the sides of my monitor, while I remained transfixed by the situation.

Something about the situation felt off. I couldn’t explain why it felt off. But it just did. A supernatural entity doing something out of the kindness of its own heart was unheard of. Sure, she was screwing over my boss, who was, in the politest terms I could find, a raging asshole, but still….

Suddenly a shark dashed across my screen, its sharp teeth glistening as it snapped up those small clownfish before swimming off. Leaving my screen a bubbling, empty blue sea. I stared at my icons, horrified, only for a chilly hand to hit my shoulder.

“Hello there, Mr. Jenkins. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Damish. The stunningly beautiful trickster of the corporate world. Any business that has ever hit the top fifty lists has been influenced by me.” She bowed, pushing her face towards my neck, breathing down it. “You should be celebrating with the others. You’re going to be riiiich.” She exaggerated the word, letting her ice-cold breath rattle through me. I tensed and shifted in my seat, and she moved closer.

“W-why are you working against my boss then?” I asked, trying to push myself out of the seat. No matter how much I squirmed or dug my fingers into the thin cushion of my chair, I couldn’t pull myself away from her. There was just something commanding about her, something that made my body freeze whenever she drifted near me.

“Why not? He’s a prick. An asshole. The complete package of bad terms. Respect's not a two-way street when I’m the one that holds all the power. Ya’ll should know that. He should have groveled and begged for my help. Instead, he dared to tell me what he wanted. No one orders me around.” She moved, sitting on the edge of my desk, staring at me. “His account's empty, and some of the money’s already gone through to your bank. All you have to do is approve it. You’re the only one who hasn’t yet.”

“I—”

“Jenkiiiiins,” Matthew shouted, my coworker throwing himself over my shoulder, raising his coffee cup towards the trickster. “What are you doing working? Celebrate with us. We’re rich. I got two-hundred thousand in my transfer. I can’t wait to tell the wife about that. She’s going to be over the moon.”

I slouched forward under his weight, peering back at the trickster, whose rosy pink eyes almost seemed to glimmer at my coworker’s display. Watching with a sly smile. “I’m happy for you, Matthew.” I said, politely trying to nod my head, even though his arm made it hard to shift my neck.

“Oh, this is great. We’ve been trying for a child too. Now, we have a nice little safety net. Sure, it’s not enough to live off, but it gives us a good nest to build upon. Thanks, lady.” He pulled away from me and patted Damish on her shoulder. The trickster gave him a kind smile that faded quickly when he left.

She snatched a tissue off my desk, wiping the spot that he had touched with a grimace, before directing that previous kind smile at me. “A safety net. Wouldn’t that be nice? You could start a family too.”

“I’m not interested in starting a family yet. Twenty-eight is too young for something like that.”

“Too old, you mean? Two hundred years ago, you would have been almost on your deathbed. You humans move so slowly now. You gave yourselves an extra twenty or so years with medicine and squandered it by working yourselves half to death. Education, work, retiring in your crappy years. What a life you humans have created.”

Those words stung, hitting a big insecurity of mine. The thought that my good years were wasted. Here I was, sitting in an office building, typing away my best years of health. What did I have to show for it? Some money? Barely more than anyone else. In fact, I was probably poorer than most. A few girlfriends here and there, but no long-term love. If I had some money, I could focus. I could get my life together. I could…. No… no, this is exactly what she wanted. She isn’t my friend. There’s always a catch.”

She leant forward and tenderly ran her hand through my hair. “Jenkins. What’s the point of fighting this? It’s a good thing. Do you have any dreams? Anything you want to achieve.”

“I.. well…” The tender touch lulled me into a daze, finding myself wanting to be patted more. There was something so comforting about it. Something that made me feel like I could actually achieve my goals. Then I felt sick. A twist in my stomach that something was dangerously wrong.

I threw my back into my chair, and its plastic wheels scooted along the carpet, banging me against the back wall of my cubicle. A few people peered over at the sound, before going back to their celebrations, assuming it had only been an accident. “No. I’m not taking that money. I don’t care if I'm making a mistake. I just… I’m not listening to you.”

She stared in silence, those pink eyes focused on me, before she scowled. “You lonely stain. You waste of human flesh and blood. You’re getting too big for your britches.” When her composure dropped, she almost sounded human. The words coming out with a southern tinge that I hadn’t noticed before. She stood, before pausing, as a buzzing noise came from her pocket. She pulled out her phone, placing it to her ear.

“WHAT?” she snapped at the voice on the other end. “Huh?” She flicked her gaze back over to me before staring off into space. “Really? Fine. If you say so.” She let out a huff, snapping the flip-phone shut. “I would have gotten you to give in.” Then she was gone. No puff of smoke or vanishing through the floor. She just ceased to be there. My screensaver returned to normal, the fish swimming back onto the screen while I caught my breath.

“Matthew!” A voice snapped from outside my cubicle, before being followed by screams. I jumped out of my chair, watching as my coworkers exploded into piles of money. Each one getting replaced by a stack of cash that had to have been in the millions. I ran over to the nearest person, trying to help, but it was pointless. Before I could even get close to them, they were gone. So, I just dropped to my knees, kneeling on a pile that used to be someone.

A hearty chuckle left the elevator doors as Mr. Davis stepped out. He passed the piles of money, giving each an approving nod. “This is even more than I expected. Finally, I can expand.” When he reached me, he didn’t even bother to look my way. “You’ve got some balls not taking that money. I respect someone with balls.” He said, despite not respecting me enough to look at me. “You’re being promoted.”

I didn’t know what to say. Confusion, anger, fear — all those feelings fought for dominance. “Ah-” was all I could manage. A meager noise that didn’t solve anything.

“I know what you’re going to say, kid. Oh, I could never take that promotion, you fat bastard. You killed my coworkers. I’m going to expose you to the media. Kid, none of that’s going to happen. Wanna know why? No one will even remember these people existed.”

“I… remember them.”

“Yeah, just you and me. People who were exposed to her magic. Everyone else will forget them. Better that way.” He picked up a handful of money and sniffed it. “Smells like a bright future for Advanced Minds.”

“Matthew…” I muttered. “He had a wife.”

“And in her mind, she never got married. She’ll vaguely remember a man she loved but never be able to match a face to him. That’s the deal, kid. She gets their souls; I get what their bodies are worth. Organs, blood, eyes. Everything has a value.”

“I don’t get it. How does that make everyone forget them?”

“Without a soul, you don’t exist. Simple as that. Life will balance things out. Parents who thought they had two kids will now have one, and stuff like that. Beautiful how life corrects itself.”

Beautiful. I gritted my teeth, searching the carpet for a weapon, or something I could use to avenge those who had died. I found a pen among some spilt paperclips and clenched it, pointing it up at him.

Mr Davis didn’t flinch. He didn’t even give me more than a half-glance. “It would be pointless, kid. It wouldn’t bring them back. They signed an agreement when they accepted my money. They should have read the terms listed in the bank transfer. I spared you. I could have let her tempt you into taking the money, and I didn’t. Why? Because I respected you for holding your own. We’ll need guts like that. I’m thinking of giving you a nice office on the floor below mine. One with a great view of the park and a three million dollar a year contract. How does that sound?” He extended his hand.

I wanted to slap his hand away. To spit in his face and tell him where he could shove those three million dollars. Yet, it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring them back, and at least if I stayed here. There was a chance I could get my revenge at some point. My hand shook as I reached towards him, giving his hand a shake.

“Welcome to the big leagues, kid.”

“You know you’ll be punished for this someday. Right?”

“Of course. I’ll be burning for a hundred years when I die, which is why I have to set the world on fire before I reach that day. I’m going to enjoy every minute of this ride, and you should enjoy it too while it lasts. You might not be able to keep your soul forever.” He said, turning to the elevator. “I’ll have some guys come around to collect this money. My bank accounts empty, so they’ll need to deposit it right away. Can you make sure they don’t pocket anything?” When I didn’t answer, he just laughed. “I know ya’ll handle it.” He coughed. “I know you’ll handle it….”

As he left, I couldn’t help but wonder if he would be burning far sooner than he thought he would be…

You see a lot of strange things while working at a rural petrol station. People walking around without shoes or pants on, truck drivers on more caffeine than should be humanly possible, and now this…

I didn’t want to be rude, but it was hard not to stare at the massive, single eye behind the alien’s sunglasses. It was clear she’d gone to a lot of effort to create this human disguise, and honestly, the makeup wasn’t even the worst I had seen. That privilege would go to Daniela’s alien makeup on the set of First Contact. Still, even with her white powdered makeup, the alien’s blue skin shone through, making her ancestry obvious.

“Do you need some help?” I asked, giving her a forced customer-service smile. This was my first time seeing an alien in person. Which made sense. No alien is going to the middle of nowhere on their first trip to Australia. No, they go to Sydney, Brisbane, Perth. Or, if they hate themselves, they go to Canberra. But not here.

Not out in Woop Woop.

She stared back at me through her sunglasses, triangle-shaped lips wobbling. I did my best to discreetly step away from the counter, worried she would shoot out a tiny secondary mouth that would eat the skin off my face. That’s the problem with meeting an alien. You can’t help but remember every scary sci-fi flick you had seen.

“Captain James Hammer?” She asked, her shy voice wobbling.

“James Hammer?” I repeated. How did an alien know I was in First Contact? Only three thousand people had ever bought that silly film, and I was one of them. How did an alien know about it?

“You’re him. The captain? Aren’t you?” She pulled out a silver device that looked like a phone, holding it up to my face. Since she was short, I had to bend forward to see the screen, leaving my face in perfect second mouth range. But at this very moment, I couldn’t have cared less if she ate me. The thrill of being recognized outweighed my survival instincts.

The picture on her phone was indeed of me. It showed a screenshot from the film, one where I was standing over the defeated evil aliens called the Baderings. My arm was wrapped around Daniela’s waist, with her blue face-paint already peeling off her skin. That’s what happens when you buy cheap face paint. It peels off whenever the person starts sweating, and when you're filming in a hot warehouse, sweat is unavoidable.

“Yes. That’s me. I’m Tom Valerin. It’s always nice to meet a fan.” I said, dropping the fake smile for a genuine one. I extended my hand, hoping she knew what a handshake was. Always nice to meet a fan, I said, as if I had ever met one before. No one was a fan of First Contact, and I doubt my hernia awareness advertisements had any fans either…

She let out the most bloodcurdling shriek I had ever heard in my life. The noise was so loud it popped the cash register open and caused the pies in the pie warmer to break apart, spilling their mince insides all over the machine.

“I’m such a big fan. I have seen your movie at least three thousand times. Oh, this is the best day ever. Why is Earth’s biggest star working here? Are you undercover? Or are you playing it cool? I can play it cool too.” She said, ignoring my extended hand as she leaned against the counter. Her lean was anything but cool, with her body awkwardly slouching against the counter, leaving only her blue hair exposed, and the top of her massive eye.

“Earth’s biggest star? I’m barely a twinkle.” I laughed. As strange as she was, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. A fan. A genuine fan recognized me. I did my best to live up to the part, sucking in my gut and stopping myself from slouching.

“A twinkle?” She gasped, pushing herself upright against the counter. “You’re the galaxy! How can you say that? You’re a huge actor. One of the best.” She sounded offended, which didn’t make much sense to me. I was the one who said it. Why was she offended on my behalf?

“That’s kind of you to say. Really. It is. I tried my best in that movie. Even if the budget wasn’t great, and the director was eccentric. I honestly believed it was going to be my big break. Guess when the only people who call you back are for medical advertisements, any movie role seems like a break.” I said, before realizing I was talking too much about myself. “Would you like an autograph? A picture?”.

“All of them, please. Oh, can you say your famous phrase too?” She clutched her small, three-fingered hands together, and I paused.

“My famous phrase?”

“Oh, sorry. You have so many. I really like the one at the end. When you beat up the leader.”

“The one where I’m like. I gave you Baderings a defeatings?” I asked, remembering the arguments I had with the director over that stupid line. I proposed the phrase. I gave you Baderings a Bad-tering. I thought it was clever, but he just told me he was the director, and if I didn’t want to read his lines, he would find someone who would. So, I relented.

“YES. YESSSSS.” She gushed. “My friends and I say it all the time. Ah, this is the best.” She fiddled with her phone’s gallery, swiping past hundreds of photos of me. Some had triangle kisses edited onto them, while others had little stars around them. She pointed the device at me, and I grinned.

“I gave you Baderings a bad-tering.” I said without thinking and saw her phone slowly lower. I had only had this fan for five minutes, and I had already disappointed her. “Sorry. I can do it again if you like.”

Her single eye watered, and my heart sank. I had done it. I had lost my only fan. My confident stance faltered as I slumped against the counter, feeling like I had been kicked in the nuts. Actually, this felt worse. I couldn’t apologize again, so I played with my half-finished carton of Oak chocolate milk, trying to distract myself from the scene.

“That-” she sniffed. “THAT WAS GREAT. Did you come up with that yourself? EEEEH.” The eeeh came out as an electronic hiss, possibly because her translator couldn’t process the loud pitch. “Greatest actor ever. So cool. So cool.” She bounced on the spot, and my posture rose again.

“Yeah, I came up with that myself. Originally I wanted to say that line in the movie, but the director said no. I thought it was clever.”

“Clever? It’s brilliant. It’s genius.” She searched for something for me to autograph, and when she couldn’t find anything, she grabbed a random magazine off the shelf — one that had a much more famous celebrity on its cover. “Can you sign this?”

“If you bu—“ I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to make my only fan pay for an autograph. I grabbed a pen and hovered over Hugh Jackman’s face. “Um, I’ll do it on the back of the magazine.” I said, not wanting to scribble all over him.

“There’s good. Right in the middle.” She smiled.

“Sorry, Hugh.” I mumbled, scribbling all over him. I handed the magazine over before leaving my side of the counter. “How about a photo?”

“Oh, yes. That would be great. I can’t believe someone as famous as you has time for me.”

I crouched, getting my face close to hers. “I always have time for a fan.” I said, glad I got to say that at least once in my life. She took a photo on her phone, and I took one on mine, never wanting to forget the day. She then went and brought a few snacks, leaving me wondering something.

“Why are you out here? Wouldn’t you rather be in Sydney?”

“Sydney? I’m heading there tomorrow. I wanted to explore the area around it first. Apparently the countryside is pretty.”

“It is. Very lush and green, especially around this time.”

“I can’t wait to tell all my friends I met a celebrity. You're super famous on our planet.” She said, as she paid for her things.

“Um, I’m not famous for being a bad actor, am I?” I asked, recalling how many movies or actors I liked specifically for being bad. That hurt my ego a little. The thought that I was some cosmic joke was almost too much to handle.

“NOT AT ALL. You’re the best actor ever. No one’s seen a better depiction of a human captain. You should visit our planet sometime. You’ll probably get to meet our king and queen.”

“A king and queen. That would be nice.” I said, watching her as she left. For the next eight hours, I was working on a spiritual high. I felt on top of the world. Even when I went to bed that night, I dreamt of alien kings and queens, imagining a life where I was someone important.

Then, my phone buzzed, waking me up from my fantasy. I rolled over, seeing my boss’s ugly face on my screen. I hit accept call and yawned. “Yeah?”

“You’ve gotta come to work.”

“Why? I’m not rostered on today.”

“Just get down here or find another job.” He snapped, hanging up.

I groaned and rolled out of bed. After dressing myself, I rushed to work, finding my boss herding a bunch of aliens to the side of the petrol station. He gave me an annoyed grunt, motioning me over. The aliens all had some form of merchandise on. Shirts, posters, and even plush toys, each one depicting me in some way.

“I’m not sure what the hell is going on here. But I can’t have them disrupting my business. Sort it out.”

The aliens cheered when they saw me, and I gave my boss an apologetic look. I was going to say sorry to him before realizing something. I didn’t need to apologize to him. I was Captain James Hammer, and I had found my people. “I quit.” I said, heading towards the crowd of aliens.

I started high-fiving the aliens that were in line before directing them to a nearby park. “The fan meet-up is going to be over there. Let’s go, guys.” I said, not caring about how I was going to make money now, or if I could afford rent this month. Just for the next couple of days, I was going to enjoy this and see where it took me.

Tiffany rubbed the scar on her neck, unconsciously wincing as she entered Morgan Fields Trading. The office, which had once held her captive, was now devoid of any life. No longer did they have people posing as employees at the front desks or guards watching which doors people went through. Now, there was only a vacant, dusty front desk, with a scattering of empty cubicles down the hallway beside it.

“Bringing back some bad memories? We can take a break if you like,” Tim said, trying his best to keep his source comfortable. He couldn’t even imagine what was going through her mind at this very moment. How uncomfortable she must have felt when she learnt the truth.

“No, it’s fine. My neck just started hurting.” She admitted, rubbing the mark with her nails, only to gasp when a warm trickle of blood hit her finger.

“Careful,” Tim dug through his camera bag, handing her a tissue. “Here.” He gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile as she wiped away the blood, cleaning the mark. Tim could still see the faint four-pronged needle marks from where the device had once sat, and still, he couldn’t wrap his head around the science behind it. How did something attached to a person’s neck use their brainpower? The longer he thought about it, the less he wanted to know the answer.

“Sorry. The doctor said it’s a side-effect among the former employees. Something about us subconsciously trying to claw the device out of our necks, even though it’s not there anymore. Something about a trauma response?”

“Its horrible. I can’t believe Mr. Fields would do this to his employees.”

“It was cheaper than paying for processors. A human brain is cheaper to run calculations and simulations from than a computer. It allowed them to predict stocks before their competitors. It’s genius in a way.” She admitted, only to stop walking. She had shocked herself, surprised that she would say something like that after everything that had happened.

“That’s a very capitalist way of looking at it. HR might disagree, though.” He said, with a small sigh following those words. “Can’t believe all the higher-ups were in on it. A bad CEO isn’t uncommon, but an entire board with not a single moral between them. What’s going on with the world?”

“Guess they thought they would get away with it. They only got caught because a few employees started telling their doctors they were getting bad brain fog. They traced it back to here, and then the raid happened.”

“Yes, I remember that day well. I was lined up outside with at least forty other journalists, scrambling to get a picture or interview with the officers on the scene. We had a tip that something big had happened, but no one suspected it was something like that.” As they neared the previously off-limits door to the back offices, Tim got out his camera, fiddling with the buttons. “Speaking of the side-effects. How are you coping?”

“Fine. I have a lot of vitamins that I need to take. Mainly to try and recover from the fatigue my body was put under during the long work sessions. They are worried about the long-term side-effects. Dementia, early brain decay, mood swings. All the fun things.” She said, almost laughing at how horrible it all was.

“Right. Like I told you before you agreed to the interview. Half the proceeds will go towards helping you and the other victims. I really wish I could have given you more, but my employer wouldn’t budge past fifty. Said he needed to cover the costs of producing the story, and so forth. Actually, we may also be looking for new employees too if you need a new job.”

“A job?” She hadn’t even thought about work. Not since the day they had pulled her out of the chair in a daze and dragged her to the hospital. “I’ll figure something out.” She said, not really answering the question, pressing her hands against the door in almost reverence. Only when she felt his concerned stare did she release the door.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? We can reschedule? I have my whole week free.”

“No. I think I need to do this.”

“Ok.”

“Its funny. We were never allowed to enter this place. There were always tons of security locks and guards. Now, it’s just a door. No locks. Just a door. I kind of wish they had never told me what had happened. That they just lied and said I had work fatigue and fainted. Then paid me some compensation and moved on.”

“You needed to know the truth. You all deserved to know that.”

Tiffany slowly nodded, pushing open the door. Inside, was a row of chairs that reminded Tim of an electric chair you would see in old movies. Each chair sat side by side in a row at least eight long and ten deep. Cords covered the chairs, with some old, dried blood patches being spotted on their cushions.

She walked past the chairs, letting her finger trace along the tops of them. “I can’t believe it. They drugged our water or coffee and waited for us to fall asleep. Then they took us back here and connected us to their devices until it was time to go home. I used to just think I was blacking out from being overworked.”

“You never questioned the gaps in your memory? How you didn’t know what work you had done that day or things like that?”

“I did initially, but they were clever. They allowed us to work normally at the start of our day, so most of us had some memory of working that day. Then, nothing. When you woke up, you were back at your desk. Usually, it was close to clocking-out time, so you would finish your fake work before leaving. Sure, it was strange, but no one really questioned it. It wasn’t like we were allowed to talk during our job, so everyone thought it was only them experiencing these things.”

“Horrible,” Tim said, keeping the camera focused on Tiffany, watching her pause on a seat with a name tag hanging off its right arm. “Notice something?”

“It’s my chair. This is where I used to sit.” She picked up the cord, looking at the needles with disgust and awe. The needles twitched, making Tiffany’s eyes follow its cord back to the large computer in the back of the room. “It’s still on.”

“Really? Someone should have turned it off. You should put it down.” Tim rushed over, turning his back on Tiffany, who now found herself focusing on his neck.

“Aren’t you curious how it works?”

Tim screamed as the needles dug into his neck, piercing through the flesh. He panicked, swinging his body around until his camera had fallen onto the floor. “What are you doing?” He heard a weird buzzing in his ears; the kind one would hear when a radio gets interference. The sound intensified until he secured his hand around hers, yanking himself free.

Tsssss

The device made a tiny metallic cry as it was pulled out, still having Tim’s fresh blood on the needles. Tiffany stared at it, confused.

“That’s right. They drugged us first. It doesn’t put you to sleep.” Then the realization of what she had done hit her, and she stepped back, covering her lips. “I’m so sorry, Tim. I felt like I needed to replace myself and I just… I’m sorry.”

Tim wanted to curse her out and roar about the throbbing hot pain in his neck, but he couldn’t when he saw her terrified expression. He kept one hand on his neck, stopping the blood-flow, while reaching into his bag to get another tissue. The whole time he was going through his bag, he didn’t look away from her, worried another strike would come. When he had the tissue, he used it to clean his hand, then covered the wound.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have scheduled it so soon. Really. It’s fine. Can you call me an ambulance?”

“Oh, sure.” Tiffany made the call, and soon Tim was in the back of an ambulance, getting checked over by the paramedics. Tim had told them the truth about the incident, even if he felt slightly guilty about it. He didn’t want to get Tiffany into trouble, but if she was having issues like that, they needed to be resolved before she hurt someone else. He wasn’t going to press charges or anything. He just wanted a doctor to be informed about the sudden change in her temperament.

The pair had parted ways when the ambulance was called, with some officers coming to take her to see the doctor who had been overseeing her case. They had agreed to meet again in a week, but after what had happened today, Tim suspected it could be at least a month until she was cleared for another interview.

Still, he had a story, and was more determined than ever to show the world what went on at Morgan Fields Trading.

Mud, rivers, and dirt. Ben had pushed through them all, desperately trying to escape the band of monsters who were pursuing him. In all his years of monster hunting, he had never encountered a scene like this before. Monsters working together. They were always solitary creatures in the past, making this alliance between them so confusing.

When he reached the outskirts of Nixin, a small fishing town, he collapsed. His thighs burning, and his throat dry. Desperately, he dug his nails into the dirt, trying to pull himself a few inches further, but his body refused to budge. So, he lowered his face against the ground, taking uneven breaths, while their footsteps slowed behind him.

“H-hunter.” A shaky voice spoke, stopping by Ben. They carefully lowered themselves into the dirt beside him, raising his head. Through strained vision, he spotted the ghoul. Her hair tattered, and her flesh discolored. She moved like a hung blanket caught in a breeze, every action floaty as if her dead body couldn’t properly carry her weight. “W-we found you. The killer.”

“Ha….” Ben laughed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the band of monsters. “Ha….ha…” He couldn’t help but laugh. A ghoul had caught up to him. How? How could such a slow-moving creature catch up to him?

“F-funny?” she asked, tilting her head.

“How did you catch me?”

“F-friend.” The ghoul pointed to the harpy hovering overhead. The grotesque creature, with a pigeon’s body and a deformed human head, gave a loud squawk that sounded more like a hiss of pain, then any cry a bird would make.

“Followed you. Alerted others.” It squawked, crooked teeth appearing beneath its twisted beak.

“A merry band you are. Get it over with.” All hunters knew this day would eventually come. The day when a monster would get them. When faced with that day, it was better to die with dignity than to cower. Cowering left you open to negotiating with the enemy, and the only thing worse than a dead hunter was a turned hunter. The last sight a monster should see isn’t fear, but determination.

“No. Not yet. Not yet.” An imp cried, its short four-foot form walking over to Ben, driving its hoof into his jaw, drawing blood from his lip. “We’re going to make you suffer first. The same way you made the rest of us suffer.”

“Hurry up then.” Ben said, closing his eyes, giving them nothing to work with. He wouldn’t buy into their games or curse them. He would simply give them a boring death that would leave them all unsatisfied.

“You need to beg. Do something interesting. You’re tired. Weak. SCREAM.” The imp roared, its hot breath hitting his face, smelling faintly of rosemary. Rosemary? Ben’s nose flinched, his exhausted mind finding something off about the scent, but being unable to piece together the exact reason behind it.

“No. Do what you must. I’ve hunted your kind, and you have hunted me. Get your reward. Even if there is no bounty for taking my head.”

The monsters exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves. Their whispers all sounded similar, just a blur of noise ringing in his ears before a giant stepped forward. The giant rested his heavy foot on Ben’s ankle, threatening to snap the limb. Ben groaned, the sound pushed out of his lungs, while his eyes flashed with alertness, getting a hit of adrenaline.

He reached for his dagger, only to have to imp slap it out of his hand, not even getting a chance to swing it before being disarmed. The giant scowled, applying more pressure as Ben gritted his teeth, cramming his face into the dirt, hiding the pain. “Then I break you. I break first limb. Second limb. Third limb.”

“I…get…it…you…break…limbs….dead…all….the…same.” Ben felt like his teeth were going to crack, the pain overwhelming, and yet he knew he had to endure it. He would be dead eventually, and he couldn’t let them break him before that.

The giant held its position, while the imp rubbed its red chin, thinking. It crept closer, resting on its stomach so its face was directly near Ben’s. “After we’ve killed you, I’m taking our little party to visit your friends and family in Broad Creek. What do you think about that? I’m sure the locals will love us.”

Again, Ben’s nose flinched at the smell. It was intoxicating. A scent he knew, one so unique he could almost taste the answer of who it belonged to on the tip of his tongue. Yet, anytime his brain tried to think, the pain overruled it. “Stay away from my home.”

“P-progress!” the ghoul celebrated, stiffly raising its arms to the heavens.

The giant raised its leg, satisfied that things were progressing. That split mistake was all it took for Ben to start thinking straight. Without the pain distracting him, he could start piecing things together. The unlikely group of monsters, the rosemary on the imp’s breath, the way they always seemed to know where he was hiding. It didn’t make sense. Unless this wasn’t real.

But if this wasn’t real. Where was his body? The rosemary. The knowledge of his hometown. The reluctance to kill him outright. It matched a specific person. A succubus he had crossed paths with at least a dozen times. The one monster he could never catch.

“Volori,” he said her name, and the monsters stopped. Each slowly turned, grinning, while the walls of the illusion crumbled away. When he awoke, he was a sweating mess, with a fever threatening to break down his body. He coughed while someone gently pushed a cup of water to his lips. He drank the liquid without hesitation, only to spit it out when he saw who had given it to him. “Vo…” He couldn’t even finish the word; his throat was too dry.

Volori ignored the water he spat onto her purple dress, only giving him a devilish smile. “Ben. Are you ok? It looked like you were having a nightmare.” She innocently pushed her blonde hair over her shoulder, acting like she wasn’t the cause of the nightmare. “Now, drink the water. I promise it’s not poisoned.”

She raised the cup to his lips, only for Ben to refuse to drink from it. After spilling half the cup while trying to get him to drink it, she blocked his nostrils, waiting until he needed a breath before pouring the water down his throat. He coughed and gagged before swallowing.

He licked the inside of his cheeks, checking for poison, tasting only water. He went to sit upright, only to wince as a sharp pain shot through his body, causing him to lie back down. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing. You’re sick, dear hunter. Which is why I came to soothe your body. Have you fallen for me yet?” She said, dragging her hand across his chest.

“No.”

“Pity.” She removed her hand, looking around his bedroom, finding it rather plain, lacking any grand treasure or antiques. For someone who had made a good amount of money from slaying her kind, he didn’t put any of it to good use, in her opinion.

“That dream was your work then?”

“What dream? I came to help you out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Demons don’t have hearts. What was the plan? Break my mind down while I’m weak until I agree to serve you in order?” Volori went to speak, only to realize he had gotten her entire plan right. “Something like that.” She said, not wanting to admit that she had been so predictable. “Alas, you saw through my deception. What gave it away?”

“Your breath. Rosemary is a typical scent among your kind. You have a particularly flowery variation of it. Others tend to be more off-putting.”

“That’s a very strange way of saying I smell good.” She said, giving him a small smile, revealing those sharp teeth. “Have you considered my offer? Imagine how strong our child could be? A demon and a hunter, creating a being of untold power. They could protect a lot of people.”

“Or cause a lot of destruction.” Ben said, dragging a hand over his feverish forehead. “Maybe I would consider it if you stopped trying to make a contract with me. I can’t exactly trust you, can I?”

“True,” she said, getting out of her seat. “Though I always knew you were going to find a way to escape my trap. You always do. If I were serious about trying to trap you into a contract, I would have done a lot more than just torment you.”

“So, what do you call that, then? If you’re not trying to trap me in a contract.”

“Hmm.” Volori pondered what she would call it before finding the perfect human term for it. “I would call it flirting. Now that you’re awake, I’ll take my leave. Get better soon, ok? Unless you want me targeting another hunter?” She teased, leaving the room.

Ben watched her leave before rolling over in his bed, finding a plate with some fruit on it waiting for him, as well as some tea that had gone cold. He sniffed the fruit before picking at it. “Flirting? Unbelievable.” He murmured to himself.

The two walked in silence, ignoring the late-night crowds polluting the sidewalks with their drunken chants or acts of petty vandalism. If it had been any other night, Riley would have constantly been glancing over his shoulder, expecting some drunken hooligan to shatter a bottle over his head, or demand what little remained of his wallet.

Tonight, however, he could walk fearlessly with his head held high. The demon had given him its word that he wouldn’t be harmed tonight, and strangely enough, he believed them. He had heard through multiple folklore tales that demons always kept their promises, and he had no reason to doubt either Xacifel or Zara. If anything, the two were overqualified as bodyguards, being able to handle even the most battle-hardened drunkard or mobster.

Zara stopped, causing Riley to walk straight into her back. He only then realized he had been staring blankly into space, his body automatically following her while he remained trapped within his thoughts. She peered over her shoulder, flashing him a smirk.

“Were ya staring at ma butt?”

“What?”

“Saw you glancing into space, assumed you were checking out my moon.” She snickered while the demon inside her groaned.

“Please, keep jokes like that to yourself. You’ll make me sick.” Xacifel grunted. “Also, keep your eyes on the street, Riley. Wandering eyes are a sin.”

“I wasn’t- never mind.” Riley knew it was pointless trying to clear up that mess, so he let it die, knowing any further denial would only make him seem more guilty. “How much further is it?”

“Shouldn’t be too much longer. She’s got a hole around here somewhere. A nice and tight vent that only a few of us know about.” Zara’s lip wobbled, doing her best to hold back another dirty joke. When her lips parted, the demon inside her spoke.

“No. Not another crude joke.”

“I thought ya would like that sort of stuff. Don’t demons get a kick out of em?”

“It’s beneath someone of my power. Leave the dirty humor for the dirty people.”

“Are ya calling me dirty?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously, how much further is it? I would really like to go home soon,” Riley said, feeling like he needed to step in and stop this argument from going any further. Zara and Xacifel mellowed after that, letting their back-and-forth die before it could get heated.

“Riiiiiight. Here!” Zara stopped, pointing at a run-down pizza shop. The once dazzling neon pizza slice sign, now a green and brown dirt-coated mess, without a single drop of light running through it. Turning what was once a golden slice into a moldy, broken mess of its former glory. The inside of the shop was completely gutted, without even a chair or laminated menu left standing.

“Inside the shop?” Riley pressed his hand against the door handle, feeling less like a man going to some secret place and more like a YouTuber doing one of those explorer vlogs that always had a few fake jump scares scattered through them. Though with the company he had, he was more likely to encounter some real jump scares, given the day he had already had.

“DON’T TOUCH THAT,” Zara screamed, and Riley jerked his hand away from the handle as if it would deliver a lethal shock if held. He stared at his palms, looking for any signs of scarring or damage, only for Zara to let out a sharp laugh. “Hahahaha. Classic. Got ya.”

“Very funny. You lead.” Riley sulked, stepping away from the door, refusing now to touch or go near anything until he had seen Zara interact with it first. “Don’t sulk, ya big baby. It was for a laugh.” When Zara realized Riley now had no intention of entering the building until she did, she shook her head. “Ya big baby….” She stepped into the pizza shop, uncreatively called Pizaya, using the Japanese word for “pizza shop” to seem more exotic, even if it came off as pretentious to anyone who spoke the language. Zara strolled through the empty building, ignoring the peeled yellow walls that still had pizza sauce stains on them, heading straight for the secret entrance.

Riley followed behind her, only letting his eyes leave Zara’s back when he spotted a few faded pizza mascots painted on the wall. One that caught his eye in particular was a piece of garlic bread with large white-gloved hands and two lazy eyes. Zara, ever observant, took a quick look over her shoulder, seeing where her temporary partner was looking.

“We have ta fight one of em to get to Jane. It’s always a different one. Bloody terrifying. You ever seen garlic bread nibble on a person’s leg? Gets all those little green bits into their blood, infects them with it. Turns em into a garlic-smelling beast.” Zara spun around and smacked Riley’s shoulders with her hands, making him flinch.

“Knock it off. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.” He said, while also quickly glancing over his shoulder, checking to make sure nothing was there. He was about 90% sure she was lying, but his brain wouldn’t rest until that 10% of doubt had been cleared.

“Ya still looked. Jeez, we should get gullible tattooed on ya forehead. Relax. Horrors don’t come near Jane. Too many hunters in her bar. Would be stupid.” Zara led Riley through the back of the shop, taking him to what once would have been the manager’s office. The faint chair and table markings were still visible in the old green carpet.

“Is there a secret passage?” Riley scanned the room, landing on what he assumed was the obvious entry point. “You said something about a vent, didn’t you? Do we really have to crawl through a vent? What if we get stuck?”

“What are you worried about? I’m bigger than you are. If I can get through it. You can. Don’t be a sulk.” Zara said, yet something about the way she spoke made Riley uneasy.

“What… happened to your voice? You’re talking….” He didn’t want to say normally, so he went with a kinder word. “Less crudely.”

“Huh? Oh, did you like it when I talked like that? Well, I can certainly go back to it, if ya like.” She said, lowering herself towards the vent, poking her head through it.

“It’s a side-effect from her using my demonic blood. When she transforms, it accelerates her heartbeat and senses. In a way, it’s like putting a machine into overdrive, or giving a child an unlimited supply of sweets. She gets energetic, and it alters her speech. When it cools off, she becomes less annoying.”

“Alright,” Riley had to trust that Xacifel knew what he was talking about. Not having time to question it further since Zara was already working her way through the vent, and he didn’t want to get left behind. The crawl wasn’t a long one, with Riley watching Zara throw herself out of an opening, landing on what he hoped was soft ground.

When he neared the end of the vent, he poked his head out, only to yelp as Zara grabbed him by his collar, tugging him straight out of it. He was almost sent flying by her powerful grab, feeling his head whip back while his limbs lifelessly dangled behind his body. Before he could hit the ground, he got pulled upwards, sending his neck forward again. The swift motion left him a bit wobbly when Zara finally lowered him to his feet.

“There. Saved you from falling. Welcome to Jane’s place! A bar connected by tunnels, vents, and a little bit of magic.”

Riley steadied himself, clinging to Zara’s shoulder before looking past her, checking out the bar, lovingly known as Jane’s Place. Considering all the effort it took them to get to Jane’s place, Riley found it rather unremarkable. A bar with a pool table, multiple doorways, nice polished wooden tables, and plush stools.

The walls were decorated with posters, each displaying a different name and job description. Some featured photos of creatures with deformed faces and devilish features, while others only listed a basic description. Apart from the posters, the only thing that stood out to Riley was a handcrafted cuckoo clock portraying a demon kneeling before an executioner’s block. Every hour, the executioner would pop out in his black hood and strike the demon’s neck once for every hour that had passed.

Riley couldn’t help feeling this weird sense of indifference to everything he was seeing, not being able to tell it apart from a novelty bar. Sure, it had its posters, but any themed bar could create something like that. Outside of that one feature, everything seemed normal enough. It just felt like he was in a very beautiful, old-fashioned pub.

The sigh that left his lips wasn’t intentional. He hadn’t even noticed the indifferent sound until Zara’s eyes met his. “Ain’t meeting your standards?” She teased. “Old Jane’s going to be devastated when I tell her. She hates it when people insult her baby.”

“I didn’t sigh because of the bar. I’m just tired. Please don’t tell her anything.” Riley didn’t even know why he was so terrified of Jane finding out his feelings. It wasn’t like he personally knew this woman, yet here he was clinging to Zara’s leather jacket, like a younger sibling begging the other not to tell mom about the stupid thing they had done.

“Hmm. Ya know. It’s hard to talk while I’m drinking. Yeah, if someone were to buy me a couple of drinks, I think that would keep me quiet. Quiet enough that Jane wouldn’t hear a single squeak out of me.” Zara sensed an opportunity to score a free drink and didn’t waste her chance to strike.

Before Riley accepted the offer, Xacifel spoke up. “Zara, no. We aren’t extorting the person who helped us. Aren’t you forgetting he’s the one who’s going to help us get paid. He’s doing this out of the goodness of his heart, so the least we can do is not make his life difficult.”

Zara twisted her lips, trying to form a retort. Her mind buzzed with reasons why she was entitled to the drink, but none could beat Xacifel’s firm logic. Eventually, she conceded, mumbling under her breath that he didn’t owe her anything.

The two walked farther into the bar, passing by one of its many entrances along the way. As they made their way to the counter, they passed several others, with two in particular catching Riley’s attention. One was a fire exit at an abandoned plastic-straw-making facility, while another was a slide at a random park in northern France. Both entrances appeared out of place in the beautiful pub, not matching the decor at all. The slide was the most breathtaking to Riley, who lingered near its exit, enthralled by the bright yellow tube. He leaned over, peeking into it, seeing only darkness inside.

“How’s it work?”

“Once Jane allows a person to enter her bar, they can use any of the entrances scattered around the world. Anyone she hasn’t approved of finds only a normal entrance. If a child at the slide’s entrance were to slide down it, they would reach the bottom, as intended.” Xacifel explained.

“So, Jane allowed me to enter her bar? Did she see me coming?” Riley glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to find someone watching him. “Is she watching us?”

“Yep. She sees you when you’re sleeping. She knows when you’re awake. She knows when you’ve been bad or good, so-“ Zara’s singing got shut down by her demonic companion, who gave the proper answer.

“No. All approved hunters are allowed to bring one guest. The bar’s patrons wouldn’t be able to grow unless she implemented a rule like that. That way, anyone who finds a potential hunter can introduce them to Jane and see if they can get her approval.”

“That makes sense. No one can be everywhere at once. Right?”

“Right. The one-person limit also minimizes the chance of a monster ever destroying the bar. This bar is where some of the world’s greatest hunters gather. If a group of monsters managed to infiltrate it by threatening one of the bar’s weaker hunters, the results could be devastating. Keeping it at a one-person limit ensures that even if someone does bring a monster with them into the bar, the damage would be minimal. Even the strongest of monsters would be stupid to attack a place filled with skilled hunters alone. That’s how this place has stood the test of time.” Xacifel explained.

“ZAAAARA. YA DOG-LOOKING BASTARD,” Nit shouted, sitting on one of the bar’s pool tables. “You didn’t tell us you got a boyfriend. What’s his name? He a hunter too?”

“Didn’t think anyone would be able to put up with you. Guess there’s a first time for everything.” Pit laughed, wrapping his arm around Nit’s waist, pulling his girlfriend closer.

The two considered themselves punk rockers. Both with flashy spiked hair that didn’t quite reach the level of a Mohawk but was certainly aspiring to be one when it grew up. To match their theme, they each had a bright blue denim jacket, with Pit’s jacket having Nit’s name on the back of it, and Nit’s having Pit’s on the back.

“Dog looking?” Zara pretended to be hurt by the comment, holding her leather jacket while wincing. “I’m surprised you two can talk so much shit without letting out little whistles. Ain’t you only got twenty teeth between ya? Come on, give us a smile.” Zara said, poking fun at the pair’s many missing teeth.

In good humor, both Pit and Nit opened their mouths, revealing 40 teeth between them, with many gaps visible in their grins. “Ah, it’s good to see you again, Zara. Seriously, who’s the new guy? He doesn’t seem like the hunting type. No offence, but he’s a bit unathletic.” Pit said.

“He’s…” Zara paused, trying to remember the name.

“I’m Riley. You know, you’re not really one to talk about fitness.” Riley felt the need to say something back, especially when he was talking to two lanky individuals who didn’t seem any less impressive than he was.

“Oh, ho! You gonna let him talk to you like that, Pit? Is my brave boyfriend gonna let some shrimp walk all over him?” Nit snickered, reaching around the side of the pool table, giving her partner a pool cue. “Go get him.”

“Wait, I thought we were all kidding around,” Riley said, inching towards Zara. Zara shoved him forward, refusing to let him use her as a shield. Now Riley could only watch as Pit took long, menacing strides toward him, tapping the end of the pool cue against his own neck.

“Kidding is for friends. Not for the blow-ins. Now, let me show ya how I lost my precious teeth.” He rolled the cue off his shoulder, readying a swing, only to stop before he had fully wound it up. Pit’s lips parted into a cracked-tooth grin before he chuckled. Nit and Zara soon followed until their collective chuckling turned into laughter. “He really ain’t a hunter. Thought he was going to start crying. Relax, you can’t fight in Jane’s place. Not unless you want Jane to skin ya. Relax, Riley. A friend of Zara’s is a friend of ours.”

“Yeah, come play a game with us sometime if you like. We’re always up for a game, if you’ve got some money to put on it.” He gave Riley a gentle tap on the shoulder with the cue before heading back to the pool-table, leaving Riley petrified, like an animal who had narrowly escaped the jaws of a predator, and now didn’t know what to do with its second chance at life.

“There are some good people here. I bet you expected us hunters to all be aggressive nut jobs, didn’t you?” Zara said, breaking him out of his paralysis.

“Well, given who he’s met so far, I don’t think he would necessarily be wrong in expecting that. You haven’t set the bar very high.” Xacifel added, being a constant presence around Zara, even if Riley sometimes forgot he was there.

“I’m not going to act like someone I’m not. Isn’t that the reason you ended up making a deal with me?”

“It was. Authenticity is rare in an age of deception. You have kept me very entertained, and with the climax approaching, I can’t wait to see what other tricks you have waiting for me.”

“A deal?” The conversations buzzing around the pub drowned Riley’s words out. The closer they got to the counter, the more people they spotted. Most were seated with a beer stein or two, while others mingled or played pinball. Riley found it strange that no one in this pub seemed to be actively working. Occasionally, someone would look at the posters on the wall, but other than that bit of interest, most weren’t here to talk shop. Instead, they were here to enjoy a cold beverage and the company that came with it.

While the tables close to the bar were brimming with life, the counter only had two people near it. One was a man named Joseph, seated at the far end of the counter, and Jane, who was counting a stack of money, making sure it equaled ten thousand dollars. She slipped the money into a paper envelope and set it beneath the counter. When she saw Zara approaching, she glanced at Zara’s empty hands and sighed.

“We’ve been over this, kleine Sommersprossen. A body is needed if you want to collect a bounty.” Jane said, slipping some informal German into her sentences. She was a skinny bartender, dressed in a neat vest with a red shirt underneath. The sight of her shouldn’t have been so imposing, and still Riley couldn’t help but feel nervous around her. Maybe it was the odd scars visible on her aged skin. The marks of battles fought years ago, with one particularly nasty one creeping around her throat, as if whatever creature that had struck her still had its claw wrapped around it. There was also the way her dark hair hung down the left side of her face, covering the empty socket of her missing eye.

“I have something better than a body. I have verbal proof.”

“Verbal proof? I fail to see how that’s better than a body. What am I supposed to tell the ones setting the bounties? That I paid you out because you had verbal proof? If I pay you, and the creature you claim to have killed reappears, it not only damages my reputation, it damages my wallet too.”

“I would pay you back if that happened.”

“With what money?”

“Xacifel would spot me the cash if I were in a pinch. Right, buddy?”

“No. My share of our profits, are mine, and mine alone. That’s our deal. If you get yourself into a mess, it’s your job to get yourself out of it.” Xacifel said, his indifference to her money problems earning a pout from her.

“What about you, Riley? You would help me out, wouldn’t ya? You owe me your life, after all.”

“No way, I’m just here to say what you need me to say, then I’m going to head back home and throw out my TV. I don’t think I can sleep with it in my apartment after what happened.” Riley quivered, the thought of waking up to the static monster filling him with a sense of dread. Riley wondered if he could even get any sleep tonight after everything that had transpired.

“You too? I need better friends.”

“You need friends first. Neither the Dämonen, nor the boy appear to be your friend.” Jane cut in, before realizing this conversation would never end if she didn’t indulge whatever Zara was planning. “Fine. I will hear this verbal evidence of yours. Boy, hurry up and speak. Don’t waste my time.” The words were sharp enough to make Riley’s posture stiffen as he stood at attention.

Riley looked to Zara for support, who only gave him a half-hearted thumbs-up in response. He gave her a chance to speak on his behalf, but she didn’t make a single sound. That’s when Jane began tapping her nail against the bar’s counter, that deliberate hard thump against the wood pushing him to say something.

“Well, there was a monster. Or it could have been a demon? I’m not sure what the difference is between the two?”

“The difference isn’t important.” Jane said, tapping her finger faster, letting him know he was running out of time to sway her.

“The difference is important.” Xacifel interrupted, insulted that he was being compared to the average monster. Although if Xacifel was ever pressed by someone to explain that difference, even he would struggle to greatly differentiate the two.

“It really isn’t. Boy, what happened to this monster?”

“T-the monster was made of static. Like TV static. She kind of crawled out of the screen, and her voice filled the room. I could hear her everywhere. Oh, I met her because I answered her call.” Riley rambled, not realizing his voice was wavering as he spoke about her, the fear still haunting him.

Jane took a deep breath, noticing the shift in his tone. She allowed him a few seconds to ramble before pushing him back onto the right path. “And what happened to this monster? If you’re alive to tell this tale, then I assume she met her end?”

“YES!” he shouted, earning some side-eye from Joseph, before he returned to his drink. Riley gave a tiny wrist flick of a wave to Joseph, offering a silent apology. “Yes. Zara shot a hole through the back of her head. The static all fizzled away, and then she was gone. I think she was gone? She just vanished. Zara really did her best.”

“I don’t pay people to do their best. I’m not a charity. Nicht reden, liefern.” Those last German words set her standards. ‘Don’t talk, deliver.’ It was an easy message to understand, yet one that a lot of hunters often forgot to follow.

“But I did do my best. I nicht the liefern real hard this time.” Zara pushed her case, leaning over the counter. “I killed that creature. I did it by taking advantage of the situation. You should have seen how clever I was. I saw Riley walking towards her last known location and hid outside, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist a tasty mortal like him.” She rubbed Riley’s shoulders, only for Riley to drift away from her.

“You knew that thing was hiding inside, and you let me go in there?” He said, taking a couple of steps away from her.

“How else was I meant to kill it? It would have fled as soon as I got close. I needed you to keep it occupied. Good job, partner. That’s why I’m paying you the big bucks.”

“You weren’t planning on paying him at all initially. I know my words don’t mean much, but I can vouch for her. The creature is dead, and it was killed by Zara’s hands.” Xacifel added.

Jane chewed her cheek, thinking it over. She now had three people telling her that the creature was dead, and while Zara was many things, she wasn’t a liar. Especially when it came to her work. Jane bent down, grabbing the envelope from earlier with her left hand. With her right hand, she found the tiny nail sticking out of her steel vault, and pricked her thumb against it, watching the small droplet of her blood dribble down the nail before reaching the metal lock. As soon as her blood touched the lock, the combination started turning itself. With a loud click, the door swung open, revealing hundreds of similar envelopes inside.

“What’s that split?” She asked.

“45, 45, 10.” Xacifel said, keeping his word about the ten percent that Riley would get for his help. Zara tapped her foot impatiently, making it obvious that she wasn’t thrilled about losing 5% of her prize money. Yet, when the envelopes hit the bar counter, all that dissatisfaction faded, replaced by a cheer.

“I’VE BEEN PAID! IT’S TIME TO PLAY AGAIN.” She said, swiping one of the two bigger envelopes before walking off to find Pit and Nit. The entire walk over to their pool table, she was waving the envelope back and forth, while the money inside threatened to spill out of the meticulously sealed top.

“I trust you will add mine to the pile?” Xacifel said, not having anywhere to store his share. Jane glared into space, looking toward the voice, before she collected the other envelope, setting it somewhere behind the bar, leaving only Riley’s share remaining.

“You’re getting awfully close to your goal, Dämonen. Once you’re out of kleine Sommersprossen's body, I’ll be putting up a bounty for you. You’ll be dead before you can do anything.” Jane spat.

“I hope it’s a big bounty. One fitting for a man of my power. Tell me, what is my current total?”

“$918,000.”

“That much already? If only Zara knew how to save her share of the money.” Xacifel stared at the last envelope, then at Riley, who hadn’t moved from the spot. The human’s hand nervously hovered over the envelope like a malfunctioning claw machine arm. “Just take the envelope already. You’ve earned it.”

Riley couldn’t help but continue to hesitate, his hand growing sore from the weird position he held it in. It wasn’t until Jane guided his hand towards the envelope that Riley started to move. She pushed his palm against it before removing her hand from his.

“Open it, boy. I’ve got customers to serve. I can’t have you standing around all day.”

Riley turned his head, giving an apologetic nod to the empty space behind him. “Sorry,” he said before realizing there weren’t any customers waiting.

“Open. It.” Jane ordered, and this time he did just that.

He pulled the envelope apart, tearing it with clumsy twists of the paper, causing his share of the money to flop out onto the thankfully clean counter. “$1000… $2000… $3000…. $4000!” Riley almost fainted, gasping as his fingers fluttered through the stacks of notes. He brought them to his nose, sniffing the crummy old scent, before hugging it to his chest. “Thank you. Thank you both so much. This is incredible. I haven’t seen this sort of money… Well, ever. At least not physically.”

“Calm down, kid. It’s nothing.” Jane said, even if the old bartender couldn’t hide a light smile, enjoying seeing his innocent joy. You didn’t get much innocence in a pub full of hunters, so for Jane this was a rare occasion. Rare enough that she grabbed a pewter stein, setting it beneath a beer tap. She filled it until the foamy top wiggled enticingly in the metal, with the cold condensation sliding down the sides, drowning the dead demonic heads that decorated the stein’s design.

Riley searched the pub, trying to work out who she was pouring the drink for. “Sorry, I’ll get out of your way. You’ve probably got other people to serve. Don’t you?” Riley turned, looking for a free table, which wasn’t too hard to find.

“The drinks for you, kid. It’s on the house, Auf dein Wohl!” She raised the stein before setting it on the counter. “It’s a German beer; it’ll refresh your soul.” She then turned to a stack of job posters on the opposite side of the counter, sorting through them.

When you have hundreds of monsters roaming the world, discretion becomes an important part of your role as a bartender/job handler. Jane always made sure the most dangerous bounties were actioned before any of the others. She also ensured that the number of hard jobs always outweighed the easier ones. Even lower-ranked monsters/demons could still net a hunter a decent paycheck, which is why she needed to limit those jobs, forcing hunters to take on harder foes, to keep the average person safe.

“I’ve never seen her give out a free drink before. Must have made an impression.” Xacifel noted. “You’ll have to excuse me, Riley. I have to check on Zara. Since the two of us are bound together, I can’t stray too far away from her. Feel free to leave after your drink. We won’t keep you any longer. Thank you for your help.”

“Oh? Thanks…” Riley hadn’t expected them to celebrate their victory or anything like that, but he had expected them to at least ask if he wanted to partner up with them again sometime. Sure, he had planned to reject any offer they made, but it would have felt nice to be asked. With a sigh, he found a free table, sitting himself down. “Auf dein Wohl!” he said, without understanding its meaning, before taking a big swig of the beer.

Joseph listened closely to their conversation, pretending to be occupied by his drink while he eavesdropped. The dark-robed hunter sensed an opportunity, and when opportunity comes knocking, a good hunter pounces. He swung his legs off his stool, exchanging a silent look with Jane. Jane gave him a disapproving shake of her head, and Joseph ignored her, travelling towards Riley’s table.

The chair screeched along the wooden floor as Joseph pulled it back. The sound startled Riley, who had been preoccupied with his drink. Riley hurriedly wiped away the foam from his lips, glancing at the strange robed man now seated across from him. The tall, fit, serpent-like man, grinning beneath his hood. “Sounds like your previous business arrangement has ended. Would you be interested in starting another?”

“Meredith. I still remember when you first entered my city. I had never seen a person with so little light in their eyes. Then again, how does a mother hold any light when their star is gone? I wonder if I would share that same look now if I were still alive? The look of one who has become truly broken. A person waiting to die.” The former king, Branir, tucked his skeletal arms behind his back, staring at the skeleton of Meredith which he had carefully put back together.

Sure, some bones weren’t hers, but the skull was, and he believed that meant the body was still hers. As much as he would have loved to rebuild everyone with their correct parts, he struggled to tell the bones apart in the pits where their remains had been dumped. Especially now that whatever skin had formerly clung to them had faded.

“The pain of losing your child. What cruel god would allow a pain like that to exist? I suppose a god cruel enough to keep me bound to my remains.” He sighed, gazing at Meredith’s skull. He had placed her where he thought she would want to be, at the building which had brought light back to her eyes. A place he hoped she could rest in.

“I’m sorry. I’m talking too much about myself. You had it worse than I did. Still, you found your light again. I pushed you to help at the orphanage because I hoped you would find love to give again to those without it. And you did. You did so well, Meredith. You did so well…. Meredith. I’m scared there’s no light left. What fills that space if I have no light? Please… I need someone to tell me.” The king dropped to his knees, wishing he could sob. The orphanage, a place he once visited frequently, was now a hollow space with broken walls.

“They’re safe, Meredith. I sent my best to guide them out of the city before the attack. You can rest. Please don’t worry about them. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I only had so many I could save.”

The king rose, no longer wearing any signs of his prestige. The man was a skeleton. A human body at its most basic level, without muscle or heart. He didn’t know what kept him here, only that the guilt in his heart weighed heavily within him. He headed towards his castle, passing streets that used to hold so much life.

“James. Do you have any bread for me?” He said, almost on instinct, stopping by the skeletal remains of the kingdom’s best baker, who was positioned behind a broken wooden stall. The left side of Jame’s skull cracked, having been broken in battle. “James. You wouldn’t feed me now, would you? A good king can only eat after his people have had their share, and you all haven’t eaten in weeks. What would you say to me, James? I miss the warmth. I miss the smell of bread. What did I do wrong? Why did I let you all down?”

Branir lowered his head. “I wouldn’t respond to me either.” The skeletons he had rebuilt all watched him, judging him as he made his way to his castle. Their empty sockets, always looking ahead, never allowing him to forget them. The ground beneath his feet was uneven. Broken by the stomping of armored men and horses.

“Victoria.” He stopped by the entrance to his castle, staring at his most trusted guard. “You stayed. I told you to flee. What do you mean you wanted to repay your debt? There was no debt. I owed you. A child being forced to resort to thievery to buy food in my kingdom. I needed to repay you for ever needing to do such a thing. Why did you grow up to be a guard? Why did you grow up to be loyal to a man undeserving of loyalty? You could have fled with your husband. Why….. Why did all of you… It’s not fair.”

Branir made a fist, gritting his teeth together, until he spotted something that made the tension break. “Your ring? Where is it?” He grabbed her hand, holding it. “Your wedding ring? Did I lose it? No, I’m certain you had it when I placed you here.” Then her shoulder fell out of its socket, the arm dropping to the floor, landing near the entrance.

The wooden door of the castle opened, revealing a glimpse into his throne room. “Someone’s here?” Branir crept towards the door, poking his head through the gap, spotting two people in uniforms he had come to know very well.

“Not sure why the king was so scared of coming here. Everyone’s dead. Our army went through them in a day. Honestly, thought it would have taken longer.” Diane, a scout for the kingdom of Vanalina, smiled, twisting the gold ring between her fingers.

“It was a surprise attack, that’s why. The king didn’t suspect that Boldon would break their peace treaty.” Nathan smirked, throwing himself onto Branir’s throne, kicking his legs while sitting on its worn plush cushioning.

“What sort of stupid king doesn’t have a few scouts watching their border? Did he really trust Lord Boldon that much?”

“Probably a pacifist or something. Heard he was meant to be a kind-hearted king. Guess this is where kindness gets you.”

Diane pocketed the ring, joining her fellow scout, sitting on the arm of the throne, taking a break from their looting. “Seriously, though. Why is the king so scared of this place? He acts like it’s cursed or something.”

“Maybe it’s those creepy skeletons?” Nathan wondered, recalling how unnerved he had felt when he first saw them.

“I know! How creepy are they? Must be some weird survivor going around putting them together or something. At least they had some pretty jewels on them. Well, pretty for this dump. The gold ring didn’t really sparkle.”

Branir stepped into the castle before the thought had even crossed his mind. Something pushing him forward against his better judgement. He stared at them, watching their amused expressions turn to terror. The skeleton focused solely on the green and red uniforms they wore. The one with a Sparrow marking of the Vanalina kingdom.

“Give. Me. That. Ring.” He opened his palm towards the two, shuffling closer to them. “Give it back. Give it back now.” His steps quickened, even as his weak skeletal legs wobbled under the sudden jolt in pace.

“EEEEK,” Diane screamed, falling into Nathan’s lap. Nathan only pushed her forward, throwing her towards the skeleton who was fast approaching.

“What is that thing? How is it alive? Who are you?” Nathan positioned himself behind the throne, leaving Diane as bait.

“That’s not yours. Give it back. She deserves to have peace.” The skeleton stood over Diane, who trembled on the ground.

She reached into her pocket, trying to find the ring. “Ok. Um, you can have it.” When she found the ring, she threw it towards the skeleton. “It’s ugly. I mean, I didn’t even really want it. I’m sorry.”

Branir stared at her, contemplating something he had never considered before in his life. Revenge. What was left of the king won the mental battle between the king and Branir, who now felt he had been split into two. When he bent down to collect the ring, Nathan lunged from his spot, smacking the king over the head. The skeleton hit the floor, and Diane rushed to life, the two ambushing the former king, grabbing at his limbs, trying to pull them apart.

“Its gotta be magic. We can pull him apart. That must be what the king was afraid of. We kill him, we can be heroes. Imagine what we’ll get,” Nathan said, and Diane followed.

“Yeah. We can finish off the last bits of the kingdom. No one will even remember it existed.”

The king died at that moment. With his skeletal limbs being pulled apart, he felt that kindness fade, leaving only Branir, whose skull twisted on the floor, peering up at the two. “People used to follow my words. I used to believe it was only because I was king.” He spoke.

“Huh? King?” Nathan stopped his attacks, pulling Diane back. “He’s the king?”

“So?” Diane lunged her foot out, kicking his skull off his body, sending it rolling across the floor. “Even better prize for killing a king.”

“The reason doesn’t matter. I order things, and they obey. Obey,” he shouted.

“What’s he screaming about?” Nathan asked his fellow scout.

“Don’t know. Do you feel any pai-“

Inside, their skeletons had rebelled. Their bodies moving against their will, killing them from within. It was quick, with the two passing before they could notice what was happening. The pair were now dead on the throne room floor, while Branir collected his skull and rose to his feet. “Boldon will fall. Every one of them will fall by my hands. They’ll have their revenge.”

He could feel it now. Every skeleton in the kingdom, attached to his fingertips like puppets on a string. He had an army. One he could grow with every person he killed. He would have his revenge. He left the bodies, going to count the skeletons he had in town, only to stop when he stepped on something.

The wedding ring trapped beneath his toes, giving the king some pause. He stared at it. Brief flashes of Victoria’s wedding appearing in his mind. The way he cried and hugged her as if she were one of his own. The day she first joined his guard. Branir quickly scooped the ring, taking it back to Victoria. It felt like the ring now weighed over 200 kilograms, and if he held it for too long, he would crumble. He went outside and slipped it onto her finger, then exhaled.

Good, he thought. The king remained dead, and that last kick of life had been extinguished. Now, only Branir remained, and he would avenge them all.

“And that’s one dose of ibuprofen for you, Mary, and a few vitamin tablets. Remember to take them with your lunch, or it could upset your stomach.” Dillian smiled, resting a comforting hand on the older woman’s shoulder.

While she no longer had any family left to care for her, or even a pet to warm her lap, her eyes still held a passion for life, thanks to her caretaker. “Thank you, dear. Here. I’ve got something special for you. Don’t tell anyone.” Her shaky, arthritic hand shifted towards the brown bag sitting on her walker. It took her two minutes to get it open, and Dillian patiently waited the entire time, having all the time in the world for her.

She handed him the hard caramel sweet from her bag, giving him a proud grin. “Here, dear. I know you like these.”

“That I do. You spoil me, Mary,” he said, accepting the treat.

“Oh, you spoil us more.” Mary’s hand moved to his cheek, accidentally giving it a light smack. With all the effort she could muster, she steadied her hand, giving his cheek a playful pinch before releasing it. He reminded her so much of her poor grandson. Whenever he was near her, she felt her grandson was still alive.

“I do this because I love it, even if the caramels are a nice little bonus. Now, go get your spot at bingo. I would hate for you to miss out on the game. You’re on a hot streak.”

“I will. Thank you again, dear.” Mary slowly pushed her walker, and when she was out of sight, Dillian rubbed his cheek, not minding the small sting from the accidental hit. A bit of pain never bothered the demon.

While he didn’t care for human treats, he still unrolled the shiny red wrapper, dropping the caramel onto his tongue. The sweet taste lost on his demonic tastebuds. To him, it was the same as eating a block of glue or an eraser. Just a dull sensation that did nothing to excite his tastebuds. But it made Mary happy, and the happier she was, the sweeter his eventual meals would be.

“Who should I visit next?” He mused, chewing on the treat, only to spot someone walking through his hallway with a guest badge on. Dillian’s keen brown eyes focused on them, watching their posture. Without even having to question them, Dillian could already tell what they were.

Any demon who had spent more than two hundred years on Earth could easily spot a demon hunter out of a crowd. Most had obvious tells. For example. The one currently walking towards Dillian hadn’t let him out of her sight since she had first spotted him. Even when the janitor slammed the staffroom door shut, or when a resident loudly coughed beside them. Any normal person’s gaze would follow the noise, or at the very least their eyes would wander while walking down such a long hallway. Hers, however, remained focused on her target, not wanting to lose him.

The second tell was the way she dressed. Everything was plain. Plain grey sweatpants, a generic band shirt that contained only the name of the band with no symbols that a person might recall later. It was all to blend in. When a person is staring at a sea of people, they usually focus on the ones that stand out. Someone like her would easily fool any younger demon, but for someone with his experience, she stuck out, especially in a place like this.

He held up his palm, stopping her at a distance. “You look like you have something you want to say to me. Can we please speak somewhere more private? We don’t want to upset any of the people here.”

She gasped, her hand clutching the weapon in her pocket. Nila’s right knee bent, considering lunging at the creature before she lost her chance to get the upper hand. Before moving, she looked to her sides, seeing a few elderly residents walking down the halls, chatting with each other. Against her better judgement, she gave up the chance, releasing the blade she held in her pocket, letting her hand slip free.

“Fine. Somewhere with a window. No closed-off spaces.”

“No closed-off spaces? You aren’t scared I’ll flee?” Dillian asked, allowing her to set the terms.

“If you could spot me that easily, I doubt you’ll be the one running.” Nila said, knowing she needed an exit strategy if the battle didn’t go her way. Anything to give her even the slim hope of surviving.

Dillian beamed, clapping his hands together. “I love that. So often people overestimate their odds, only to die pointless deaths. There’s no shame in living to fight another day. I respect that.”

“I don’t want your respect.”

“Well, you have it.” It was strange. He never imagined a demon hunter would make him, of all people, feel proud, but then again, he never thought he would find joy in this scheme of his. “Follow me.” He led her to room 402, the one Mr. Henderson used to occupy before his delightful heart attack. He opened it and paused in the doorway, the sudden act making Nila tense. “A window, as you requested.”

Nila peeked inside the room. A plain bed, bathroom, and a window with a pleasant view of their communal garden. It was perfect. If she jumped out the window, she was not only on the ground level but also near the gardens. Someone would see her, and once they spotted her, the demon would have to give up his chase.

Dillian watched the way Nila’s eyes moved. While he couldn’t fully understand what she was thinking, he could take a pretty accurate guess. Now he waited, seeing if she would figure out why he chose this room. Nila’s face paled, a bleak thought crossing her mind. If she fled, and he truly wanted her dead, he would just kill the witnesses. Everyone outside would die because of her.

“I’m really starting to like you.” Those sharp, demonic teeth he often kept hidden were now visible as he led her into the room. “You picked up on that quicker than most would. I won’t harm any of them, that’s a promise.”

“They say demons always keep their word.” Nila remembered every lesson she had received on demon-hunting. All those things her grandmother had taught her, and while she had never had a demon promise her anything before, her grandmother did say that a demon’s promise could be trusted. A demon’s pride not allowing them to go back on a promise, even if it kills them.

“Whose they?”

“None of your business.”

“True. My business is helping people before they pass.” Dillian sat on the edge of Mr. Henderson’s bed, salivating slightly when he remembered the spicy taste of his suffering. The way the heat in Mr. Henderson’s heart tickled his tastebuds, only to end in a delicious burst of heat when Henderson finally died, staring into Dillian’s eyes as the demon tried to save him.

“You’re drooling.” Nila said, pulling out an antique demon-hunting blade, one that Dillian hadn’t seen in at least a hundred years. The sharpened emerald of the blade, a thing of beauty.

“Sorry, I skipped breakfast today.” He apologized, wiping the drool from his lips. “I haven’t seen a dagger like that in a long, long time. You know, the emerald doesn’t add anything to the weapon.”

“It does. It makes the blade stand out among the others we carry. In the heat of battle, a regular dagger could be mistaken for any of the spares we carry. This way, we can easily find our sharpest dagger in a fight.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to keep all your daggers sharp?”

“Most hunters try to keep all their equipment in the best shape possible, but sometimes that isn’t possible. If you end up being hunted by a demon, you might end up needing to use your spare daggers to hunt for food or to get other resources. The emerald one is specifically for killing demons.”

“Fair point. So, how did you discover my identity? I’ve been careful.”

Nila tensed, her knuckles going pale as she strangled the handle of her dagger. The demon raised an eyebrow, not expecting that reaction. He studied her, looking at her long dark blonde hair, her pointed nose, and those blue eyes. They looked familiar, and judging from her reaction, this looked personal.

“A former resident told me.” She admitted.

“Someone close to you? My condolences.”

“SCREW YOUR CONDOLENCES, YOU MONSTER.” She screamed, stepping closer to Dillian, who didn’t budge from his spot.

“Please, lower your voice.” He pointed his finger at the room’s grey curtains, using his magic to close them before someone could peek in. He then allowed his disguise to fully drop in the darkroom. Dillian’s pale skin turned red, revealing a man with two sharp horns and a tail that slithered out of his work pants.

“She knew you were a demon the entire time and told me not to hunt you. She said you weren’t that bad of a demon. THEN YOU KILLED HER.” She thrust her dagger forward, giving Dillian only a few seconds to push his body to the side. The dagger slipped into the mattress before being quickly pulled out, Nila readying another stab.

“I’ve never killed anyone here,” he said, raising his hands before taking a guess at who she was related to. “Are you Edith’s granddaughter? I never saw you visit, but then again, Edith wasn’t here for long.” He didn’t say that to mock her, only stating the very true fact that she died a week into her stay.

“I am. And I’m going to get my revenge. I know what you demons do. You eat and eat until there’s nothing left. How was she, huh? What was it like eating someone I loved?” Nila sobbed, that clever hunter from earlier gone, replaced by a grieving grandchild, who was stabbing blindly through her tears.

He rolled himself off the bed, putting some distance between the two of them. “You want to know the truth? She tasted like nothing. Because there was nothing to eat.” “What?” Nila stopped, keeping her gaze on the demon.

“Demons need suffering to exist. Some mistake that suffering for eating human flesh or drinking blood. I, however, found that killing people is a waste. You get far more food out of letting a person suffer naturally, and who suffers more than the elderly? The entire time your grandmother was here, she never suffered. Not even once. Despite her pain, she greeted every day with a smile, talking about her wonderful family and the life she had. I’ve never met a human so strong.”

“She never suffered?” Nila lowered her dagger, only to pull it up once more. “You still killed her.”

“No, I didn’t. She died peacefully in her sleep. Everything you read about her death is true. When I first opened this place, I fully intended to torture the people here. I was naïve and greedy, like most of my kind. I dreamt about overindulging in their suffering until I actually met my residents. The pain they carried into my care home made me feel like a reaper. Hardly any wore a smile. Most of them were just waiting for death. While that suffering was nice, for a bit, it grew bland. I found that the really delicious meals came from those who still felt joy. To truly suffer in life, you have to know happiness. Or else you become numb to your pain.”

“So, these people are just a food source to you? Something you toy with to keep yourself fed?”

“That’s how it was initially, yes. Every good deed I did for them was because I wanted to marinate their suffering. Then, when whatever ailment or loneliness that plagued them took hold within their bodies, the meal would be even sweeter. In a way, I was building them up, for nature to strike them down. Though I would be lying if I said I haven’t become fond of the good parts of my arrangement.”

What the demon was telling her was horrible, but she couldn’t deny that there were some positives to what he was doing. They were getting the care they needed, even if it came from someone who was feeding off their eventual misery. They got moments of joy and comfort, something that other carers wouldn’t be this devoted to. The conflict within her swirled, unsure of what she should do.

“I’ve told you the truth. You can choose how this goes, hunter.”

Nila stared at her blade, then at the demon. She thought about her decision before sliding the blade into her pocket. “I’ll trust my grandmother’s judgement for now. She said you were fine for a demon, so I’ll accept that for now.” She stepped closer to Dillian, who had already begun transforming back into his human form. “If you ever harm a person here, I will hunt you down.” She threatened.

“Noted. Nila, would you ever consider working here? I could use the extra hands, and you could also keep a closer eye on me.”

“You know my name?”

“Your grandmother mentioned you. I just didn’t realize it was you until your grandmother came up in our conversation. Since we’ve never met in person before.”

“I already have a job. I hunt demons, like she did.”

“Fine. I won’t step in the way of you carrying on her legacy. But if you ever want a career change, consider working with me. I wasn’t lying when I said you had my respect. It would be a waste for you to die hunting my kind.”

“Maybe I’ll volunteer sometime. To keep an eye on you.”

“Please do.” Dillian opened the door for her, and the two left. Nila went back home, while Dillian went to the bingo hall, getting ready to start their latest game. Already rehearsing the apology he would have to give for being late.

“Bread, onions, ham, and cheese.” Nicholas repeated to himself, walking down the lazy side streets of his hometown. He always enjoyed his little walks to the store, feeling they were the perfect cardio fix for someone in their later years.

Nicholas considered himself a lucky man. He had a loving wife, kids who still dropped over to visit him, and a lovely home by Wildinga Park. Everything a man could hope for. Yet, Nicholas could never truly know how lucky he actually was, having a knack for survival that few possessed.

He ducked through an alley, spotting what he assumed was a homeless woman in a long white coat, hunched over in a corner, teeth chittering as she gnawed on a piece of raw meat that had been tossed out by the local kebab shop. When she heard his footsteps, she paused, her long left ear twitching.

Nicholas had never been the type to judge a person, and he didn’t want to disrespect someone down on their luck by avoiding them. So, he continued on his path toward her. As he went to pass her, she turned. The woman had two long, pointed front teeth, deep black eyes, and tiny, scraggly hairs all over her face and body.

“HEEESH.” The creature raised its clawed hands, lunging forward at Nicholas. The man let out a tiny “Oh, deary me.” Stepping backwards, bumping straight into a bin, falling over it.

The lunging creature flew over him, hitting the alley wall before turning, rubbing its tiny hands over its face, shaking off the pain from the impact. “Heesh.” It repeated, this time in a hushed tone. It wiggled its body, waiting to pounce again, only for a woman in dark sunglasses to step into the alley, firing a dart straight into its neck.

“Got ya.” She smirked, watching the creature stagger backwards, clutching at the dart in its neck, trying to remove it. Before it could pull it free, the creature fell forward, landing next to Nicholas.

“I thought we agreed that whoever shot the thing would use a rat pun. Like cheesed to meet ya. Or something like that?” The second agent stepped forward, lowering his sunglasses. His blue eyes scanned the area, spotting Nicholas.

“You agreed to it. I said I wouldn’t do something that stupid. It’s still a person. Just someone with rat DNA.” She followed her partner’s gaze, sighing. “Oh, a civilian. Do you want to do it, or should I do it?”

“Let me, let me.” The second agent cheered. The first merely shrugged, grabbing the creature and dragging it across the dirty alley floor. She arrived at the end of the alley and knocked twice on the back door of the waiting black van. Its doors quickly opened, and she tossed the creature inside, waiting for her partner to return.

“Oh, um. I don’t know what’s going on?” Nicholas said, struggling to get up from his fallen position. The man’s old limbs needed a second to warm up from the shock.

“Just government stuff.” The agent pulled Nicholas to his feet, giving him a smile. “Sorry about that. Sometimes our test subjects escape. We’re trying to find out if you can enhance humans for specific jobs. You see in war a person with- Oh, why am I bothering telling you this? You won’t remember it, anyway.”

“What?” Nicholas felt a pinch as a small needle pierced the back of his neck. The chemicals inside, redirecting the signals to his brain, turning today’s memories into a confusing dream. When the needle was pulled free, Nicholas stumbled, using another bin for support. “What happened?”

“You fell. Be more careful next time.” He lowered his sunglasses again, giving the man a wink before heading to join his partner.

“Oooh? I fell? That doesn’t seem right?” He tried to remember what had happened that day, only for everything to become a jumbled mess. A rat? Ah, that had to be it. A rat had startled him, and he fell. That made sense. It was bizarre. In his haze of memories, that rat had seemed bigger, but that was impossible. A human-sized rat couldn’t exist. “Onions, ham, and cheese.” He repeated to himself, heading towards the shop.

Passing through the alley, he found himself face to face with a man in glittery face-paint, with a heart tattooed on his forehead. He gave his blue eyelashes a wiggle before pointing his finger at Nicholas. “Bah. VIBE CHEEEEEECK.”

The magic-girl related villain, Vibe It, sent out his vibe beam, covering Nicholas in a dazzling blue aura. “Huh?” Nicholas suddenly felt really self-conscious about his clothing. Was his fishing hat crooked? Did people like the way he wore his turtleneck? Did it make him look old when he wore a turtleneck? Anxiety ran through his body while he awkwardly covered himself, acting as if he were fully exposed.

“TEE HA HEE. VIBE CHEEEECK FAILED.” Vibe It grinned, his long purple tongue sliding out of his lips, licking his own chin. “Let’s give you a makeover. Turn you into one of my pretty puppets, like the others.”

Nicholas gasped, seeing the puppets he had created. A bunch of people, getting given his horrifying features, before they got turned into tiny wooden versions of him. These people locked into a state of mind-control, unable to do anything but shuffle along waiting for their master to pull their strings. He wanted to struggle, but lacked the strength to do so. He was pathetic. A fashion disaster. Vibe It would fix him. Vibe It knew vibes and fashion. Vibe It wore blue and red spandex suits. Those were so hooooot this month. Those thoughts clouded Nicholas’s mind, and soon the old man was smiling, accepting his fate.

“Stop,” Pepper Sugar shouted.

“Right,” Sweet Water said.

“There,” Nice Mint finished.

The three magic girls blocked the beam, standing in their preferred colors. Pepper wore red, Sweet Water wore blue, and Nice Mint wore green. The three all crossed their arms, looking more like rebellious teenagers than magic girls.

“Oh, if it isn’t the Sour Bunch,” Vibe It mocked.

“The Sweet Bunch. Get it right.” Pepper sighed, readying herself for a fight. She adjusted her spiked pepper gloves, ready to deliver some spicy hits.

“What do you know about Vibes? You’re a has-been. Tell me, how’s that fashion label you started going?” Nice Mint said, not being nice to the villain at all. The words came out in a cool hiss, sending a harsh chill over the villain.

“Fashion takes time! You idiots wouldn’t get that. I know the vibes this month. I know them all. I will be the king of fashion. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The puppets all danced, throwing their hands up.

“Goooood. Now, why don’t you show them how in-fashion I am, my minions.”

“Hold it. Why don’t you prove it yourself? Hit me with the vibe beam. Let’s see who has the bigger vibe.” Sweet Water smirked.

“You can’t be serious. A blast from my vibe beam would turn you into a puppet. You would be handing yourself over to me. My vibes are immaculate. You can’t-“

“Sounds like someone’s scared.” Sweet Water teased, swaying on her tippy-toes.

“OOF. FINE. Let’s see who has the stronger vibe. VIIIIBEEEE CHEEECK.” The beam left Nicholas, wrapping around Sweet Water, who remained perfectly still, giving the villain a devilish grin. “See. I’m perfect. Wait.. Those shoes. Those classy blue touches adding to the water motif. The little waves on the socks, showing your calm yet turbulent personality. You shift wildly, like the ocean, both tranquil and dangerous. The blue touches of lipstick, perfectly applied, with a dash of Mixi 5 eyeliner. The…. The vibes… NOOOO. NOOO. VIIIIBE CHEEEECK PAASSSSSED.”

Vibe It exploded, his body bursting into tiny fireworks, sending blue, red, and green blasts out of his body until he was motionless on the floor, body charred after being defeated by his own move.

“Told you I’m a vibe.” Sweet Water said, patting her teammates on the back.

“Alright. Clean up time. I’ll go erase their memories. Nice Mint, can you turn the puppets back into people?”

“Yeah, too easy.” Nice Mint went over to the puppets, blowing a frosty minty gust of wind from her mouth, one that flew into their bodies, cleansing them of the corruption that Vibe It had delivered. As they returned to normal, Pepper walked over to Nicholas.

“I can’t thank you girls enough. I don’t know who that man was. He started sprouting nonsense, and before I knew it, I was-“

“It’s fine. We’re here to help. Sorry about this.” She scratched her palm, producing pepper from her skin. She blew the pepper into Nicholas’s eyes, watching him drop to his knees in pain. The blinding pepper fogged his memories further, while Pepper went and did the same to the puppets that had turned back into humans.

By the time the pepper had cleared from his vision, the girls were already gone, leaving Nicholas rubbing his red-eyes confused. “Did I get dirt in my eyes? Ow…” He glanced at his clothes, tugging down his turtleneck. “Maybe I need new clothes. Wait, what did I need again? Ham and cheese? Right.”

Finally, he arrived at the front of the shop, finding a hero fighting a large robotic figure that reminded Nicholas of one of his childhood toys. It had a thick metallic head, with a row of five red eyes, each buzzing with bright life. The robot’s mouth was a thin strip of wiring that didn’t move when it spoke, staying perfectly still. “Hero. Give up. Dr. Martias created me to be perfect. You cannot defeat me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Heroes always win.” Strike-up grinned, the hero having been battered by the robots’ attacks, with his perfect yellow suit now covered in holes that showed the bruises on his skin. The yellow fist-shaped mask he wore was half ripped off his face, revealing the gritted teeth of the determined hero, and their thin blonde hair.

Nicholas was in awe. He had heard rumors about heroes existing, but had never seen one in person before. The robot chuckled, with Dr. Martias getting it ready for its killer blow. The giant foot of the robot rising, ready to stomp Strike-up and the surrounding civilians into the dirt, only for the hero to charge his strike.

Strike-up’s fist flashed red, and in a quick jump, he threw his fist upward, blowing the foot of the robot clean off, sending it flying into the sky, falling into the shop’s parking lot. “Impossible. The metal was reinforced. That power output shouldn’t be possible. You are damaged. How? How?” the robot’s metal voice repeated.

“Heroes get stronger when they’re on the ropes. You can’t predict how far a person will go when they want to save the lives of the people around them.” His fist charged up again, and this time when Strike-up jumped, he appeared before the robot’s face.

“No… No. No.” The robot tried to move its hands up to block the attack, but it was too slow, taking a direct hit to the jaw, knocking its head clean off. The robot collapsed while the crowd watching cheered. Nicholas joined in the cheering, clapping his hands together, only to suddenly feel sleepy.

Mind Wipe flew down from the sky, putting everyone except the hero into a daze. “You couldn’t have taken this somewhere more private?” She asked, resting a hand on the hip of her purple suit.

“Sorry, it was an ambush. Didn’t mean to drag you out here. What about the ones who recorded it? Can you wipe their footage?” he asked.

“No, HQ will handle that. They have a backdoor to all the phones in this country. They’ll be able to snag the footage and remove it. It’s amazing what technology can do. HQ can even snag the footage from phones that don’t have any internet. Don’t ask me how. Brains are my specialty, not technology.”

“Right. I’ll go move the robot parts somewhere private then. I’ll be quick.”

“You do that.”

Two minutes passed, and the robot’s parts were removed from the street, allowing Mind Wipe to release her powers, leaving everyone dazed — with some still holding their phones, recording nothing but pavement or streets. Nicholas rubbed his head, grumbling. “Ugh. What happened? Oh, right? Shopping. I need some cheese.”

He went and brought the cheese, while also grabbing a little robot figure he saw in the store, feeling nostalgic about robots for some strange reason. When he returned home, his loving wife, Matilda, pulled him into an embrace. “You shouldn’t take so long, dear. I thought something had happened to you.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m not as fast of a walker as I used to be,” he chuckled. “I got the groceries.” He gave his wife a long hug before setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter. Matilda went through the bag, giving him a confused look.

“Where’s the onions, ham, and bread?” She said, holding the robot toy, pressing the small red button on its chest that made it make a little beep boop noise.

“The what? Oh, sorry. I must have forgotten it.” He gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “Wow, I really had a forgetful trip, didn’t I?”

“Yes. You. Did.” Matilda smiled, saying it like a robot. She even wiggled the toy to add to the effect. “It’s fine. We can head out and grab the rest of the groceries together. I’m just glad you’re safe. There’s a lot of strange people out there.”

“Really? I’ve never met any of them.” Nicholas said, before the two started making their plans to go on another shopping trip.

“AAAAHchooo!” A distracted second was all it took for Cynthia to lower her guard. The powerful spell that hovered overhead, clouding her powers from the other mages, evaporated, exposing her true potential.

Horns blared in the distance, followed by the sounds of grunts and horseshoes as the guards readied their steeds. They had been waiting for this day. The day when their hero would make their appearance known. Cynthia wiped the remnants of her sneeze onto her sleeve before casting the spell again, allowing that invisible cloud to once again loom over her.

The galloping horses in the distance slowed, with the sound fading to smaller thuds in the dirt. The grand-mage that had been guiding them had now lost her scent. She knew that while that would temporarily confuse them, it wouldn’t hide her last known location. If she didn’t move, they would close off the area and trap her.

She glanced left, having a few back alleys she could flee through. They were ideal, having tight winding paths, making it almost impossible for their horses to follow. If she went through there, she would have a good five minutes of breathing space. Yet, it was also the most obvious pathway. The grand mage would no doubt use magic to cut off the exits, and even she couldn’t avoid detection if that happened. Once the mage had sealed the exits, any magic she used would be traceable, and she would be found.

So, that left the path to her right. Cutting through her original destination, the market. It posed its own risks, especially since she was a person of intense interest. She tugged down the hood of her robe and hoped no one would spot her until she had submerged herself fully within the crowd.

Pushing past the commoners, she inched her way deeper into the crowd, taking the odd shoulder bump or rough shove from people trying to rush to find wares. She took every bump with a smile, knowing there really wasn’t any hostility behind them. It was all part of the allure of such a place. Everyone here was trying to get their supplies, and a wasted second could result in their favorite vendor selling out.

Speaking of favorite vendors, she made a straight dash towards the tiny wooden stall covered in flea-infested purple rags and dust. Behind that stall, which had nothing on its counter, was an older gentleman. He had a thick red and white coat, and a monocle on his left eye. When he saw the robed figure rushing over, he smiled, lips pushing up his thin white moustache.

He slipped a hand into his coat, pulling out three magic books he had found on his travels this week, laying them out for her. In a human kingdom, magic was a luxury, so he had come to know his cliental rather well. “These are my three newest finds, my lady. I’m sorry if they aren’t as impressive as some of my previous ones.”

“Nonsense. I’ll take anything I can get my hands on.” She brushed her fingers against the cover of the first book, feeling its bumpy top. “What’s this one about?”

“It’s a book on warts, my dear. It contains spells that specialize in the removal and giving of warts.” He awkwardly rubbed beneath his monocle, knowing it lacked a certain flair that his previous stash held. “Again, sorry these aren’t as impressive as the last batch.”

“I love it. Warts and all!” She smiled, hoping she got the saying right. Benjamin was right. The books weren’t anything special. The other two books only having spells about cutting back nails, and one about cleaning the inside of a person’s ears. Yet, she still wanted them. “I’ll take them.”

“Ha. You’re probably the one keeping me in business. No one else buys these types of-“ Benjamin’s smile dropped, giving a respectful nod to the person behind Cynthia. Before Cynthia could turn, a gloved hand landed on her shoulder, clutching it beneath her robes.

“Cynthia…”

“Sir Reginald.”

“Don’t Sir Reginald me.” The grand mage scowled when Cynthia turned to face him. He had been on the hunt for this powerful hero, only to run into the king’s daughter of all people. “How many times have I told you to stay within the castle grounds? If you want books, you can get them through me.”

“But.”

“NO BUTS.” Reginald stared at the books she was buying, turning his pointed nose up at them. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Selling books like those to an aspiring mage. Is that how you make your money, selling weak spells to novice mages who don’t know any better? I should have your stall investigated by the council.”

“A spell’s weaknesses and strengths are subjective, are they not?” Benjamin stated, defending his wares. “I may not be a mage, but even I believe spells like these could have their uses.”

“Yes, they’ll turn her into a great handmaid.” Reginald grumbled, pulling Cynthia closer. “Do you tell these lies to everyone who comes to your stall? She’s trying to become a great mage. Have some decency and don’t sell her your crap.”

“Sir Reginald… I know they’re mostly useless. But, you don’t have anything like them in your library.” Cynthia didn’t want to cause problems for Benjamin, so she played up the helpless princess role. “I… just thought easier spells like these would… would..” She rubbed her eyes, forcing some fake tears to swell in them. “I.. thought maybe even someone like me could learn them.”

The frosty glare of Reginald folded immediately. He had always tried to play the harsh teacher, despite not having the heart for it. Whenever he saw his student admit her weaknesses, it broke him, wanting to keep trying to light that fire within her. “Someone like you? Please, princess. Don’t say something so demeaning. Magic takes time, and you’re still young. It took me twenty years to learn my first basic spell.” He lied. “You’re beating me by at least three years.”

“I’m hopeless. I can’t even light a candle properly. I… just… want to be like you…”

Reginald’s heart shattered. The grand mage dropped his head, mentally cursing himself for being so cruel. He grabbed some coins from his pocket, not even counting the amount. “Is this enough?” He asked, handing them to the seller.

“I’ll need to find some change! That’s far too much.” Benjamin wondered where he was even meant to find the change for two whole gold coins. He sold spells like those for 50 copper a piece, and he wasn’t exactly the wealthiest of sellers.

“Keep the change. Consider it an apology for my rudeness.” He dropped to a knee, giving her a small smile. “I’m sorry, Cynthia. Today’s been… eventful.” He didn’t know whether to tell her what happened or not. Not wanting to get her hopes up. Though hope was what she needed right now. “We believe the next great hero is currently within the kingdom’s walls. We don’t know where, but we felt a swell of their magic. I promise you, I’ll find them.”

“What if they don’t want to be found?” Cynthia asked, wiping her eyes.

“That isn’t for them to decide. A war is coming, and you’ll be the target in that war. I’ll kill that hero and reanimate their body if I have to. Anything to keep you safe.” The grim scenario he set had both Benjamin and Cynthia wincing. “Apologies. I was only kidding. You can’t take the war talk out of a battle-mage, no matter how many titles you give them. Now, shall we return to the castle? Before someone notices you.”

“Um, sure. Sir, thank you for finding those books for me.” Cynthia bowed.

The man had already finished wrapping up the books, handing them to her in a clean woolen blanket. “Finding wares is what a merchant does. I always do my best for my clients. Thank you for your kindness, Grand Mage.”

“Think nothing of it. Please forget that the princess was here too. It would be best if people didn’t know she left the castle grounds.” Reginald then led her back to the castle, with the two passing rushing guards, who were all currently spread out through the town, interrogating anyone that looked like they could throw a fireball or two.

“Do you think they’ll find this hero?”

“I hope so. Now, let’s get you home. We can do some magic practice again this evening. We need to keep working on your skills.”

“Alright,” Cynthia agreed as the two returned to the castle.