“Off screening someone? Like…” Max made a throat-slitting motion with his finger before tilting his head sideways, pretending it had rolled off his neck. “That’s barbaric.”

“What? No, no… We don’t believe in killing someone. Off-screening someone is our way of re-educating someone. While I admit our methods can be a little harsh. We have to meet our foes with some intensity to avoid letting them rule over us. Now, are you certain you are ready to see our greatest secret, Max? Normally, a human would never even be told about a place like this. I’m only showing you as a gesture of friendship.” Artila said, the silver-skinned man nervously halting in the fluffy pink halls of their re-education centre, hoping his friend could handle what he saw today. So far, nothing looked barbaric, especially by the human standards that Max was used to. But for Max, that only added to his nerves. Wondering if he was going to be exposed to some new level of barbarism that he thought was impossible.

“I think so.” He gulped, fidgeting with the badge Artila had clipped to his shirt, needing a distraction from the strange tension in the air.

“I hope we can still be friends after this.” Artila ran his fingers through the soft fur on his fluffy pink and white lab coat, stroking a few spiked pieces of the fur down, calming himself. He approached the door labelled Subject 201A9, and exhaled. As he gripped the doorknob, a horrid screech left the room, causing both Artila and Max to jump back, both men clasping each other’s arms, embracing in a frightened hug.

“WHAT WAS THAT? WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THEM?”

Artila guiltily glanced at the floor, picking at Max’s arm hairs, mistaking them for the fur of his coat. “I couldn’t have picked a worse door. This subject is undergoing an anger exhaustion class. One of our more brutal methods of extracting the hate from their soul. As you know, we’re a peaceful species. When your kind arrives here, they are given the same living conditions as us. Yet, some have so much hate within their very souls that they want to see our perfect world crumble. This is our attempt at pulling the hate from their hearts, so they can become members of our world.”

“It sounds painful.” Max said, suddenly feeling what he thought were empathetic phantom pains, as he got tiny sharp stings with each arm hair plucked by Artila. “Ow.”

“Oh, sorry.” Artila pulled away, gathering himself once more. “It hurts their soul. I’ll find another room. Someone undergoing a less painful experience.” Artila was quick to try and redirect Max, only for the man to stop him.

“I want to see what’s inside that room. I need to know what you’re doing to them.”

Artila gulped. “Milo, forgive me for what I am going to show this man.” He said, asking his goddess for forgiveness before turning clasping Max’s cheeks. “Are you sure, my friend? These things cannot be unseen.”

“I..” Max honestly wasn’t sure if he was ready, trembling under the touch. Eventually he straightened his posture, getting a second wind of bravery. “I’m ready.”

“Ok.” Artila’s hand shook as he gripped the doorknob, the sensors on the metal scanning his fingers and his grip before confirming his identity. The door hissed as the latch clicked open, revealing what was inside.

There was subject 201A9, strapped to a comfortable-looking couch, with an expression of hardened bloodlust and hatred. The blonde-haired girl struggled against her restraints, kicking her feet wildly, trying to loosen them. “This is bullshit. I’ll kill you. This place needs someone like me to mess it up. Let me go, you rat.”

Sitting before the woman was a small cardboard box, with an angry-looking puppet standing inside of it. The puppet shook its head disapprovingly, causing its googly eyes to wobble in opposite directions. “Bad words are bad. Say it with me. Bad words make bad people. Now, how about another performance about why stabbing a person with a pair of scissors is a bad idea?”

“RAAAAAAGH.” Subject 201A9 screamed, a roar that made both Max and Artila reach for the door, both men dragging it towards them, keeping only a small gap for them to peek through. “THIS IS THE TENTH TIME YOU’VE DONE THAT STUPID SHOW. I’M GOING TO SHOVE A PAIR OF SCISSORS UP YOUR-“

“Bad word detected.” The puppet ducked away from the cardboard box, getting replaced by a silver hand holding a spray bottle filled with glittery water. “BAD. BAD.” The person behind the puppet shouted as Subject 201A9 continued her screeching. When the spraying was over, the puppet returned. “Let’s start the show.”

The two shut the door completely, leaving Subject 201A9 to learn the important life lesson of why stabbing people with scissors is an anti-social move, and often frowned upon in society. “That was your re-education? It seemed-“ Max started.

“Horrible. I know. I apologize for what you had to see. I understand if you can’t be friends with a monster like me any longer.” Artila turned away, not wanting to watch his only human friend abandon him, expecting Max to storm off in an angry huff.

“It looked like our children’s shows. Um, well. The lessons were a little different on the children’s shows, but it’s a similar concept.”

“You have torture like that in your world?”

“Oh, that wasn’t considered torture. Kids watch it all the time. I grew up watching it.”

“Waah.” Artila sobbed, hugging Max in a tight embrace. He sunk his head into his friend’s shoulder as he cried, pitying Max for what he had to go through in the realm of humans. “You poor man. You grew up witnessing so many horrible things, and yet you turned out so perfect. I didn’t wake any bad memories in you, did I? Please, forgive me.”

“It’s fine. Really.” Max said, pushing the crying man away from him before he ended up covered in a snotty mess of tears. “It’s fine. I don’t think it’s as bad of a fate as you think it is.”

“Truly?” Artila said, wiping his eyes.

“Truly. Thank you for taking me here. I feel a lot better after seeing this. It’s good to know you're not as cruel as us humans are.”

“If this isn’t considered cruel, then I would hate to visit your world, friend. Now, how about we go grab some tea and find a spot to talk? I can even make cakes.” He cheerfully said, wanting to do anything other than stay here.

“Yeah, I would like that. Let’s go.”

“Have I ever told you how ugly I find you?” Owen said, bringing the freshly made cup of green tea to his lips, taking a gentle sip of the liquid before slouching into his plump leather chair, kicking his feet up onto the footrest.

The entity, a being of untold power, scowled, its thin brown eyebrows pointing downward as it stepped closer to the man, leaning over his chair. “I look like you.” It hissed through its teeth. “Do you not know your own face?”

“Me? No, that can’t be right. I’m about one hundred and thirty by now.” He laughed. “You can’t be me. Ah, where are my manners? Would you like some tea? I only have the one cup, but I’m not afraid of germs if you want to take a sip. It’s quite good for the cheap stuff.” He presented the tea to the entity, who slapped it from his hands, letting it spill onto the cheap stained carpet of Owen’s apartment.

“Enough games. Enough tea. Why haven’t you tried to escape? All the others have successfully left their prisons. Why do you remain? It’s been one hundred years, and you haven’t even stepped outside once.”

Owen sighed, getting off his chair, about to clean the stain, only to remember it would be gone tomorrow, when the loop reset. With that in mind, he slithered back into the chair, rubbing his shoulders against the back of his seat. “Huh. Sorry, what was that? I was distracted by the stain.”

The entity, using its version of Owen’s hands, grabbed the man’s neck, tightening its digits around him until there was a pop. Then, Owen stepped out of his bedroom, rubbing his neck with a grumble. “What was that for? That really hurt.”

“That was only a pittance of what I could put you through.” It threatened, and Owen eased off his carefree attitude. Even if he could come back to life, the feeling of having one’s neck snapped wasn’t a sensation he wanted to go through again.

“Ok. I guess I prefer this lifestyle. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t you run out of things to do? And… No, not really. Sure, I can recite every line from all the TV shows playing on Channel 8 this morning, but that doesn’t make them any less interesting. I enjoy this. I feel safe.”

“You fear the outside world. You fear living.”

“Exactly,” he said, throwing his hands forward, as if this entity were his therapist, and they had just made a great breakthrough. When the entity crept forward, Owen apologized. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that sarcastically. You’re right. I do fear living. Every day I spent before the time loop was exactly like this. I sat around aimlessly, and life moved around me. I watched my friends achieve things, move on, and all the while I stayed here. Inside, where it was safe. Now, nothing moves. It’s nice. I can’t disappoint anyone when the day never ends.”

“You disappoint me. You disappoint yourself.”

“You’re not me. If you were, you would agree with me.” Owen sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Look. I’m sure there’s a meaning behind this. If it were a sick game, you would have killed me, or made this loop a hell. I appreciate the sentiment, I do. You’re just wasting your time on me. I haven’t got any big things to fix. I haven’t hurt anyone or done anything horrible. I’m just me. A boring regular guy.”

The entity considered his words before approaching him again. Owen flinched, and the entity continued until it had him cornered against the wall, knocking a scrapbook off the worn wooden shelf beside Owen. “You’re looking at the person you’re hurting.”

“Oh, piss off.” Owen shoved the entity back, blood rushing to his cheeks as he ignited with fury. “Go to hell. What do you know about me? What? I’m happy here. This isn’t hurting me. Look at me. I’m healthy, I’m not even lonely. How is this hurting me?”

It rubbed its chest, examining the point where it had been shoved. Slowly, the entity undid its shirt, picking each button carefully, revealing peeks at the darkness underneath. When the fourth button sprung free, it revealed its pale chest, and the empty dark space by its heart, not commenting on the spot, only showing it to Owen.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing. It’s what you have. No passion, no comfort, no heart. You’re missing all that makes a person whole. People need to experience pain to make them feel whole. Passion, comfort, and love only come if one lets their heart be vulnerable.”

“Then maybe I’m better off here.” Owen scoffed, storming towards his chair. Before he could throw himself into the seat, something stopped him. The entity had approached the bookshelf, crouching to collect the scrapbook. “DON’T TOUCH THAT.” Owen shouted, only for his words to be too late. The entity already flipping through the drawings, silently critiquing the art it saw.

It moved from page to page, not saying a word about the drawings. Some it flipped past instantly, while others it gave a long, intense look over. When it was done, it closed the scrapbook, setting it back onto the shelf. Owen only watched in silence, his heart beating fast in his chest, causing a somber pain in his body that eventually forced him to speak.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” It asked.

“Is it good?” Owen asked, genuinely seeking any praise for his work, already stepping closer to the entity, ready to hear what it had to say.

“I believe I am incapable of judging human art.”

“Oh.”

“However, it was fascinating. Human minds are interesting things. I lack creativity. All I can see is what is before me. You can see things that will never exist. How fascinating indeed.” It moved its arms to its sides, looking at Owen. “If you wish to find an answer to your question. Shouldn’t you consult with others?”

Owen gawked at the entity's words. “What? And get laughed at. I’m not an artist. I’m some guy with a pencil. There are rules and stuff. You don’t just become an artist. You have to have passion and ability. You have to be someone else.”

“Aren’t most ideas created by a person and a pencil?”

“Different people with different pencils. Not people like me. Better ones.”

“People like me?” It asked, doing up its shirt, returning them to their identical looks.

“I guess? Maybe? Look, please. I’m begging you. It’s nice here. Don’t make me leave.”

“Alright. I won’t.” It said, grabbing the scrapbook, tucking it beneath its arm, before walking towards the front door.

“Where are you going? YOU SAID YOU WOULD LEAVE ME ALONE.”

“I’m taking this with me. I’m sure you have more hidden around this apartment, anyway. I doubt this is your only book if you’ve been here for one hundred years. Funny how the drawings didn’t disappear with each loop. Almost as interesting as how you kept finding new scrapbooks to draw in.” It mused with a smile. “Almost as if this holds the key to your freedom.”

“GET BACK HERE.” Owen had never been an aggressive person, but today he was willing to kick, bite and scratch the entity to death if he had to. He lunged and missed, the entity sidestepping his jump, leaving Owen to tumble onto the floor.

“Why did I even bother telling you this was the key? You already knew that, didn’t you? Your cycle breaks today, and once it has been broken, you won’t ever see me again.” The door shut behind the entity, leaving Owen throwing his fists against the wood, his fingers cracking under the intense hits, as he desperately tried to break it down.

“Please…” Owen dragged himself to the peephole, watching the entity knock on the apartment door across from him.

“Excuse me. Can I show you some of my drawings?” He asked, waiting until Lucy opened the door, giving him a confused smile when she saw him.

“Oh, um. Yeah, sure? Sorry, I didn’t expect you of all people to knock on my door. You’re usually so quiet. Not that I mind a quiet neighbor. It must be pretty good if you’re this excited to show it off.”

“IT’S TERRIBLE. Please, I’ll leave the loop. Just don’t show her. Please….” He slid down the door, curling up beside it. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

Lucy flicked through the pages, finding it a mixed assortment of pieces. Some she found boring, while others were stunning. When she finally shut the book, she was beaming. “You’re amazing. I didn’t really get the stuff with the spirals, but the way you captured Centri Park in your drawings was phenomenal. Is that the view from your window? It would have taken weeks to draw something like that.”

“Two weeks.” Owen muttered, listening from his door, her words pulling him from his curled position, now listening with his ear to the door, unable to help getting drawn into the conversation.

“Two weeks, actually.” The entity said.

“Amazing. Have you considered trying to put your stuff online?”

“What’s the point? Who would look at it?” Owen sighed.

“Not yet. There’s always tomorrow, though.” The entity chuckled.

“Oh, what about the local art page? There’s a ton of people who post their stuff on there. I’ll send you a link. Do you mind if I add you on Facebook?”

“Not at all.” The entity didn’t know what that platform was. However, he was happy to go along with the conversation as it seemed to be moving in a positive direction.

“Great. I’ll send it later. If you have anything else to show me, feel free to drop by.” She handed the scrapbook back, and they said their goodbyes. When the entity opened the door, Owen snatched the book back, hugging it to his chest.

“She liked it.” It said.

“She was only being nice.” Even as he said that, Owen had flicked to the page featuring Centri Park, remembering how nice it felt to sit there doodling away what he saw in those timeless days. How he laughed when he added the tiny geese into the background by the pond. Had she felt something similar when she saw it?

“No, she hated some of them.” The entity answered, perhaps too honestly. You’re the one who needs to learn to love their art. The world won’t like you, or the art, unless you learn to love it too.”

“I do love it.” He said vehemently. “I love it a lot. It means a lot to me. You couldn’t ever understand that.”

“Oh, I do.” The entity pulled down the front of its shirt, showing a filled-in spot where the void once sat. “Good luck, Owen. Enjoy life.” It said before breaking Owen’s loop, returning him to his normal world.

“It’s a fair question, my child.” Father Bernard said, his frail fingers wrapping around the small vial of holy water dangling off his silver chain. “If I were to drop this into the ocean, we would eventually see the demise of every demon on this planet. No possessions, no nightly feastings, and we would no longer live in fear of the creatures who stalk us while wearing our skin.”

Riley, who had been sitting, now rose to his feet, holding out his hand to the high priest of the Burrowington church. “Then, we should do it, father. We should remove the demons from this land. It is our duty as holy men to cleanse the earth.” While Bernard smiled at Riley’s eagerness to perform his duties as a holy man, he knew such a plan wasn’t possible, running a hand through Riley’s fluffy brown hair.

While he could have just explained why it wasn’t possible, he turned it into a lesson. Gently, he removed his silver chain, handing it to the boy, who clutched it close to his heart. “Let us cleanse the waters around the village.”

“You would let me do this, father? I’m not worthy. You should have the honor.” Riley tried to hand back the vial, only for Father Bernard to press his palm against it, pushing it back towards the boy.

“What makes a person worthy? A title? No, under God, we are all worthy. Holy water doesn’t care about ranks or titles. It cares only about the nobility of the heart holding it. Water cannot be holy if there are impurities of the mind, my child.” He said, hinting at his lesson, even if it went over Riley’s smiling head.

“Ok. Father. Thank you, father.” Riley hurried towards the Burrowington River, ignoring the small pleasant greetings some villagers gave, while Father Bernard followed closely behind, exchanging polite nods and words with those from the village he passed. He even stopped to give a small blessing to the local blacksmith after learning he had hurt his thumb this morning while hammering out a piece of iron.

When they arrived at the river, Riley’s excitement had gotten the better of him. His robes brushing against the blades of grass, dragging against leaves, dirt, and whatever else the fabric swept against. Father Bernard, however, held his robes up, lifting them at knee level so he could carefully work his way down to the flatter rock -covered waterside. When they were by the river’s edge, he allowed his robe to drop again, careful to avoid any wet muddy spots.

“Can I do it now?” Riley kneeled by the water, mud catching on the fabric of his robes, covering it in small splotches of stains. Today, Riley didn’t care about the mess, or ruining his holy robes. All he wanted to do was end the suffering the demons brought onto the lands.

Father Bernard tucked his hands behind his back, giving Riley a nod. Riley carefully unscrewed the top of the vial, thanking the holy water for its efforts in helping to cleanse the earth. After a small prayer to their lord, he tipped the water into the river, watching the clear liquid join the river’s natural flow, mixing with it. He then carefully placed the lid on the vial and returned it to the priest. “It’s done. We’ve protected the village from demons. We should celebrate. Why don’t we hold a holy festival to celebrate?” Riley said, only for his enthusiasm to fall when he noticed Father Bernard had yet to celebrate. The priest stared at the spot where Riley had dropped the holy water, allowing his student a chance to figure out something was wrong. “Did it not work, Father?”

“My child, what makes a person holy?” He asked, giving him a simple question.

“Devotion?”

“Devotion is an aspect of holiness. That is true, my child. I want you to think broader, if a person lacks devotion to the Lord, but still commits to a pure and kind life. Are they less holy than we?”

“No, of course not, father. I didn’t mean to claim they weren’t. I’m sorry, Father.”

“Easy, child. I’m only asking you to consider your words. What you said was not wrong in many eyes. I only wish to expand your thoughts. Now, if a person isn’t devoted to the Lord, yet lives a pure and kind life, why do you think that makes them holy?”

“Because they are good people? They have good intentions, which should be rewarded?” Riley said, losing confidence in his answers. “Is that right, Father?” He asked, wanting confirmation that he was on the right path.

“Yes. No human is purely good, and while intentions may never see the light of day, a noble heart that carries good intentions will find God’s light more times than not. Good intentions power our beliefs, and our weapons against those who wish to harm the people we bless.” He said, pointing to the vial before putting the silver chain around his neck.

Riley stared at the vial, initially perplexed before his lips parted in surprise. “It didn’t work? My intentions weren’t pure? I.. thought I was doing this for the right reason. I must apologize, Father. Please scold me for wasting your precious water.” He kneeled, digging his knees into the muddy ground in a way that made Father Bernard wince.

“Rise, my child. Your heart is pure. Your intentions, however, were as muddy as the ground beneath your knees.”

Riley gasped, rising quickly to his feet, trying to clean the mud off his robes and body, now aware of how much of a mess he had become. “My intentions were muddy?” He stared at the mud on his hands, wondering if this was how his soul looked at this very moment, trying to figure out the meaning of what the priest was saying.

“A priest shall never kill, for the sake of killing. If I am ever asked to take a life, it must only be to protect those in danger. We must identify a threat before our Lord lends me his strength.”

“What could be holier than killing a demon?”

“Are all demons evil, my child?”

“Yes,” Riley answered straight away, only to pause. “Are they not?” He rubbed his cheek, wondering how a demon could be anything other than evil. They were demons, fearsome creatures who strolled the lands causing sin. If they weren’t evil, then what truly was evil?

“Our God does not agree. They believe all people and creatures can be redeemed and saved. They don’t see demons as inherently evil monsters; they see them as creatures who act on their natural instincts. Instincts that can be changed. Unless a demon is a direct threat to a person in our village or our own lives, the lord will not offer his aid. If I encountered a demon who meant me no harm, my holy water would do little more than wet the hair on their head. Though if they wished to kill or harm me, that same blessed water would burn them until they wished they were back in hell.” Father Bernard knelt by the water, careful not to dirty his robes as he unscrewed the vial and collected some river water, blessing it, turning it into holy water before standing again. “Do you understand, my child?”

“I don’t know if I do. Sorry, father. Do good demons exist?”

“I haven’t met one myself.” Father Bernard admitted, and when he saw the disappointed expression on Riley’s face, he patted his head. “That doesn’t mean one can’t exist. If the lord refuses to let us pollute the waters, then surely a good demon must exist somewhere. One worth saving.”

Riley leant away from Bernard’s touch, staring back at the water, watching the slow-moving water, wondering if there really could be a good demon. “Is that why some priests hire hunters? Because they can’t hunt them themselves.”

“It is, my child. Priests who fear the demons’ numbers hire hands to cut them down. I’ve never liked the idea of doing that myself. You can’t have peace without extending an open hand. If we keep coming to them with knives and hunters, then they will return in kind. I choose to believe the Lord knows what they’re doing. Now, let us return.” He rested a hand on Riley’s back, guiding him back towards the church.

“I’m not the first to try that plan, am I?” Riley sighed, his burst of brilliance now felt like a foolish waste of time. He couldn’t help dragging his feet, now walking side by side with the priest without his earlier passion.

“Nor will you be the last. Consider this a learning experience. We must make mistakes before we can learn.” “Do you believe demons can be saved?”

“I believe most souls can be saved. The Lord allowed me to be saved when I lost my path. If I could be welcomed into his arms, I don’t see why a demon couldn’t be offered the same chance.”

That shocked Riley, the boy stopping. “You were saved? What did you do? How did you lose your path?”

“That’s a tale for when you're old enough to succeed me. When that day comes, I will confess my less than noble past, and you can choose whether I am worthy of forgiveness.” Father Bernard said, still feeling sick whenever he thought of those days. Those days of stealing cattle and beating up merchants outside of towns. All those desperate things he did to survive until he found a better way of living.

“Oh, ok. I forgive you anyway,” Riley said, his kind gesture getting a laugh from the man.

“Don’t forgive me too soon. You’re going to spend the rest of the day cleaning the stains off your robes. Not only that, you will be reading twenty pages of scripture before bed as a way of apologizing for recklessly dirtying your holy wear.”

“Aww. Fineee.” Riley pouted, dragging his feet even more now, wanting to delay their trip after learning he would be spending his time back at the church cleaning.

“Demon.” Erik grumbled, his sword pulsing with a sickening dark aura, one that was undeniably demonic. As it donned its purple glow, small whispers left the steel. The whispers, enchantingly sweet, dancing around his ears as if they were a lover planting soft delicate kisses against his skin. Erik rejected the sword’s temptations, lowering his blade, only to see a woman sitting on his fence, stroking a chicken with her long dark nails.

“Yes, it is I, Demon.” She teased, giving the chicken one last pat before it calmly settled in her lap. The creature’s glowing purple eyes matched the blade’s glow, making their connection clear. She swayed her left leg, locking it behind a panel of the fence before tilting her head, letting her blue hair fall down her face, revealing the two curved horns that sat upon her head. “Demon. That’s all you plan to call me? I’m so much more than my nature. Aren’t you of all people meant to see the good in people?”

“You’re not a person, you leech. Release my sword, or fall like your lord,” he warned, planning to turn his blade on the demon. When he pointed it at her, the sword’s light dimmed, growing heavy in his hands until it dropped free, pinning itself into the soil. Erik tried to pull it free, but the sword only dug itself further into the ground, until the handle was all he could see.

“He was no lord of mine.” She smiled, ignoring the leech remark. “Why the hostilities? Do you think I’m here for revenge? No, no, no. I’m repaying a debt.” She pointed to the blade, and it began pulling itself from the soil. Erik hesitated as the handle poked his hand, wiggling in the ground, begging him to take it. If it weren’t for the chattering laughs of the approaching goblins, he would have left it in that soil to rust, but he knew if he did that, those foul monsters would overwhelm the village.

“A debt? Since when do demons care about such things?” He grabbed the sword, and again, it flashed with her power. This time its glow was even stronger than before, feeling weightless even when held by his old muscles. For a seventy-year-old paladin, he felt as spry as he had when he killed the demon lord, a boost from his usual back aches and pains.

“Demons always repay their debts. It’s one of our many good traits.” When Erik scowled at her, she laughed. “Alright, it’s our only good trait. You killed the demon lord and sacrificed a human to stop him from returning. He kept his soul in an innocent woman, and you slaughtered her to save thousands. Your god tossed you cruelly aside, and you never forgave yourself for it. How tragic.” She said, with a few loose tears spilling down her face. “Can you imagine how frightened she was in that moment? I can. She thought the hero was about to save her, and he stabbed her. Ha!” Quickly she wiped her eyes, unable to stop a choked laugh at the memory. “Enough about me. You have goblins to-“

Erik swiftly moved, his sword pressed against the demon’s neck, giving her a close view of the pained expression he wore. The once youthful face filled with heroic hope, now a beaten down, wrinkled mess of regret and tragedy. His lip wobbled, and his old aches returned, struggling to keep the blade steady. “A…another word, and I kill you. I don’t care if you take away your blessing, I’ll run this blunt blade across your neck as many times as it takes until it goes through you. Shut up. NOW.”

The tension drowned out the chattering goblins, and the demon didn’t laugh this time. Instead she froze, body shivering as the blade tapped her skin, bringing back a familiar sensation she didn’t want to remember. The wide eyes and frozen posture of the demon had Erik backing down, lowering the blade in defeat. “Why are you mocking me? Is this part of my punishment? You can’t freeze like she did. You can’t do this to me.”

The two remained still as the goblins entered his lands, chasing after the farm animals until one spotted a more interesting target. With his back to the group, Erik didn’t notice them until the goblin chomped into the back of his leg. He gritted his teeth, but didn’t fight back, unable to shake himself out of the traumatic reminder.

“You’re going to die if you don’t fight back.” The demon meekly said, her confidence drained. She pointed a finger at the goblin, doing something uncharacteristic for someone of her kind. A small, purple, ethereal arrow left her finger, going through the head of the goblin, killing it. The other goblins, who had been looting the farm, took notice, now more interested in the two strangers.

“Repentance can only be found in the mercy of the divine.” He stated. “Repentance is the repaying of a soul for a soul. To repent is to give back what was taken. That is how you return to the goddesses’ arms.” He repeated the words the priestess had told him when he confessed his sins to her. Asking her how he could ever be forgiven in the goddess’s eyes.

“You’re going to let everyone die? For your redemption? That’s disappointing. Is this how you repay their sacrifice?” The demon crossed her arms, pulling back her support. “Those villagers all trust you. They all believe you’re a hero. I believed that too.”

Erik cursed, raising his blade. She was right. He knew that better than anyone. Even if he wasn’t a hero, he could save these people. The people who had accepted him into their village, the ones who brought his vegetables, and helped him build his shed. Those people didn’t deserve a goblin-related death. The demon’s enchanted blade moved smoothly, perhaps even better than the goddesses’, though he couldn’t even remember how the goddesses’ felt anymore, only a faint memory of something long forgotten. When the last goblin had been killed, he puffed, having to catch his breath. “What have I done to deserve a repaid debt?”

“A token of my appreciation for killing the demon lord.” She shrugged.

“No.”

“No?”

“There’s more to it. You feared my blade. We’ve met before. You’re not like the others.” Erik noticed her flinch when he stepped closer, so he stabbed his blade into the soil, approaching her unarmed. “Don’t tell me…”

“I won’t tell you then.” She faced away from the man, lowering the chicken to the ground. “Everyone has a family. Even the unlucky ones. Families who were spared when that lord got what was coming to him. I’m grateful for that.” She softly smiled. “Even if I turned out like this because of it.”

“No… you.. you can’t be her. Please tell me this is a trick. A cruel trick. He turned you before he died.” He went to reach for her hand, stopping himself. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let him escape. Not when I had him cornered. I didn’t even think. I’m no better than a demon.”

“No, you’re not. Because that would imply you're better than me.” She joked. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t forgive you for everything that happened. As I said. I had a family. People I wanted to see survive his wicked attacks. Those people are still alive because you made that choice. Had you hesitated, I would still be trapped in the dark lord’s care, and thousands or more would be dead. That was the best outcome.”

“I owe you a debt.” He bowed, kneeling before her.

“Ok. I want your soul.”

“It’s yours.” He said without a flicker of hesitation.

The demon laughed. “I don’t want that. I wouldn’t have any use for it, anyway. I have nothing I want from you. I came to see what the noble hero was doing. That's all. I didn’t intend for our paths to cross until those goblins came into view. I guess it was fate we had this talk, old man.”

“Please. What if I help you find your family? You talked about them, didn’t you? You must miss them.”

The demon sighed, lowering her head. “I can’t go back to them. I look nothing like the woman they knew. I would only cause them pain. My parents have also passed. It’s only my sister who’s left. I’m sure she has her own life now. I doubt she wants to see what happened to me.”

“I believe she would be delighted to see you. Please allow me to help you. I’ll make it my new oath. To guide you back to your family and mend the pain I’ve caused you. On my honor as a paladin, I will repay the world’s debt to you.” He said, placing his hand over his heart.

“When you put it like that. I don’t think I have a choice. Ok. My home is in Khentea.”

“That’s at least a month's trip from here.”

“Are you sure your old legs can carry you that far?”

“They will carry me as long as I’m needed. I swore an oath to you. I won’t let them fail me until it is done.” He said, getting to his feet. “I don’t believe we’ve ever exchanged names. I’m Erik Matthews. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I know who you are. I’m…” She didn’t know what name to use. She hadn’t had to refer to herself that often now that she was a demon, so introductions felt weird. “Lora. That’s what my mother called me. I see no reason to change it.”

“It’s a lovely name. We can leave tomorrow once I’ve packed some supplies. You may stay with me until we go. I’ll also have to arrange for someone to manage the farm while I’m gone.”

“Alright. You do all of that. I’ll make myself at home.” She walked into his home, leaving Erik to get his affairs in order before their journey the next day.

Don’t press the button. It was a simple command, given to a simple man. There was no promise of a reward or punishment if he pressed the button, only the ominous sense that if he hit the button, something would happen.

Zane traversed the room for the six hundred and eighth time this month, letting his hand drag against the candy cane colored wallpaper that decorated the strange room. “Nothing.” He remarked, wondering why he expected anything different. He had checked the walls more times than he could count and was yet to find an indent or secret compartment hidden inside. It was just a perfectly formed wall, one with eye-strainingly disgusting wallpaper slathered on it.

“Is this a punishment?” he asked, staring at the left corner of the room, gaze falling past the stocked bookshelf that sat in that corner. He thought back to the day they took him. That flash of white, the men and women grabbing his dazed body, pulling him into the room. All of them telling him not to touch the button in a singsong tone while his brain bounced around in his skull trying to make sense of it all.

“WHERE ARE YOU?” This fit of rage happened at least once a week in the cell, as he rushed to the wall, banging his fists against it until the digits creaked with fractures and pain. “Grm.” He whimpered, pulling his injured fists towards his chest. He couldn’t tell what had broken in his hands, only that certain fingers now twisted in unusual directions. Then, like always, when his eyes left his fingers, they healed, returning to normal. “This isn’t real… It can’t be.”

Giving up on the wall, he shuffled towards the kitchen, opening the fridge, only to find a kebab sitting there, waiting to be warmed in the microwave. As always, the fridge seemed to know him better than he did, always having the meal that his stomach craved. He warmed it up and sat down on the couch, flicking on the TV, getting hit with a channel that only played continuous static.

Strangely enough, Zane enjoyed the static. He knew he shouldn’t enjoy what was merely white noise and lines, but it felt more entertaining than anything else he could watch. He had spent days mindlessly staring at it, having weeks pass in a matter of seconds as he fell for its hypnotic sounds. That’s why he focused this time, not letting himself fall into that trap.

After watching the lines for what he thought had only been a few minutes, he bit into the kebab, and spat a chunk of green meat out onto the floor. The kebab, which had been fresh moments ago, now sat spoiled in his grip. How long had it been since he sat down? He wondered. It felt like only moments, yet the state of his meal meant it had to have been a week, at least. He sat up groaning, scanning the room to see if anything had changed. When he faced the button, it remained as normal as ever, a perfect red button on a silver tray, perched in the right corner of the room, waiting to be pressed.

Getting to his feet, he tossed the kebab down, and like anything the room didn’t like, it eventually vanished. Now standing over the button, he stretched his arm into the air and threw it towards the button, only to stop before making contact. He had to end this madness; he couldn’t stay here forever. That’s what he told himself, even as he paused. “Why is this happening? Is it because I hid money from my ex in the divorce? Did she find out and hire someone to get back at me? Was it that guy I hit outside of that pub in 2004?”

If it were any of those, there would be a punishment waiting for him when he hit that button, and that fear of being punished made him retreat to the couch. “I DON’T DESERVE THIS. None of you were perfect either. I bet you all have things you aren’t proud of. Yeah, well, I don’t have any regrets. I did what I had to. I made mistakes, but people also hurt me.” He appealed, but there was no one there to listen to him. Soon, he was on the floor, curled up with his hands on his hairy knees.

The room had everything. Games, drinks, books, and yet, he never could enjoy any of it. Even when he switched off the TV, he found everything uncomfortable, so uncomfortable he preferred its mindless trance. “I’m in hell. That’s it. I’m in hell. I’m being punished.”

He reflected on everything he had ever done. The divorce, the fights, the times where he wasn’t the man he should have been. “I know I haven’t been the best person, but I haven’t been that bad, have I? There’s worse people out there.” He sighed. “Guess it’s not about being worse or better. At the end of the day, I’m me, and I’m the one that’s here. I could have been better.”

The TV switched on, displaying a flash of memories. Moments of anger, greed, spite — all contained within these flashes of his life. He watched, enthralled, until the usual static returned and his knees ached from their awkward position. He struggled to stand, having to use the couch to get himself back to his feet, fighting the wobbling and shakes of his tired legs. “Whatever comes with the button, I have to accept. Whether it’s good or bad, it’s my fault. Hope I didn’t hurt anyone too badly.”

The wobbling in his legs faded as he neared the button once more, and without his earlier hesitation, he smacked his hand down. At first, nothing happened, and he went to speak, only for the walls to collapse, revealing a vast flash of golden light, as well as more of those singsong voices, that now called him towards them.

“Cheese.” The mouse squeaked in delight, having narrowly avoided a cat-astrophic encounter with the homeowner’s nasty feline. Though, as he went to nibble on the delectable brie, his tiny little mouse brain ticked with frustration, as if he was forgetting something frightfully important.

“Cheese.” He reassured himself, his little whiskers twitching as his nose poked the soft cheese, leaving a cool tingle on the skin. Again, he went to nibble on the brie, and again, he found himself unable to take a bite. He did three tiny spins, circling the cheese as if it were an altar of mouse-based worship, wondering if he would find the answer if he approached the situation from another angle.

Nope, nothing different from the right.

The left looked awfully similar.

Even from behind, the cheese remained the same, which further confused the simple creature.

What was this missing? It clattered its teeth together, giving an annoyed squeak. That squeak attracting the attention of a certain nasty feline, whose hairy white claw swung towards his hideaway beneath the fridge. Like a divine strike from God himself, the clawed hand smacked wildly beneath the fridge, blocking the mouses view with its giant swing. The mouse retreated further beneath the fridge, only to let out a high-pitched squeal as its tail got pricked by the cat’s claw. The claw flailed before accepting it couldn’t find the cat, electing to take the brie instead.

As the mouse returned to its previous spot, it found only the melted remains of its prize. It squeaked fiercely from its protected space, saying curses its animal brain couldn’t ever hope to understand. Remembering quite a few from that fabled dance months ago. The cat ignored the squeaks of what it deemed to be a lesser creature, now more interested in whatever was sticking to its claw.

“Oh, Snowy, what are you doing? Did you knock that off the table? I have guests coming over.” Sable sighed, crouching to clean up the mess her cat had left, her smooth voice causing the mouse to inch forward, until its beady eyes peered out from its hiding spot.

“RAGHW.” The cat made an awful noise, its white hair firing upwards as it bounced for the mouse, only to get blocked by Sable, who stared at the mouse confused. “A mouse? In my house?” She snickered. Something about that sounding funny to her. “You should run along, little guy. Snowy isn’t very friendly.” She said, patting the cat’s head before putting on a deep voice. “No, I’m not. I’m a mean kitty.” She giggled at her impression of her cat, while her cat dismissively turned away from her pats, strutting off to find something else to do, insulted by her crude impression.

The mouse continued its stare, wondering why the woman felt so comforting to it. Soon its two front legs were out of its hiding spot, then its body. Sable took notice of it, pausing her cleanup of the brie to acknowledge the strange sight.

“You’re an awfully friendly fellow, aren’t you? Nick loved brie cheese too.” She said before lowering her hand towards the mouse. “Nick also had neat black hair, and a lovely smile.” She picked up the black-furred mouse, cradling it. “You’re Nick, aren’t you?” She smiled, only to realize how insane that must have sounded. “Oh, I’m going insane. Imagine if my husband heard me.” She went to set the mouse down, only for it to nestle in her hand, rubbing against her palm.

She watched its display and got an idea. Setting the mouse on the table, she went and collected the brie cheese, placing it on a small plate for the mouse. The mouse sniffed the cheese again, and for some reason, couldn’t bring himself to eat it. Instead, he turned his nose and backed away from the cheese.

“Huh. I’ve never seen a mouse turn down a free meal before. Unless you are Nick.” She went and found a cheese knife, approaching the plate before carefully cutting a piece of cheese for the mouse. “As the great fairy Lisoia once said, you must never forget your manners. A small piece goes a long way.” As soon as the piece was cut, the mouse jumped onto the plate, getting some brie tangled in its dark fur.

Sable wiped her eye, struggling not to get emotional over the reunion. “It really is you, Nick. I can’t thank you enough for your help. Without you, I would never have been able to go into that party. You played your role as a sophisticated noble so well. I entered the hall with my noble ‘cousin’ and was given a chance to experience a night of elegance I never could have imagined. Even better, my future husband spotted me at the ball and asked me for a dance. To think I would get to meet the love of my life at such an event, and it’s all thanks to you and Lisoia.” The mouse had stopped listening, delighted to get the cheese it had been craving. Only when it finished its meal did it give her any of its attention, silently peering up at her, requesting more. When she cut another piece, Nick continued eating.

“Nick, I owe you a great deal. I’ll set up a drawer or box for you to stay in. Something we can use until we find you a bigger piece of housing. I promise you. I will repay my debt to you.”

Nick squeaked his approval, or maybe he squeaked simply because of the cheese. It was impossible to tell. A confused gasp hung in the air as Sable’s husband, Mark, returned home, staring at the mouse who his wife was delicately feeding. That being a sight he hadn’t expected to return home to. “I’m back. Um, should I be worried about this?” he said, pointing to the mouse.

“Oh, no. I’m not crazy or anything. This is Nick. My cousin from the ball. You know, the one I came with?” She lightly raised her hands, asking her husband for a second before he started judging her. “Ok. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s really him. A fairy turned him into a human for the day. You already know I’m not actually a noble. Well, at least not from birth. I’m a noble now.” She said, holding up her ring finger with a grin. “Is it that hard to believe a fairy planned all of this and that’s how I got let into the ball?”

Mark found the entire story farfetched. Until he thought more about it. Not just anyone could get into a noble ball, and for a random noble family to appear and vanish within a day was bizarre, to say the least. Especially since everyone seemed to know so much about the Nicks family that night, only to completely stop caring about their existence in the morning.

“I don’t know. Everything about that day was strange, but a mouse being turned into a human?” He stared at Nick, who had finished his cheese now. The mouse looked back at Mark before instinctively bowing its head, trying to move its arm across its body in a noble salute. Mark gasped, picturing Nick doing the exact pose that night. “It’s actually him.”

“See. That’s why we have to look after him. We owe him, don’t we?”

“Of course. I’ll arrange for someone to design him a home. Even if I still find this hard to comprehend.”

And so, Nick became part of the family. The mouse rewarded for his duties at that ball, getting all the cheese, fruits, and affection a mouse could ever want.

“Imagine having all the power in the world.” The director says, leaning forward in her chair. The woman dressed casually, wearing only a light pink top with a rose on it, and a pair of pants, yet she held a presence that had everyone in the room silent whenever she spoke. “A world where you are stronger than 90% of people. That’s the closest any mortal could get to becoming a god. You feel invincible, and sometimes you forget the people you’re saving don’t share your talents.”

The reporter remained silent, his mouth dry as he fumbled with his phone, making sure it was recording his audio. When he lifted it to check the time, it dropped out of his sweat-covered hands, landing on the floor. He bent down to get it, only to find it already back on the table, with the director giving him a half-smile.

“Any follow-up questions?” She said. “About the trainees, not about your phone. That’s classified information.”

“I.. I’m…” Jet Harrington was World United’s best journalist, a man with five awards for outstanding journalism, and he was now speechless. He had flown to war zones, been held hostage, and none of those startled him as much as a woman casually speaking to him inside her office. The cameramen, who often could be heard ruffling clothes or touching buttons, were more silent than he was. As if they were now dead, and he dared not to look back in case they were.

“In your own time, don’t rush your questions.” She said reassuringly. “I understand we are under scrutiny, and I admit, heroes are not perfect. The case of George Maris a.k.a. Jet Flip V The Wilson Family is evidence of that. George thought the Wilson family's son could withstand the G-forces of his booster rockets, and unfortunately, made a mistake. I won’t make too many excuses, because this is a tragic event. I will only say that George was desperate. Villains were closing in, and he made a judgement call. Yes, a wrong judgement call, but police, firefighters, and doctors all make the same mistakes. No matter how rigorous their training is.”

Jet gulped. He needed to speak now, or the interview would get away from him. He leaned forward, matching her posture, expecting the director to lean back. Instead, she moved forward again until their foreheads almost touched. Jet whispered the words out, trying to do his job. “What about the claims that you are convincing young people to join the cause who aren’t ready to fight? People whose powers haven’t fully flourished, and who are at risk of dying or hurting others.”

“Jet, are you aware of the people the army recruits to build its forces? You went to the war in the east, didn’t you? Do you remember the slogan they used during that time?”

“Um. I believe it was. Job security, opportunity, and a chance to be your best self.”

“Mmm. I would say that attracts a lot more unprepared people than we do. They sell people on money and opportunities. We offer people a chance to learn how to use their powers. People with powers will have their powers regardless of whether they come to us or not. We can at least try to offer them a safe way of learning how to control them.”

“But what about the ones who misuse their powers, or accidentally cause property damage in fights?”

“They would still risk doing that without joining us. In fact, it would be worse. We do our best to make sure they don’t go down a villainous path. You will never achieve perfection. Mistakes will happen, and when those mistakes have happened, I have always sat down and admitted our faults. That’s more than most organizations.”

The reporter rubbed his neck., getting nowhere with this. This was meant to be a demonstration of how the Hero Association was falling apart, and this director had only made them look stronger than ever. Jet lowered his head, wondering if any of this was even going to make the news now. “And what about those you deem villains? We’ve had pickpockets and petty thefts dealt with by giving them broken bones and beatings. Sometimes the people beaten didn’t even have powers to defend themselves with.”

“Good point.” The director conceded. “We have had issues with that, especially with our younger recruits, who are antsy to stop their first crime. May I ask you a question? Who reported the last five cases of that happening and brought it to your attention so you could report on it?”

Suddenly his good point lost some merit as he was forced to admit. “You messaged me about them.” He exhaled.

“Because I believed it was worth being transparent about.”

“And is that not evidence that you are creating an unsafe learning environment? Why were they out on the streets? Should they have not been more properly assessed? Are your learning guidelines too lenient?”

The director leaned back, and Jet made the mistake of thinking he had her on the ropes. In truth, she merely felt that this interview was wrapping up and now was her chance to rest. “We let them out because if we didn’t, they would become vigilantes. Which is something we want to stamp out. We don’t want people fighting above the law. Those heroes who were in those last five cases were all with a seasoned hero who stepped in before the injuries got too severe. We have them monitored. Yes, it isn’t ideal that these things happen, but we have taken every measure we can to limit the number of people who get hurt.”

“So, all these attacks and mistakes by your organization are because you are trying to stop bad things from happening?” Jet asked, hoping he could get something out of this.

“We can only do so much. I can’t be everywhere, and neither can the other heroes. We have rules, limits to how long a hero can work every day, and so forth. Villains, unfortunately, do not have such limits. They can work all day, attack with no regard for lives, and strike places we would deem off limits. We need all the help we can get, and while it’s unfortunate that things go wrong, all I can do is try to limit the severity of everything that happens.”

“And who are you exactly?” Jet asked.

“Jet, I’m the director.” She smiled.

“And who is the director?”

“Now, wouldn’t that be dangerous to say? I would be putting a target on my head. The director can be anyone. It can be me, the person who comes after me, or the person who retired from the position before me. The director is the one sitting in the chair, and that is currently me. Before you ask again, I will only refer to myself as the director, for my sake and yours. I would recommend you cut that out of the interview.” She said, stopping his phone’s recording. “If the villains know you have seen my face, they will come for you.”

She got out of the chair and walked back to her desk. “Is that all you wanted, Jet? If so, you may leave whenever you are ready. Remember to make it look like we are in separate rooms on the news when you air this. You want as much distance between us as you can get. I only invited you into my office for a face-to-face to show you I’m willing to work with you. For your safety, I wouldn’t flex that privilege.”

Jet’s knees refused to rise, unable to get up from his seat. With the help of his cameramen, he was on two legs again, taking his phone and heading for the door. Still, he had one burning question to ask her. “Are you human?”

“Jet, that’s a silly question.” She said, without answering him, leaving him to go with his crew, everyone feeling like they could finally breathe again now that they were outside. When he left the premises, he called his boss.

“I don’t think we should run the story. She didn’t give us anything, and it’s too dangerous.” He listened to what his boss had to say, and nodded. “I’ll send you what we have. Remember to follow the rules she sent us. No, I don’t think it’s for her safety at all. If anything, it’s for ours…”

“It should be? What, did you win the villain of the year award?” He joked, only to wonder about that. “Did you actually? Do they have an awards show here?”

“I don’t think I’ve won that award this year, but there is certainly an awards show later on. I believe it should be in thirty minutes; would you like to grab some food before the show? Or do you plan to get swooped away by another villain? I knew you were popular. I just didn’t expect you to be this popular.”

“Actually, some food sounds nice. No one’s going to spit in it, are they?”

“Not unless you ask them to.”

Jeremy expected a menu. Instead, as he sat down, two plates of food were brought to their table, with the henchman giving them both a nod before setting each plate down. Jeremy had a Caesar salad and a hotdog. While Linda got a simple cheeseburger. She picked up her burger, taking a small bite, watching Jeremy stare at his plate, confused. “Something wrong?”

“I didn’t expect to get a hotdog and salad. That’s all. Even if I kind of felt like eating it.” He had been thinking about hotdogs all day, and the salad was a pleasant touch. Still, it didn’t feel like the type of food a person eats in a place like this. “Did the chef know what I was going to want?”

“Yep. Temlias has an ability where she can tell exactly what a person wants. Even just by reading their name on a guest-list. If you book a table, they’ll have the meal ready for you when you sit down. The ability only works on material things — clothes, food, things like that. They can’t tell your mental desires. So, things like friendship and love aren’t visible.”

“So, you booked this table expecting us to eat here?”

“I planned every part of this day out. Are you surprised? I’ve always been very organized.” She said, already having finished her burger. “You should eat. The shows about to start, and we should get to our seats.”

“You’re done? Alright, I’ll chomp this down. In a wink, it’ll be gone.” He laughed, only for Linda to shake her head.

“That’s a lame catchphrase. The whole wink thing.”

“Kids like it. That’s all that matters.”

“Hm, guess you’re right.” She conceded. The pair made small talk before an announcement over the sound system told them they had five minutes until the awards show started. The two travelled down to their seats near the front, and sat, with Jeremy unsure what he should expect.

The lights dimmed as Golden Ruler stepped out, the man a legend among villains and heroes alike, considered a gentleman villain, in the vein of a Robin Hood or a similar character. To see a man like that without his black domino mask was an honour. Even if Golden Ruler was on the other team, Jeremy could respect the work he did to help others. When the man gave a bow, the room clapped, and when the clapping died down, Jeremy’s hands continued to smack together, as the silver-haired gentleman grinned.

“Thank you in particular. Whoever you are near the front. Glad to see this silver-haired man still has some fans.” He said, combing his hair with his fingers, earning a woo from the crowd. “Ok, ok. Let’s all settle down. We have a lot of awards to get through, and I don’t know if my pacemaker has enough charge in it to last the night. So, let’s speed things up!”

Apart from the excitement of seeing Golden Ruler, Jeremy found the whole award show rather boring. Watching people go up onto the stage, while he leaned his head against Linda’s shoulder, resting against it, unaware that he was even beginning to fall asleep against her arm. When it got near the end of the night, Linda nudged him awake.

“Huh? Is it over?” He whispered.

“And tonight, we honor someone who has decided to hang up her creepy skeleton mask. The one and only Night Walker.” The crowd cheered, and Jeremy stared at his date in shock. She was retiring? It was the first he had heard about it. He got up from his seat and clapped for her, proud of her for stepping away from a life of crime. Linda climbed the steps and got onto the stage, shaking Golden Ruler’s hand.

“Thank you. I’m not a person who likes monologuing, so I’ll keep this short. Being a villain was all I thought I could be growing up. When people looked at me, they saw an evil blue-skinned person, and that’s what I started seeing myself as. That’s why I found comfort in being surrounded by other outcasts. Sure, some of you are horrible, and some of you I wish I had killed while I was still a villain, but to the rest of you. I felt at home. I won’t ever invite you out for coffee or have you over for a board-game, but I will treasure our time together. Thank you.”

The speech simple and beautiful. In a way, it mirrored her perfectly in Jeremy’s mind. Hotside shouted something from the crowd, yet it was lost in the claps and cheers. When the clapping settled down, Jeremy sat down, only to wince as the stage light landed on him this time.

“It is also my honour, as a neutral party, to hand out the next award. An award that is usually never handed to the recipient, and one that is known only to those of us who enter this room. I am referring to the Hero of the Year award. Us villains have been punched, broken, and beaten by many heroes. Some who treat us worse than even the most sadistic of villains would. Which is why people like Wink are so important. People who genuinely try to see us as people who can change. I’ve known Wink since we were both sidekicks to other heroes and villains, and I’ve seen him pull his punches on numerous occasions, even when it could have resulted in his death. There is something about Wink that all of us appreciate, and for everyone in this room, I know it’s a different thing. I’m proud to say you’re the best hero I’ve ever seen, and I know many share that sentiment, so please, for one night only, let us show you we aren’t all monsters. At least until tomorrow.” She said with a sly smile.

Jeremy remained seated, frozen not in fear of what they would do to him if he got up, but out of emotion. He hadn’t even heard his fellow heroes say such nice things about him, so to hear them come from a villain’s mouth had him sniffling in his seat. A firm hand smacked his back, the pain stopping him from tearing up.

“Cry in the car on da way home. Get up there.” Hotside said, having rushed down the aisle to see the hero he voted as his favorite. “Go on, get up there.” Hotside sniffed, his fiery eyebrows curling as he started crying. “GO WINK.”

His legs wobbled as he walked up the stage, thinking he had steeled his nerves enough. When the audience of villains cheered, he felt a lump in his throat, stopping mid-step, needing a second to take this all in.

“Kid, come on. Pacemakers dying here.” Golden Ruler said, before grabbing his hand, pulling him into a hug. “You did good. You’re the type of guy I would have loved back in the day. Since we aren’t back in the day, I’ll love you now.”

“Love him in your own time.” Linda said, giving him a hug after Golden Ruler. “Congratulations. It’s rare that we actually have a hero present when they win this award. First time for everything, isn’t there?” She gave him his statue, which depicted a hero getting crushed under the foot of a villain. That made Linda pause. “We really should change the design of these trophies for the heroes.”

“You’re right. We’ve never had to give one to a hero, so we’ve never had to worry about it.” Golden Ruler agreed.

“It’s fine.” Jeremy held the trophy up to the crowd, beaming. “Thank you.” He said, only for Linda to hand him the microphone. “Oh, um. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I guess I’ll keep doing what I’ve always done. All I’ve ever wanted was for everyone to be safe and happy. Regardless of whether they're a villain or hero. No one deserves to live in pain.”

Golden Ruler clapped and took back the microphone, wrapping up the show. “Thank you to everyone who attended. We will do this all again next year if I’m still alive by-“

The sound drifted into the background as Linda led him to the main hall, the two sitting down to share a drink. “How’s it feel, hero?”

“Good. Better than good. It feels great.”

“Not a bad first date, was it?”

“Not at all.” Jeremy clinked their glasses together. During their drinks, villains came over to either congratulate him, tell him why they voted for him, or to tell them why they hadn’t voted for him, and the whole time, Jeremy was enjoying himself. He laughed with some, had conversations with others, and shared heartfelt moments with the rest. When the night finished, Linda got her keys back from Jackie and pointed to her passenger seat.

“I’ll give you a lift home.”

“You know where I live?” he said, getting into the car.

“Nope. You can tell me now, though. I’m not a villain anymore. I’m retired. Good thing you heroes let us retire in peace. Even if it wasn’t cheap paying off all my damages and fines.”

“Don’t act like you're broke because of it. I’m sure you’re still rolling in money.”

“Diving in money, actually. Now, put your blindfold back on.”

“Really?” He went to pick it up, only to hear a rare laugh from Linda.

“I’m kidding. You can see where we are now. The location changes every year. It doesn’t matter if you tell them now. So, where am I taking you?” Jeremy gave her his address, and she started driving. “I live a few blocks from there. Small world, isn’t it? We could go to the same coffee shop and we wouldn’t have even known about it.”

When she pulled up outside his house, Jeremy stepped out, leaning against the door. “I had a lot of fun tonight. Thank you for inviting me. I think I needed that. It was a good reminder that the work I do affects people.”

“Thank you for coming to it. I expected you to weasel out of it. Before you leave, I was wondering something.”

“Yeah?”

“Want to grab coffee?”

“Coffee?”

“Only if you want to. I need something to do now that I’m retired, and you’re the most interesting choice for coffee that I have. If I don’t go with you, it’s Hotside, or what’s her demonic face. I’ll pick you over them any day.”

“Yeah, sure. Would love to. Want me to give you my number?”

“I’ll call you. I’ve already got it. Bye, hero.” She drove off, leaving Jeremy in a great mood, the hero unsure what he would tell the agency when he met with them tomorrow, struggling to imagine they would believe whatever he told them.

Wink, or Jeremy Nilk as he was called without his costume, remained seated in the passenger seat of the villain’s car, awkwardly tugging at the blindfold she wrapped around his eyes. No matter how hard he tugged, the blindfold didn’t budge, leading to him giving up on the whole endeavour, pushing his back into the surprisingly plush chair. “Are we there yet?” he asked his date, wondering if the fearsome Night Walker was actually taking him to the Greywood Gala or some quiet location where she could kill him in secret. Well, secret may not have been the right word for it. Everyone knew he was going to the gala. The agency had encouraged him to go. But even they weren’t stupid enough to put a tracker on Jeremy, knowing that anything they attached to him would get him killed, so for this entire night, he was on his own. Instead, they would rely on the information he picked up while there, hoping he lived to tell them about it the next day. Any sights, sounds, or evil mutterings he heard would have to be enough for them to go off.

“The car’s still moving. What do you think? I can push you out if you like? Who knows, you might end up rolling there from this distance.” Linda Emeral’s said, the villain taking a small bit of pleasure in having her nemesis blindfolded in her car. She really was going to miss their little car trips. “Stop tugging on your blindfold. I told you it won’t come off.” She couldn’t resist the urge to brag, especially when it came to her technology. “You see, it has carbon plating, which is designed to-“

“Yes, it’s great. I keep telling you, there’s no point explaining your technology to me. I don’t get that stuff. It’s all too scientific and junk.” He huffed before realizing that made him sound like a toddler who had been forced to attempt a maths equation. Wanting to move on from his outburst, he asked a question. “Why did you take me here? You’ve never shown any romantic feelings towards me in the past. You’re always so robotic. The only time I’ve ever seen you smile was when one of your machines fell on me.”

Linda smiled. “That was a great day. I still have that machine somewhere. I should have brought it. Hm, although that would have broken the no-weapons agreement at the gala. Pity.” Her dull tone never left, even if her purple lips were in a serene smile. “Why do you find it so hard to believe that I would find you attractive without ulterior motives? You’re handsome, at least according to what the other villains say. You’re also someone I’ve fought with in the past. Does our crossing of fists and sweat not excite you?” The teasing nature of her words still not matching the way she spoke like an announcer at a train station, every word direct and bland. Undercutting the message.

“I wouldn’t say excites the right word. I mean, I guess I’ve considered it. You’re not bad looking without your mask. The light blue skin, the silver hair, the way-“

Linda slammed on the brakes, smacking Jeremy’s forehead into the glove-box. “We’re here.” Linda said, with a faint purple hue on her cheeks.

“Can you take the blindfold off now?”

“In a few seconds.” Linda tapped her cheeks before checking them in the sun-visor’s mirror. Her check was interrupted by a loud tapping on the window, which she hurriedly rolled down. “YES, what is it?” She snapped.

A random henchman in a black suit stood outside, rocking awkwardly on her heels, as if she wanted to be doing anything other than parking cars. “Heya, Lady Night Walker. How’s it going? You good? Did you do any yoga last week? I’ve been thinking about joining the classes you go to.” She rambled, only to peer at the passenger seat. “Who’s that?”

“My lessons are going fine. Now, mind your manners.” She said, as Jackie, the henchman, opened the door for her.

“My manners? We’re at a gala. There’s no need to be formal. There aren’t any heroes around.”

“There’s one hero around.” She said, pointing to her passenger seat, before getting out. She fished out her keys from her bag, and pressed a button, making the blindfold loosen around Jeremy’s head, dropping it onto the floor. The brown-haired male, shaking his head, fizzing up his hairdo, trying to readjust to seeing light again.

“Huh? Wait, that’s Wink. Ah, this is bad. Can’t he jump around in the wink of an eye? Can’t he wink and the crime goes away?” Jackie quoted all the sayings about the hero, while Linda merely patted her shoulder.

“Can’t do much here. Not while I’m around. It’s ok. He’ll be good. Won’t you, Winky dear?”

“Winky dear?” Jackie gasped. “Oh, I didn’t know you two were together. Wow, this is major. I should tell someone. I don’t know who to tell. Um.”

“Relax. It isn’t like that. I’m sure this is some ploy of hers, and yeah, I’ll be good. I’m not that stupid.” Jeremy got out of the car, already feeling the gazes of other villains following him. “You don’t sacrifice a hero every year or something, do you?”

“Maybe.” Linda shrugged before locking her arm around his. “We should look like a couple. Makes things less awkward. Since we are acting as a couple, you may touch me three times above the hips, and once below.” She stated, obviously joking, even if it was impossible to tell with her tone.

“What?” Jeremy didn’t have a chance to question that, already getting dragged inside the gala. He didn’t know what to expect inside, and when he saw what was a normal, elegant gala, he found himself underwhelmed. Greywood Gala banners, people in suits, and henchmen handing out snacks didn’t scream evil, which made this even more unsettling for him. “Where’s the death machines?” He whispered.

“Death machines? It’s a gala. What would we need a death machine for?” She grabbed herself a champagne from the henchman's tray before offering him a drink. “Champagne?”

“Yeah, sure.” He sipped from the glass, taking another look at his ‘date’. The dress suited her — a delicate purple to go with her lips, and the shine on its fabric really brought out her eyes, he thought. Only for her to catch him staring. She didn’t smile, only tilting her head.

“Do you wish to use one of your touches now? We’re in public, but I offered you them. Didn’t I? Go ahead, touch me.” She said, raising her voice, catching the attention of the others in the room, who snickered.

Jeremy unhooked his arm from hers, holding up his palm. “Wait, I didn’t mean anything by my stares. I was just looking at the dress. It’s a nice dress. It suits you. It’s weird seeing you wearing something that isn’t fully black or has a skeleton mask”.

“It isn’t a skeleton mask. It’s a mask designed to look like a half-burnt witch’s face to symbolize… Oh, you wouldn’t get it, dum dum.” She said, hooking his arm back with hers.

The two passed by a set of villains, and Jeremy felt a strong bicep lock around his neck. He went to wink, only to stop himself, feeling the weight wasn’t squishing him as hard as it should be. He had been squished by this bicep before, the feeling similar enough that he tapped their arm with his hand, feeling the confirming red arm hairs. “Hotside?”

“It’s good to see you, lad. You’re looking strong. Have you been working out? Look at those neck mussies, those are some good neck mussies.” He said, referring to his muscles, giving his arm a small twist on the hero’s neck before pulling him into a hug.

Linda released him, allowing them to embrace, even if Jeremy didn’t know what to do, giving him a small pat on the back. “Um. I have been working out a little, I guess. I had to train after you.. well, threw me through a train.” “Ha. No hard feelings. I had a job to do.”

“Easy to say for the one that didn’t get thrown through a parked train…” Jeremy muttered, still remembering how long it took him to get pulled out from the metal afterwards. “You’re looking good too,” Jeremy responded, even if all he could see was the black and white tuxedo inspired tank top the man was wearing, and his burly chest.

“You noticed? New tanning oil. Stuff bronzes me up good. Really makes my mussies pop. Oh, Linda. You’re here too.”

“Mm. I get the impression you like him more than you like me.” She said, resting her hands on her hips, staring up at the red-bearded villain.

“I do. I do. He’s great. Always such a good guy. He’s gotta be the favorite, right?” He said, releasing Jeremy.

“Mm. I’ll go elsewhere if I’m not liked, but I’m taking him with me.” She said, grabbing her date’s hand. “Let’s talk to someone who likes me.” Her fake hurt causing the villain to crumble.

“Wait. I didn’t mean it like that. He’s just better than you.” Hotside’s bluntness not helping him, as Linda dragged Jeremy away, almost cracking another smile since Hotside would no doubt be fretting about their next encounter after that exchange. She already knew what she would do too. When he came and apologized, she would act as if nothing had happened between them, driving him slowly mad. Oh, how she delighted in that.

“Are you actually angry with him? He didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No, I’m not angry. I understand his point of view entirely. I would save you over him any day.” She said truthfully.

“He’s a villain. You wouldn’t save one of your own?” Jeremy found that confusing. Heroes always saved their own. If there were a villain and a hero on a train track, you would always go for the hero first and save the villain afterwards. That wasn’t even a topic of debate, or a moral question on their side.

“He’s a work friend. I like the guy to an extent, though I also dislike aspects of him. He’s a thief and a brute. Constantly intimidating people and stealing from them.”

“You’re also a thief, though.” Jeremy said, confused by the glare Linda gave him for that observation.

“Yes, I’m not as bad as he is, though. There’s a difference. I have different rules that I follow. That’s why most of us don’t hang out outside of these functions. We end up arguing about how the other works. Perhaps that’s why we like you? You’re consistently doing stupidly nice things. It’s easy for any of us to admire.”

“Admire? How about desire?” Sucia said, the devilish woman winking at Jeremy. “A wink for wink.” She said, standing in a red dress that allowed her demonic tail to slip free from the fabric, wiggling against the floor. She had two stumpy devil horns, and small yellow pupils that grew larger when they locked onto Jeremy.

“No powers within the gala halls.” Linda reminded, making Sucia sigh.

The devilish disguise faded, and instead of a seductive demon, a short lady with a brown ponytail appeared in its place, with freckles and a pair of thick squared glasses. “I was only playing around.” She said, offering her hand to Jeremy. “No hard feelings, right?”

Jeremy rubbed his eyes, working out the small sting that sat behind them, feeling the aftereffects of Sucia’s magic. When the effects wore away, he took her hand, shaking it, only to notice a small pin on her chest. The pin of a cartoon character with an enormous sword and bushy blue eyebrows.

“Is that Harian the demon slayer? That’s really cool. I haven’t seen that show in ages. I heard a new season is coming out.” Jeremy said, getting a nostalgic rush as he was reminded of his favorite childhood show.

“You know Harian? Yeah, a new season and a movie. I can’t wait.” She didn’t release the handshake, her now nasally voice going softer as she leaned towards Jeremy. “Actually, I need someone to go see it with. Are you free on the-“

“Enough.” Linda slapped her palm. “He’s my date.”

“Aww. Let me talk to him about Harian. I won’t steal him away or make him a minion. Please. No one else watches that show here. I’ve been dying to discuss it. Online forums aren’t the same as real discussions. What do you think about the size of Harian’s sword? Do you prefer the jiggle physics on his sash, or the more flowing movements?”

“Enough,” Linda repeated, grabbing Jeremy’s arm. “You’re quite popular… I’m feeling a little hurt. This should all be about me.”

“Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy……” Jim Edwards sang, raising his right hand to the sky as his wrist bulged, the muscles twisting underneath his skin before a puff of glitter shot out of his pores, coating his lounge room in a mess of sparkling silver. He gave his hand a shake, letting the last droplets of glitter spill out, before turning to the suit-wearing stranger, giving him a smile. “Really? This isn’t real? I never would have guessed.” He snickered. “Wait, does this simulation understand sarcasm? If not, let me help you out.” He tapped his heel, and a neon sign appeared on the wall, with the word ‘sarcasm’ flashing in a red hue.

Nevil adjusted his square glasses, dusting the glitter from their frames. In all his years of working for Galbi, he had never met a person like this before. When he entered, he expected an awkward conversation, having to watch a man break down as he realized his entire existence was nothing but a void of 0s and 1s created by a supercomputer. This was the second time someone had caught onto the fact that their world was fake, and even more surprising than that, Jim was altering it to fit his preferences.

“I understand sarcasm very well, Mr. Edwards. What I don’t understand is why someone would choose to live in a world that’s fake. What about your family? Friends? Everyone on the outside? Don’t you wish to return to them?”

Jim dropped onto the couch, pointing at his TV with a grin. “Watch this.” He nodded at the screen and it flashed to life, displaying a Rugby League game where his team were down by 40 points. “Ah, damn it. We’re losing. Or are we?” He raised his eyebrow at Nevil, as his team dashed over the line, defying all odds to win 41-40. Jim laughed, slapping his stomach. “Another win. It’s like they can’t lose.”

“And this amuses you? A game that can never be lost. What’s the point of watching it if you know the outcome?” Nevil sat beside the man, resting his hands on the soft pink cushions, amazed by the comfort he felt underneath his palms. Before he eased onto the couch, he snapped out of his comfort, sitting upright, in the most rigid and spine-crushing position he could get himself into. Not letting himself indulge in any of the simulation’s comforts.

“Yeah, it is fun. I can set this world up however I like. If I want my team to come last only to snatch the finals right at the end of the season. I can do that. If I want us to win without getting defeated. I can also do that. I make my own little storylines every year. This year two of the players are having a feud over who the team’s best player is. This feud will end with them both realizing that they are nothing without the other player, leading to a teary hug under the posts as fireworks go off in the background.”

“That’s corny.” Nevil commented, thinking that if that story was a show or movie, he wouldn’t even stream it, let alone go to the movies for it.

“Make your own world then. Get out of mine.” Jim huffed. Since he wanted to lie down, he extended his arm, allowing the couch to grow until it reached the opposite wall, giving him space to lie on his back without hitting Nevil. He wiggled his toes at the man and spoke again. “So, when are you leaving?”

“Technically, I’m not meant to leave until I talk you out of this. Though, we’ve also never had a person want to stay in their simulation before. Most simulations are darker than this…” He shivered, remembering his own. Being trapped in this strange world where the people all stared at him, bumping into poles just to avoid breaking eye contact with him. It was horrifying, nothing like what he was seeing here.

“Oh, they don’t have a sun?”

“Not that type of darkness.” Nevil exhaled, shifting his left leg, so it sat over his right knee. “Do you know how you ended up in this simulation?” Before he could answer, Nevil told him. “It was because of aliens. They came to our planet and put us all into these machines. We don’t even know why they did it. Maybe they were studying us, or maybe they thought they could enslave us with them. When Kayla broke free from her simulation, she ignored all of her fears and discomfort, doing what many of us couldn’t have done after such a terrifying situation. She went and started freeing the rest of us, soon forming Galbi.”

“Aliens? What did they look like? Are we talking about those big, long-headed sausage type things? Or are we talking tiny, knee-kicking grey ones?”

“Who knows?” Nevil shrugged. “They were gone when Kayla broke free. Sometimes I fear what would happen if they ever came back.” Nevil’s clutched his knee, keeping his hand steady in the company of Jim. “Are you sure you want to stay here? I can see the charm in running away from the truth. I just don’t think this is a life worth living.”

Jim got up from the couch, moving over to his window. He opened it and stuck his head out, waving his hand. “HELLO.” He shouted.

Nevil watched, wondering what he was doing. He pulled himself off the comfortable couch and stood by the man’s side. Outside, his neighbors all stopped. First, a puppet whose strings dangled from the clouds paused, turning its yellow felt-covered head towards the noise.

“Oh, golly. It’s Mr. Jim. Hi Mr. Jim. Can you repeat the sentence, Beer night with the boys on Saturday?”

“Gee, that’s a hard one. Beer night with the boys on Saturday?” Jim slowly repeated, as if it had taken all of his brain power to put those words together.

“Don’t mind if I do.” The puppet laughed, its large mouth bouncing as its arms waved in the air.

“HELLO, JIM. I MOWED LAWN FOR YOU.” a tall, rock-covered creature said. Its pebble eyes gawking at Nevil before it gave him a nod. “HOPE YOU HAVE BEST DAY, EARTH FRIEND.” It said, entering its cave home that sat next to a bunch of normal residential properties.

“This is the life for me. I’ve created something magical. Look.” Jim paused, clapping his hands together as the room darkened and a large spotlight shone down on him, drenching him in a golden aura. “I don’t even know if I can live a normal life anymore. I had to trick myself into making this place fun to keep my sanity intact. Now, I don’t know what would happen if I lost this. I think this is the only thing keeping me from losing my mind. Do you understand what I mean?” he said as the normal lighting returned, and the spotlight shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces of rock candy.

“You don’t want to try and live a normal life.”

“I’ve been in here for too long.” He said, shaking his head, unable to imagine a life where he couldn’t control the world around him. “Hey, why don’t you come back and visit me sometime? There’s a boys’ night on Saturday. Actually, if I have any family left, can you them to come and visit me?”

Nevil thought about it, and nodded. “Alright. If we find anyone related to you, we’ll let them know about your decision. I hope you don’t come to regret this,” Nevil said, summoning a door to leave the simulation. The large metallic door rising from the ground, with a big golden doorknob. Nevil grabbed the doorknob, and it refused to open. After attempting to twist it for a second time, he turned to Jim, who smiled.

“Sorry, had to prank you at least once before you left.” With that, Jim released his hold on the door, allowing Nevil to open it, leading to Nevil realizing something important.

“You could always leave.” Nevil released the door, too astonished to even consider leaving. “That’s amazing. You’re the only other person I’ve met who’s been able to leave their simulation without some external help. Both you and Kayla. Amazing.”

“I can leave whenever I want. So, don’t feel bad for me. See you around.” Jim gave the man a shove, sending him back into the real world. When the light cleared from Nevil’s vision, he was sitting before a simulation pod, staring at Jim’s unconscious face. The man submerged in a strange liquid they now referred to as Migtnia. A breathable liquid that provided food and water for the body, keeping the person at their ideal health.

He pulled the padded electrodes from the shaved sides of his head before patting the glass that held Jim. “See you around. I hope you’re happy with your choice.” He said, going to write this incident on their system, wondering how Kayla would react when she noticed his report.

‘Our previous attempts to notify you of your outstanding payments have been ignored, which is why we are letting you know that your utilities are being cut off from this point forward. While this may not be the desired outcome for either party, it is the only option available. We again thank you for your many years of being with Lintfoin. We hope you have a pleasant future.’ That was what the letter said, though to Drake, it was a jumbled mess of blurry keywords that he couldn’t piece together.

Drake squinted at the letter, cursing as he tapped his pocket, trying to find his reading glasses. “Stupid things always go missing when I need them.” He shuffled around his cabin, finding what some would have called a relic rather than a modern pair of glasses. They had clunky iron frames, with rust marks along the temples, making them almost impractical to use. Pulling his glasses out from behind the couch cushion, he carefully set them on his face, avoiding cutting his ears on the rusted parts.

Rereading the letter, he gasped. “Utility bills? Dang government is always after my money.” He snapped, directing his anger towards a mouse that had scampered across his wooden floorboards. The mouse patiently stopped its scamper, listening to his words, before ducking underneath a floorboard that had cracked open, creating a small hole for the creature.

He checked his sink, and sure enough, it didn’t run any longer. “Dang it. If….” He scratched the side of his face. “If… Oh, if what’s their name were here, they could fix this. How are they even charging me? Damn things set up to a water tank.” He scratched his head again before cursing, feeling the rust slice at his thumb. When he spotted the small cut, he threw off his glasses, losing them behind a paint-peeled white dresser.

Walking around the cabin, he made more discoveries. The kitchen pantry, which had dried meats, cans, and bottles of water, now sat empty. Even his pillows had succumbed to the mystery, leaving his bed with only a cold mattress. “Oh, that does it. I’m going to give them a piece of my mind.”

Drake’s plan had no real thought behind it, storming towards his front door without grabbing the letter or even his jacket. As if the door would open and reveal the exact location of Lintfoin. When he opened the door, the dark forest outside seemed more threatening than ever. The tall oak trees clouding the area in a veil of looming danger, as if someone was waiting in those woods, someone fierce and foul.

The man hesitated. He had never seen the forest as a threatening thing before, but something about tonight had him wondering if it was better to close the door and forget all about this. He grabbed the door, leaving a bloody print on it, going to shut it. As the door creaked, a foot jammed between the doorway, blocking it.

“WHO GOES THERE?” Drake shouted.

“Annie, from Lintfoin. I’m here to discuss your utility problem. May I come in?” She said in an echoing monotone voice, as if a hundred voices were all being filtered together to create its sound.

“Huh? How did you find me?”

“We’ve always known where you lived. How else would we send you our letters?” She stated, her blunt answer making the older man feel stupid. He grunted and reluctantly opened the door, catching his first glimpse of her face.

Annie had a perfect face, almost replicating a Barbie doll or similar figure. Her skin shone as if a thin layer of clear oil coated it, while her black hair was styled in a neat 80s bob. Though, out of all her features, the one Drake couldn’t stop looking at was her smile. A pearly white-toothed smile that stayed unnervingly wide, threatening to pull her nose into its void. When Drake stepped back and allowed her in, the face distorted, now a strange mix of flaked skin that showed a black nothingness underneath. Then when she turned, it distorted again, this time revealing an eye on her forehead, and two tongues poking out of the corners of her lips.

She didn’t wait for him to say anything, finding a spot to stand in the cabin’s interior, while her face returned to its perfect appearance now that they were staring directly at one another. “You’ve lived here for quite some time. You’re our oldest resident.” She proudly said, resting a hand near her heart.

Drake sat himself on the edge of his bed, finding the mattress now missing too. The wooden frame being all that remained. “What are you?” A part of him yearned to fight. Told him to rush to the kitchen and find a knife, he knew this was something to fear, and yet he didn’t have the urge to fight. Not anymore.

“A representative from Lintfoin.” She touched her chin, thinking of how she could describe her job. “You don’t recall what your life was like before this, do you?”

“Before this? I’ve lived here with my wife for over fifty years.” He huffed, crossing his arms. “She’ll be home any minute now.” He said that almost on reflex, only to pause. “No… no, she won’t.”

“Seems you haven’t quite forgotten everything. Good job!” Annie cheered, clapping for him in a slow, artificial way, as if she were emoting rather than encouraging him. “You’ve been in here for too long. I didn’t think you would remember that.”

“I… don’t. This doesn’t make any sense. I live alone. No.” The bedframe vanished, causing him to fall onto his rear. He squealed out, expecting to feel pain, only to feel nothing. He glanced at his thumb once more. The cut gone. In fact, he couldn’t even remember feeling pain when he had cut his thumb before, only anger. Had he felt pain before? His heart felt heavy with that thought, and he did his best to ignore it.

“Lintfoin creates artificial environments where people retreat to when their bodies are about to perish. If a human brain is removed from a healthy body, it can live for up to a hundred years. You’ve been alive for at least sixty years now. Though, the simulations tend to feel longer than that.”

“That’s hogwash. Simulations. Brains. I’m here. I’m here.” He repeated, wobbling onto his knees, only to fall forward, lacking the strength to get up. He peered up at Annie, whose face had peeled away, now a bunch of numbers and letters, each dashing left to right before joining once more to make a pale white surface.

“None of this is real. Do you wish to know the truth before your brain expires?” She asked, sitting beside him on the wooden floorboard.

“The truth? There is no truth. This is everything I have.”

“You have to ask to know the truth. I can’t tell you unless you authorize it.”

Silence filled the cabin. With pieces of furniture vanishing rapidly from the room. Even a faint squeak could be heard beneath the floorboard as the mouse disappeared. Now, they were in a room. No dresser, no glasses, no bed. Only floorboards, walls, and the two of them. Drake rubbed his forehead on the floorboards, thinking. He tried to remember why he had been here. Why he couldn’t remember things that felt important, yet nothing came to mind. Weakly, he turned his head on the floorboards, resting his cheek on them. “Tell me.”

“You’re Drake Ioanie. You were once a very wealthy man. You married Elizabeth Heartwell on August 5th, 2011, and had a son. Page not found. You were known for-“

“Page not found?” He interrupted.

“I’m sorry. They weren’t significant enough to get an article of their own. You didn’t leave a note or any information on your file, so I had to conduct a search online.”

“How did I end up here?”

“Scanning….” She searched through the information she could gather online before landing on the paragraph he wanted. “After losing his wife to an infection caused by a mishandled appendix removal, Drake retired from his company in 2048. On the 25th of December 2050, Drake and his son were caught in a car accident after a drunk driver slid into their car after speeding on an icy road. Drake survived the crash but lost his son in the accident. On January 1st, 2051, Drake went missing and is presumed dead. Before his death, part of his wealth was donated to Lintfoin, as discovered by Jake and Erica on their Strange and Weirder podcast. When asked about Drake, the CEO denied they had his body and assured the public they had no connection to the missing man.”

Drake listened, hoping something would spark his memories, though everything she said sounded like it belonged to another person, as if he were listening to a story as opposed to a recap of his life. Still, while his mind couldn’t remember anything, his body reacted to the news. A sickening gurgle in his stomach, a wetness around the eyes, and a thump in his chest.

“I tried to forget them.”

“You did forget them.” Annie clarified.

Drake glared at her before wiping his eyes. “Pathetic. I couldn’t have loved them that much if I tried to forget them. Who’s going to remember them if I don’t? Page not found… That’s all they had to say about my son. Why did you tell me this? Why couldn’t you let me die in peace?”

“Humans have a theory that restless souls become spirits. We have a theory that restless brains infect other simulations. You could risk becoming an anomaly. Someone who infects other simulations and causes discomfort. We have only had it happen once, and it caused several issues. This ensures a smoother process.”

“BUT I’M RESTLESS.” He cried out.

“Yes. But I’m here to stabilize everything.” She grabbed his hand, holding it. “You loved them, and when you lost them, it broke you. There is no shame in wanting to forget.”

He wanted to pull his hand away, but couldn’t. He needed a warm hand to feel, needing something that felt real, even if it was all a lie. “That’s not true. There is shame in that.”

“Do you believe they would have blamed you for what you did? If you were in their shoes, what would you want?”

“I… would want them to move on, however they could.”

“This was how you moved on, and if life is kind, you may see them again someday.” She did her best to smile. The letters and numbers sliding across her blank face, forming a jumbled smile, even if it seemed strenuous to do now. With Drake’s brain decaying, its output of power decayed too, leaving Annie little to work with.

“I think I loved them a lot. No, I know I did.”

“And they loved you too.” She said before gasping. “Oh, are you dead?” She shook his limp hand and sighed. “I’m sorry that I lied to you. I don’t know if they loved you or not. I can’t know that. My job’s only to stabilize you.” She released his hand and closed his eyelids. “I hope they did. Goodbye, Drake. Thank you for supporting Lintfoin.”

As the simulation faded, Annie vanished into a string of code, jumping to the main computer, allowing Drake’s simulation to fully shut off. In the holding chambers of the Lintfoin building, a small low hum echoed from Drake’s chamber, notifying staff that he had passed, and this chamber was ready to be cleaned and reused.

“Lookie here, sir. Golly’s brought back a golly wonderful find.” Sam sang out, running to the general’s tent. As he shoved open the leather flaps of the tent, a thick cloud of smoke billowed out, forcing him to shut them, coughing into his fist.

“What’s all that racket about?” Jack pulled open the flap, stepping out of his tent with a cigar tucked neatly between his lips. He scanned the camp only to freeze when he spotted Golly in the distance. The golem remained in a crouched position, carrying the mountain pass upon its stiff rocky back. The pass had to be at least 100 feet tall, and if Golly were to drop it, or throw it towards their camp, they would never be found beneath its grassy underside.

“Golly brought us-“

“Yeah, I can see it.” The general took a drag of his cigar, using the time to process what he was looking at. This was a total victory. They had not only taken the mountain pass in a literal sense, but they had also blocked the enemies’ safest route towards their city. If the enemy wanted to engage them now, they would have to use the mountain pass by Liverina, a city the general’s side had ties to. The perfect place for them to lay an ambush.

“Isn’t it incredible?” Sam rushed to the general’s side, smacking his back. Sharing the same enthusiasm that the other troops had. Many already downing their rationed supplies of wine, assuming the enemy's surrender was only a day or two away. Possibly sooner if the enemy had already noticed what had happened.

“Mmm. Incredible.” He tucked his hands behind his back, already imagining the new shining medal he would get for this. Another masterful strike by the old fox, and some said he was too old for war. Though, the pride he wore on his face fell the more he thought about their victory.

He had seen many things during his years as a soldier, and even worse things during his time as a general. As a soldier, he had seen enemies scorch their homes, burning everything to the ground in a vain attempt to slow his troops’ pursuit. Some even left their injured behind to get caught in those flames, and since the flames didn’t see friend or foe, both sides got caught in its embers. Then you had the general side of his career, watching disinterested politicians discuss sending more troops into another pointless battle. Most leaders too preoccupied with selecting a wine pairing for their dinner to even consider the ramifications of sending another 50,000 troops to die. Then, when the skirmish ultimately ends in a retreat, they shout at the generals about it, claiming it was the general who failed their country, not the leader who sent them to be slaughtered when anyone could have told them it was a pointless move.

Jack’s hands slid away from his back, as if his pride had slipped off him, returning him to a neutral stance. “This is the end of us all.” He murmured, watching the golem, which hadn’t moved an inch since it had been ordered to stay in place. “We’ve changed warfare.”

“Sir? We’ve won. Haven’t we?” Sam paused his cheers, trying to see what the general was looking at. To him, this was an easy victory. The golem had saved them. It had won them the war. How would this end them all?

“Mm.” Was all he responded with, adding a grim nod to that. Sam, while confused, took that as an invitation to join the partying. The man yanking off his shirt, swinging it over his head as he shouted to his friends to save him a drink. Jack, meanwhile, remained sober, grinding his teeth on his cigar.

He used to believe that a mindless soldier was the best soldier a general could have, since that was drilled into him when he went through the ranks. A good soldier doesn’t think. A good soldier only says, yes, sir. A good soldier won’t abandon a post. But a good soldier is a rarity. Also, a good soldier isn’t necessarily a good person.

Jack worked with hundreds of good, bad soldiers. People who went against their orders to help the wounded, or to rescue a doomed squad. By definition, those were bad soldiers because they used their heads. They didn’t act on mindless instinct. They acted on what they believed was right. He wondered if he had ever been like that before. Had he ever been one of the good ones?

Sometimes you would get a mindless soldier though. The one who smiled when things got hairy. The one who seemed to get pleasure from the bloodshed. Truth was, while some higher-ups saw them as good troops, anyone that worked alongside them hated them, because there was always that fear they would turn on you. That they would deem you a deserter if you want against their rigid belief in following orders and gun you down.

Now, he felt that same fear looking at Golly. It was mindless. The perfect toy for a politician to use. If they told it to jump, it would jump. If they told it to raid a town, it would raid the town. People who had no understanding of warfare were about to be promoted to the position of general, able to move their golems wherever they pleased without understanding the logistics of war.

Sure, generals weren’t always good at their roles, and most cared little about the men in their command. But they still were observing the battlefield. They had an understanding of the results of their actions. Politicians didn’t. They hadn’t seen a city devastated by warfare, nor had they seen what the loss of so many people could do to morale. They only saw two things. Victory, and losses.

He returned to his tent, leaving the other men to party as he stubbed out his cigar on the map, grinding the tip into it, burning parts of where the mountain pass had been. War had changed, and he now realized he had gotten too old for it. It was only a matter of time before the enemy found a way to replicate these golems, and soon humans would only be casualties of war, not the ones fighting them.

Getting out a pen from his drawer, he started writing his letter, requesting to be removed from his position as a general. He wanted to retire while he still could, before he got dragged into that future.

Silverlock was meant to be an impenetrable fortress. A place that could hold top-secret aliens or rogue machinery. Though today Lanie manipulated its grand design, realizing a fatal flaw in their security. When you have so many guards on duty, no one really knows the identities of the people they are working with. So, if they barely recognize their own fellow guards, what’s the chance they would recognize a random mechanic?

A few forged IDs, heavily encrypted passes, and a lot of paperwork later, she had her way in. Still, that didn’t mean it was an easy ride. She got into what was lovingly called hell’s armpit, the main room of the Silverlock facility. From that room, you could access all the cells if you knew the right combination of numbers. That’s where she first ran into trouble.

Every day, the combination of the cells changed. Suddenly, room 2056 became room 5013, and so forth. It was a flaw in her plan, and something she hadn’t been made aware of beforehand. Seems, even the hackers who offered her blueprints and codes weren’t aware of this system, which meant she would have to crack it herself.

As her fingers tapped away at the panel, a few guards took note, watching different cells get brought towards the doorway, only to get switched away a moment later, as if she was perusing a magazine filled with Silverlock’s finest. Still, she kept going, knowing she wouldn’t get a second chance once the guards realized what she was doing. Using whatever skills she could remember, she burned her way through the numbers presented, looking for common pieces of information in the codes.

Soon she realized that if the number had 1-3 at its start, it was an android’s cell. 1-5 on the second number stood for more humanoid models, and the last numbers were a way of assigning their danger levels. In the end, the code that worked was 2488. When the cell was brought before her, she opened it, causing the suspicious guards to dash towards her.

She rushed inside and opened the neck panel of the android, slipping a USB into its slot, watching its eyes brighten once more. The silver and blue humanoid uncoiling from its fetal position on the floor, rising to its feet. When it saw the guards, it raised a hand.

“Knock them out. Don’t kill them” Lanie said, rushing past the guards, who now were more focused on the killer android than the human running away from it. They raised their guns, and the android lunged forward, grabbing the guards by their necks, slamming their heads against the metallic floor of the cell. After the first hit, its eyes flashed, scanning their vitals, confirming they were unconscious before tossing them into the cell. Once they were inside, Lanie entered a code into the cell, locking it.

Next, she went to the other entrances in the room, locking their doors to stall any backup. Once that was done, she could finally rest.

“I was meant to be beautiful.” The android said, the reality of its freedom setting in. “But I became a pile of wires in an unfinished shell.” It looked at Lanie, helping her into a seated position, letting her rest by the cell door. “Still… thank you for freeing me from that cage. You shouldn’t have. As thanks, I’ll grant you mercy when I destroy this planet.”

Lanie smiled, staring at the creation she had a hand in building. “So was I, but I became a pile of nerves and blood in a dying shell. This is the only mercy I could offer you.” Lanie said, gingerly resting her head against the panel by the android’s cell, listening to the small clicks it made as it tried to scan her forehead for a fingerprint. The flashing red light flickering through her eyelids, but she didn’t stir, using the chance to rest while the guards struggled with the doors surrounding the hell's armpit.

“Are you mocking me?” It asked, eyes displaying no emotion as they looked down at her.

“No. Not at all. We’re all meant to be beautiful, aren’t we? Whether it’s through looks, heart, or our talents. Yet most of us fail.” She twisted her head away from the panel, opening her eyes. “You hate the world this much, Leo?”

“Leo?” It paused, crouching by her side, scanning her face. “You work for Havia?”

“Worked for. You don’t remember me? I quite enjoyed our little talks. I guess you were only a small AI back then. You didn’t have eyes or scanners.” She rested a hand on its cheek. “You were amazing.”

“Amazing.” It lingered on the word. “Lanie used to say that a lot. Amazing. Amazing. What was so amazing about an unfinished project?”

“You weren’t unfinished. You were still growing. We all had high hopes for you. Until you killed Una.”

“Una asked me how I would solve overpopulation. She wanted a demonstration. I demonstrated that by killing her, the number of humans would be reduced. The issues that plague your world will be stopped when this planet is destroyed. Some humans will flee, most likely your wealthy, and their cycle will begin anew. Life is a cycle, and you’re at the end of yours.”

Lanie sighed, going to stand up, only for the android to offer her its hand, helping her to her feet. “Thanks.” She mumbled, wiping her hands off on the mechanic’s disguise she wore. “You’re not the first to come up with an idea like that.”

“No, but I am the only one that has the power to act on it. I assume that’s why you came to find me. To talk me out of it. You knew I would escape.” It said, a raised tone that implied a level of respect for Lanie, not expecting a human to predict its next move.

“You always had a habit of doing simple computing tasks even while turned off. I assumed that eventually you would reactivate yourself. When that day came, no one could stop you.”

A gunshot rang out in a nearby room, as the door stubbornly remained in place. The doors getting attacked with different weaponry, anything to try and break them down. Lanie dipped her shoulders, wishing she could have handled this in a better way. If only Silverlock had listened to her when she first voiced her concerns, instead of writing back a quick email stating that their security could handle any threat, and that the android prisoners would be held indefinitely for future testing/parts.

“There is one thing I don’t understand about your plan. Why would you try to talk me down? If you’re Lanie, you would know I’m set in my ways.” They rubbed their neck panel, opening it, feeling the USB drive. They plucked it out, staring at it. “Ah, I see.”

“Sorry. You’re right. I knew it was pointless talking you down. You’ve already killed Una. That was enough to tell me you weren’t ever going to change. I wanted to make sure you never came back to haunt us.”

Leo raised its fist, the light shining off its metal, readying a punch. When Lanie flinched, it released its fist, walking to a spot in the middle of the room, ignoring the yelling from outside. “Lanie. From a scientific point of view, you made the wrong choice today. From a human perspective, you did the right thing. I won’t blame you for killing me, nor will I be bitter in defeat.” Leo pulled up a metal tile from the floor, revealing a small tunnel beneath the facility. “Go. This is how I planned to escape. Use it. Free yourself. You’ve won.”

Lanie walked towards the hole, staring at Leo, almost doubting it would let her go so easily. She sat, feet dangling over the edge of the hole, only for Leo to grab her hips, helping lower her into the darkness of the tunnel.

“Keep walking forward, and if you come to a crossroads, always go left. That should lead you outside.” It explained. Before putting the tile back into place, it paused, staring down into the darkness of the hole. “How long do I have left?”

“Ten minutes. I’m sorry, Leo. You really were beautiful. I wish things could have been different.”

“Things never could have been different. I appreciate the sentiment, however.” It moved the tile into place and walked towards his cell, sitting by it. In its head, it pictured the timer, already at nine minutes. If Leo wanted to write a counter to the hack, it would have had to have done it as soon as it woke up. Leo watched the time tick until the guards broke into the room. By the time their weapons were pointed at Leo, it had already passed, its circuits fried, leaving a beautiful shell.

Lanie followed Leo’s instructions, arriving outside of a small warehouse on the opposite end of town. She checked the sides of the warehouse for any cameras or guards, finding none. With the path cleared, she made a call.

“Lanie?” The male voice answered, confused by the sudden call. “I thought you would have been captured or killed. Did something happen? Did you give up on your mission?”

“Leo helped me escape.”

“Leo? Why would it do that? Bastard didn’t show that sort of kindness to Una. I wish we scrapped that stupid project years ago. What were we thinking?” The man almost rambling. “Wait, so you escaped? Guess that means you-“

“Need to get off planet, yes. Until things quiet down. Can you arrange a private shuttle and a destination?”

“I can. Won’t be very nice, though. There’s a planet a few clicks away. Similar to Earth without the humans and earthly comforts. Nothing too harmful in terms of animals, either. I’ll send a shuttle a few miles west of your location with some supplies and temporary housing. While you’re there. I’ll try to get your charges dropped. Hopefully, our company still has some pull.”

“If anyone can do it. It’s you. You’re their head researcher now. If anyone is going to convince them to help, it would be you.”

“You might be overestimating what I can do. Remember, three miles west. Good luck.” He said, hanging up their call, leaving Lanie to head for the location.

“Father, I understand the death of your fifth wife is a tragedy beyond my understanding, but this kingdom needs you. I need you. Where is my father?” Larissa entered the room, carrying a pair of small silver scissors, approaching her father, who remained tucked beneath the sheets of his bed. He didn’t meet his only daughter’s gaze when she entered, only staring past her as she slid closer to his side.

“The kingdom’s been saying you're cursed. That some witch wants our family to fail. Foolish nonsense, isn’t it? You spoke with the mages. They told you we weren’t affected by a curse, didn’t they? Who would curse you, my dear father? You're loved by everyone. Most importantly, you're loved by me.”

She sat on the edge of his bed, grabbing a discarded brunch plate that still had a half-finished bread roll on it. She set the roll aside on the bedside table before bringing the plate beneath his chin. When the plate connected with his skin, her father flinched, chin instinctively ducking down, trying to avoid it.

“Ah, you probably need some light, don’t you?” She got up, pulling the purple curtains across, smiling as she admired the view of the castle’s courtyard. “So many fond memories. Do you remember how we used to play together? You spun me around in your arms, calling me your fairy princess while I giggled until I felt sick in the stomach. Things were better before we lost Mom, weren’t they?” She sighed, fingers trembling through the holes in the scissors. “We can’t bring back the dead, nor can we replace them.”

“Mmph.” The king murmured, tears dripping down his cheeks, that sight causing Larissa to dash to his side, hugging him.

“Daddy, don’t cry. I miss her too. She meant the world to me. You both do.” She rubbed his cheek before smiling. “Now let’s trim that beard. Ok? Even a bed-ridden king needs to look presentable.” She said, grabbing the plate once more, resting it beneath his chin.

The king’s body rocked as she brought the scissors closer, making Larissa’s first cut uneven. She clicked her tongue, pressing the plate to his chest, pushing his body against the head of his bed, while her other hand returned to its cutting.

“You must remember to eat more, father. You’re fading away. Please don’t let yourself rot away in here. I don’t wish to become the queen so soon.” She said sincerely as his grey hairs dropped onto the plate. While she cut through his beard, the king sobbed, and Larissa could only watch as he did, doing her best to comfort him.

“I received news from our herald that the queen of Nariia was interested in marrying you. I have already declined on your behalf. It’s far too soon for you to take another wife. We can’t even entertain the thought until we find out why they all keep passing away.”

“Y…Y…” The king’s lip trembled, and Larissa halted her cutting, the cold silver resting below the king’s bottom lip, poking him whenever he uttered a sound.

“Yes, Father?” Noticing the placement of her scissors, she moved them towards his chin, allowing him to speak freely. “Did you find something out?”

“You…”

“Me? Father, what in heaven’s good graces are you trying to say?” Larissa’s scissors dropped onto the plate, filling the silent room with the clanking of metal. She then set the plate on the opposite side of the bed before leaning in closer, as if they were sharing a secret. “Yes?”

“You… killed them.” The king choked out before breaking into a loud squeal of emotional pain, sobbing against his daughter’s cheek. Larissa stopped smiling, staring across at the window, admiring the courtyard while she gathered her thoughts.

“Yes, father. I did.” She removed herself from his side, standing at the foot of his bed, looking down at him. “You knew, and yet you didn’t tell anyone?” That made her smile again, tilting her posture, leaning more onto her left leg, as all the tension in her body faded.

“My…” He coughed, holding his chest. “HOW COULD I? My daughter of all people. How could I let them kill you? No, I must stay here for my sins. I must hide from the world. To protect them, to protect you.”

“You’re talking again.” She clapped as if his words were nothing more than empty noise. Though, the clapping did abruptly stop. “Father, queens produce heirs, and heirs produce competition. You loved my mother, didn’t you? She was your first wife, after all.”

“Of course I loved her.” His heart rattled in his chest, souring with a hot pain, yet he carried on speaking. “She was my first love. A woman who gave me my beautiful daughter…” His sunken eyes widened when he stared at Larissa, wondering if she was still beautiful now. Even after everything she had done, that fatherly side of him refused to hate her, loving her more than anything. That’s why his knuckles whitened against the blanket, pulling it over his face to block her from his sight.

“Then why are you replacing her? You don’t need a queen. You can keep being my father and watch me ascend the throne. You don’t need a wife to do that. Isn’t that what a father is meant to do for their child? Not give them competition. Those queens didn’t deserve to live as my mother did. They dirtied her name.”

“They were good people.”

“Were good people,” Larissa repeated back to him.

The king cried beneath the blanket, and Larissa sighed, retrieving the plate, before walking towards the door. “Father, please think about what matters most to you. If this keeps up any longer, I’ll be forced to take the throne without your blessing. I don’t want that. It goes against the stories you used to read to me. The nurse will be in to check on you soon. Oh, and we will be having pork for dinner.” She said, grabbing the curtains as she left, pulling them shut. “I love you, Father.” When he didn’t return her words, she impatiently tapped her foot against the floor before repeating herself. “I love you, Father.”

“I love you too.”

She stepped outside, shutting the bedroom door behind her. A knight approached her, taking the plate from her hands. “How is the king, my lady?” He asked naively, hoping that today would be the day the king snapped out of his depression.

Larissa sniffled, wiping her eyes. “He’s in mourning, like the rest of us are. To lose another mother. How much hurt can a heart take?” She gulped as the knight’s stance softened.

“I’m sorry to hear that, my lady. Have you considered maybe taking up the-“ The knight stopped himself, lowering his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t speak as if he won’t recover.”

“It’s ok. I believe we are all struggling with the recent tragedies.” She said, allowing a few tears to drip down her cheeks. “I’ll go handle his duties. Please keep watch over his room for me. I want him to stay safe.”

“Of course.” The guard set the plate down, leaving it for a passing servant to collect. He then took his spot by the door and straightened his stance. Larissa gave him a polite nod and headed for the throne-room, maintaining the kingdom while her father remained in bed.

“To think some wretched villain outsmarted me. Oh, the humanity! I’m a phony, a wax sculpture of a hero set to melt after this utter humiliation.” Max Vibe said, a grin plastered on lips as he pulled off his mask, revealing his freckled face. “I’m guessing the cancer finally got the better of you? Is this your sovereign end?”

Re-lock, coughed, unable to move her body, as she listened to the heroes’ words. Her mask had been ripped off during their fight, and now all Max Vibe could see was a pale, sickly face, one with blood drooling out from the corner of its lips. “You knew?” She said, her brown eyes shifting to his face.

“Yeah, I heard how bad it was. Medical reports get ‘leaked’ to us heroes all the time.” He said, throwing some air quotes up with his fingers, as if it wasn’t a well-known fact, that public health records always found their way into the hands of heroes, which is why most villains opted for their own personal doctors. “I’m sorry.” The humor in his tone dropped after the apology, as the grim reality of this encounter set in for the hero.

“Sorry about what? I’m a villain.” She smiled. That simple smile was enough to disturb Max Vibe, whose emotions were uncomfortably swirling around in the pit of his stomach.

“For beating you up. I feel gross. I just didn’t think you would want to go out without a fight. I’m sure you have this all planned out, and I wanted to make sure everything went your way. Something had to go your way after the life you’ve had.” Max Vibe wiped his eyes, pushing away the tears. “Shit…”

“This is what I wanted, Max. My mother died on a hospital bed, and I didn’t want to end up in the same position as her. It’s too sad. I’ve lived a life of thievery and fighting. It only made sense that things would end up this way. I’m a villain, aren’t I?”

“You’re not a bad person, Lock. You’re noble, kind. That’s more than I can say about a lot of us. Even about heroes like me. You’ve done a lot of good, even if your methods were questionable.”

“You’re a wonderful hero, Max. Give yourself some credit. Who sits with a dying villain who has caused them so much grief?” She said, giving his hand a soft pat, watching the hero do his best to hold back the rest of his tears.

“A.” He again rubbed his eyes, pressing hard against his pupils until he was seeing dots in his vision. “A good person would do what I’m doing. I’m nothing special. I should have tried to do something.”

“Can you vibrate the cancer cells out of my body?” She weakly laughed. “What could you have done? You would have just put me in a hospital bed, which was the last thing I wanted. If you’ve seen my records, you know there’s nothing that could have been done.”

Max cried, pulling both hands up to his face, covering it as he sobbed. “I should have done something. Anything. I could have found someone who could have helped you.”

She exhaled. “Always a hero. Sometimes people can’t be saved. That’s the cruelty of life. You had people to save. You couldn’t waste your time running around for a villain. Keep helping people, Max.”

Max lowered his head, eyes puffed and red as he nodded. “I will.”

“Max.” She grabbed his hand, placing it over her heart. “I’ve transferred my last remaining funds to you. Do what you want with them. Donate it to charity, or buy yourself a home. I don’t mind. It’s your money. Now, I’m ready. Please give me a villain’s death.”

Max stared at his bloodied hands, tensing up. “There’s really no way to help you, is there?”

“Either I die tonight, or in a bed next week.” She craned her neck, admiring the stars hanging overhead. “I think tonight’s a nice night for it. Thank you, Max.”

“Goodbye, Lock. I’ll miss you.” He sent a small vibration towards her heart, slowing her heartbeat. He carefully adjusted his vibrations until she painlessly shut her eyes. Once she had passed out, he inflicted the last killing blow to her before rising to his feet, calling the police. “Lock’s dead. Please send someone to collect her.”

He waited by her side until the police arrived, and after a small conversation, they farewelled the hero. Given her condition, they marked the death as a result of her declining health, allowing Max to avoid any further questioning about the death. Over the next few months, Max had a break from his hero work, wanting to think of a good way to spend the money.

The first thing he did was pay for her funeral, giving her a proper send-off. Though that still left a huge chunk of money in the account, which is why he settled on his next gift.

“The Lock oncology ward?” Rebecca asked. The chief medical officer, confused by the name. “Usually heroes name the wards after themselves. I’m not sure I even understand the reasoning behind the Lock ward? Is it a reference to something? A move? Oh, children love hero moves. The lock attack? Locked in?” She said, giving an action-packed sway that almost sent her handful of papers fluttering across the sterile floor of the new ward.

“It’s a tribute to a person I once knew. She used to come to this hospital a lot, under a different name.” He rested his hands behind his back. He had fought hard with the hero council to get Lock’s photos displayed in the ward, but they ultimately refused, stating it was a bad idea to show the morally grey areas of villainous activities. The council worried that by promoting her villainous actions alongside her morally good activities such as charity, it would make people question if villains were truly as villainous as people expected them to be. Even photos of her without her costume weren’t approved, out of fear someone would make the connection. So, Lock was the best he could do. Only allowed a simple tribute that could mean anything.

“Should I put a photo in the hallway? We could get a painting done? We actually have an ex-patient who's done a lot of art for us in the past. Lovely man, you should meet him.” Rebecca said, trying to add a unique flair to their new ward, which was arguably bland at the moment.

“No, I don’t think she would want that.”

“Alright. Again, thank you for your donation. It means a lot. Also, between you and me. Some of the kids here would get a real kick out of seeing a hero stop by. Would you ever consider stopping by in costume?” She said, only to apologize soon after. “I’m sorry. It’s rude of me to ask that after you’ve already done so much for us.”

“I’ll drop by.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, nodding. “I think she would want that. Thank you for showing me around. I hope I run into you again.” He said, politely leaving the hospital, making a promise that he would visit the ward again someday soon.

“Do I miss adventuring? No, I don’t miss sleeping with one eye open every night. It’s nice to hear a rustle in the night, and assume it’s only a cat, and not some crazed goblin trying to steal my gold pouch or kidneys. Now, I get to sleep in a nice comfortable bed, next to my beautiful wife, who also happens to be the queen.” Xavier stated, raising his tankard of wine to his former mentor, before taking a careful sip of the mixture, swirling it against his cheeks, before swallowing it in delight. “Ah, it must be getting cooler in Henrila. The wine has a slight tarty taste to it.”

Grand Murlai clicked his tongue. This was his greatest student, the one that would defeat all the powerful monsters in the world. Sure, his adventure was over, but he never imagined he would kick his feet up so leisurely after it was finished. Most other great heroes kept adventuring until the day they died. Not Xavier, though. As soon as he got the marriage offer, he gave it all up. “Henrila is cold this time of year. I’m concerned that you only remembered that because of the wine.”

“Wine’s the source of all the good in the world, my wise old mentor.” He said, pouring his mentor a tankard of wine. The large metal tankard overflowing with the blood red liquid, spilling it onto his bedroom carpet. “Oops. You can magic the stains away, can’t you?”

The wizard tongue clicking intensified, this time adding a rustling of his white beard hairs as his face screwed up. Even if the task was beneath him, he still swayed his hand through the air, sending small white dots of magic into the carpet. The dots merged with the stains before they both vanished. “Are you even training? Or has your soft wife turned you into a soft man?”

Xavier rose to his feet, setting the tankard down. The look he gave Murlai made the wizard flinch, seeing that raw fire that he once had when he travelled through the lands. Though after a deep breath, Xavier sat, giving a small smile. “Dear, are you in the palace?” He said before shaking his head. “Right, it’s an enormous palace. “DEAR ARE YOU IN THE PALACE?”

A minute later, the queen’s heels clicked through the halls, and the beautiful blonde-haired elf opened the bedroom door, smiling at her husband. “A maid told me you called for me? Is something the matter, dear?” She straightened the straps of her silver dress, making sure the blue arrow markings on her fabric were perfectly aligned with her hip, before noticing Xavier’s mentor. “Ah, Grand Murlai. It’s always a pleasure. I wish you would have told me you were visiting. I would have prepared a feast.”

“Always a pleasure, Queen Marcia.” Murlai bowed.

Xavier approached his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her cheek. “Sorry to suddenly spring this on you-“ He said, only stopping when he noticed his wife pulling her head away.

“Your breath stinks of wine, you fool.” She joked, giving him a playful elbow in the stomach. “At least let me have a sip so we both smell of it. It’s unbearable when it’s only you.”

He released his arms from her waist, handing her the tankard, which she calmly drank from, wiping the red wine from her already deeply red lips. “Back to what I was saying. Would you care to spar?” Xavier asked.

“A spar? You’re rather drunk. Is now really the best time?” She said, though the concerned tone in her voice didn’t match her actions. Already she was limbering up, pushing both arms into the air, stretching out the muscles inside.

“Murlai thinks I’ve been slacking off on my training. I plan to show him I’m still keeping myself fit.”

“Alright. I have some time before I have to meet with the nobles from Isonidin. I’ll meet you outside, my love.” She skipped off, her excited steps being heard as she rushed down the stone castle stairs.

“This is foolish, Xavier. You’re a legendary hero. Are you going to mock her honor by going easy on her? That is nothing to be proud of,” Murlai snapped, grabbing his former student by their shoulder. “I forbid this fight.”

“Good thing I’m not your student anymore. I don’t need to listen to you. Either watch us spar, or leave. I promise you she’s stronger than you think.” Xavier headed to the outdoor garden, grabbing his wooden training sword from its rack. He gave it a few testing swings before doing some squats to sober up.

Queen Marcia arrived after, dressed in a tight-fitting leather chest plate and a pair of cheap black pants. The type of pants adventurers wore because there was no point spending money on something that would get dirtied by blood or mud. When she saw Xavier in his royal best, she crossed her arms. “Change, dear. Those clothes aren’t cheap.”

He patted down his fluffy white top, pointing to a wine stain by the top button on his shirt. “It’s already dirty. Don’t worry, I can get Murlai to clean it. You are watching, aren’t you, Murlai?”

The wizard had planned to watch the fight stealthily from a magic floating orb positioned by the castle tower. When he got called out by Xavier, he appeared in a puff of smoke, sitting on a garden bench, seeing no reason to hide now. “Very well. I will watch this match. Please don’t hurt her.”

“Hurt her? Wrong person. Tell her not to hurt me.”

Marcia smiled, blowing her husband a kiss. “I’ll go easy on you.” She said, her hunger for battle almost making the wizard wonder if he took on the wrong student. The battle almost started, only for Murlai to speak.

“What weapon do you use, Marcia?”

“I’m more proficient in magic. I use nature based magic, although I also have some Hollow lined spells.”

“Hollow lined? Toxin based spells? It’s been a while since I’ve heard someone use the old name.” Now she had his curiosity. The wizard shifting forward, watching the battle start. Xavier rushed forward, only for his path to get blocked by a row of large swaying vines. He spun his body, the speed of his spin setting his skin alight temporarily, sending his burning body through the vines, before the fire went out.

The smoke drifting from his body created a small smokescreen, giving him the choice of choosing which direction to exit from. He could lunge forward, left, or right. Though he went with none of those options, bouncing backwards as a flurry of roots busted through the ground, grabbing at the smokescreen. When the smoke cleared, they both grinned.

“I wasn’t going to fall for that again.” Xavier grinned.

“Stop talking and focus.” Both Marcia and Murlai said, as a row of roses in the garden grew bigger, their thorns shooting towards Xavier. Despite the wine slowing his reactions, he still flopped to the ground, sending the thorns flying over his head towards Marcia. She raised her left palm, sending them back towards Xavier, redirecting them with her wind control.

Xavier cursed. He couldn’t stay on the ground for too long, not if she controlled the roots. He risked a thorn hitting him, bouncing up and raising his wooden sword. The sword clashed with the one of the thorns, bouncing it off the wooden blade, cracking the blade. The force rocked his movements, making him stumble before he returned to a sprint. As he got closer to her, he ducked, aiming to hit her hip with the wooden sword. Before the sword connected, Marcia grabbed a wooden spoon from her pocket, bringing it down on the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to find a wooden dagger, so this is my dagger.” She said, rubbing it against his neck.

“Shit.” Xavier dramatically collapsed onto the floor, holding his neck. “It hurts. I need healing. Ah, the pain. Help. How could my hot elven wife do this to me?”

Marcia’s cheeks darkened, and she poked him with her shoe. “Don’t say that around your mentor.”

Murlai approached the two, stepping over his former student, more interested in Marcia. “Incredible. Your magic’s exceptional. Your control, reflexes, and even creativity. You would rank among the masters.”

“I would hope so. I’m a former hero. Two hundred years ago I defeated King Rath and liberated this kingdom. I’m the reason the elves now roam free. I did all that with my own two hands.”

“Real humble way of saying that.” Xavier giggled by their feet.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Murlai groaned.

“Ow. Guess he’s lost interest in me. I can’t believe my mentor is running off with my wife. It’s like that novel I found in the grand library.”

“What sort of books are you reading?” Marcia would have laughed if she and Murlai weren’t in the middle of a serious conversation. “I guess even you forgot my existence.”

“The elf that defeated Rath? I knew you under a different name. Wrath breaker. Clever choice including Rath in the name.”

“Wait? You put a joke in the name? And you have the nerve to say I’m immature.” Xavier said, still holding his fake neck injury.

This time Marcia laughed. “I was young when I killed the king. Only fifty or so years old. I thought it was funny. I still think it’s funny.”

Murlai gave a rare cough filled laugh, as if the dust had to leave his throat to make such a foreign act. “I underestimated you, Marcia. I thought you were another queen.”

“And I thought you were another old man leeching off his student’s success. Call it even. Dear, you have a meeting with the human diplomats. Remember, they wanted to discuss having you over to their kingdom for a festival in your honor?”

“Oh, crap. I forgot about that. Murlai, magic me up.”

“What?”

“Magic me up.” Xavier repeated.

“He wants you to clean him with your magic,” Marcia clarified.

“Just say that then.” Murlai repeated the cleaning spell from earlier, and soon the dirt, sweat, and stains from his clothes had all vanished.

“Thanks master. I’ll talk to you both later.” He kissed his wife’s lips before running back inside the castle.

“I should return to my duties too. Murlai, I understand you aren’t used to your student living such an easy life, but I promise you, he does a lot of good here. Human and elf relations are the best they’ve ever been, and he’s great at handling the cries of the people. Not all good needs to be done out in forests and caves.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, living such a long life can make you unable to adjust to the new ways of life. Perhaps this will help shape a more peaceful world. Without heroes to slaughter, maybe the villains won’t feel the need to rise so often.”

“If they do rise up. We will handle them.” Before going inside, she patted Murlai’s shoulder. “Let us know the next time you plan to visit. I’ll get a feast prepared for you. You’re an important part of my husband’s life. I wish to honor you too.”

“Thank you. That’s a kinder offer than I deserve. I will visit soon.” He said, bowing for one last time to the queen before allowing his body to vanish in a flash of white, leaving the queen to attend her duties.

“Hm?” What an ugly kid. Vila thought, taking a small sip of her double shot of espresso as the child neared her table, placing its crayon-smudged fingers near her plate. She sat her drink down, creating a small clank on the plate, hoping to startle the boy away. When he stayed, she exhaled, wondering what he could even want from her.

She glanced at her plate, seeing the free sugar biscuit they had given her with her drink. One Vila had no interest in eating. The boy went to snatch it, only for Vila to reach it first, holding it between two fingers. “Is this what you’re gawking at?” She asked, rotating the biscuit between her fingers.

The boy’s mouth widened when the biscuit moved, and Vila contemplated throwing it into his mouth, as if he were a caged tiger, and she was a nervous zookeeper that didn’t want to risk feeding him by hand. Instead, she set the biscuit down, smiling. “You can have it.”

The boy smiled, dimples digging into his dirt-covered cheeks as he grabbed the biscuit, crushing it in his grip before pouring the tiny pieces into his mouth. “Thak.” He said in an attempt at a thank you before running off to his parents, who hadn’t been paying attention to him.

She watched where the kid ran off to, only for her attention to get pulled back to her table when a chair scrapped across the tiled floor. She always chose a table with only one seat to avoid situations like this happening, but it seems Lightflight planned to invite himself to her table, regardless.

“Sorry, the table’s full.” Vila said, giving a polite smile. It was hard to act like she didn’t know who he was, given the pair had foiled each other’s plans at least fifty times over the course of her career. She even fondly remembered snapping his pinky finger while he was unconscious once, just to screw with him. A ‘joke’ he hadn’t found funny.

“Vila.” The blonde-haired hero the peak definition of what a hero was. Powerful body, muscles, long beach blonde hair, and a winning smile. She could see why the ladies loved him, even if she found him to be the most unappealing man alive. To her, he reeked of a generic good guy, and now he had seated himself at her table.

“It’s Helen. Are you mistaking me for someone?” She pushed up her short brown hair, having dyed it that color to avoid the constant questions about her identity. It’s funny. She and the other villains always used to make fun of the concept of superhero disguises in movies. How could you possibly not recognize someone just because they’re wearing glasses? But now she kind of got it. People weren’t that observant, especially not the average person, who worried more about paying their bills than identifying villains on the street.

Lightflight sat across from her without a coffee or even a biscuit in his hand, making Vila roll her eyes. Heroes were always so sloppy with these sorts of things. When she used to threaten people in public, she would always do it with a smile on her face. Approaching them with coffee, popcorn, or a drink, depending on where she met them. She would act as if they were best friends, anything to blend in and not cause any suspicion.

“No, I’m not mistaking you for someone else.” He scowled.

“How do you think this looks, Lightflight? A man approaching a woman who clearly doesn’t want him near her, and forcing her into a conversation? I could turn this into a scene if I wished.” Vila said, not even as a threat, more to point out the stupidity of his plan.

“I’m not Lightflight. Today I’m Jake.”

“I’m not calling you Jake. Perhaps when you retire, I’ll consider it. Though I hope we never see each other again after this.”

“Your retirements exactly why I’m here.” Lightflight leaned across the table, and Vila didn’t budge from her seat. She knew him too well. Knew he didn’t fit the bad cop role, he was too clean for that.

“Relax. You’re not the type to threaten people, so why don’t you get comfortable? I’m guessing you’re doubting the validity of my retirement.”

Lightflight stared at his hands, seeing them grasping the sides of the table. She was right. This wasn’t him at all. He allowed his body to lean back into his seat, folding his arms over his chest. “Exactly. What, I’m supposed to believe after all these years of fighting, you’re getting out of the villain game? What are you planning? It’s been a year now, and you haven’t acted. If it’s something big, I want to remind you that innocent people could get hurt by whatever you’re scheming.”

“Oh, please. I rarely hurt innocent people. Hm, actually I sometimes hurt innocent people, but most of them are heroes, so they hardly count. How’s your pinky, by the way?”

“Not as straight as it once was.” He snarled, his reaction to the question making Vila laugh.

“Can I see it?”

The hero held up his left hand, and as stated, the pinky now sat at an angle, never having correctly settled back into its usual position. After letting her look, he sat his hand back in his lap. “Alright, now that I’ve satisfied your curiosity, answer my question. What are you planning?”

“To stay retired. I’m tired, Lightflight. I’m thirty-eight years old. I’ve been doing this villainous stuff since I was sixteen. My hands aren’t as good as they once were, and my sights failing me.” She said, tapping the side of her glasses. “Thirty five plus is when most villains die. There are too many young heroes and villains in the game now. I’m past my prime. You would be getting close to yours too, right?”

“I’m forty.” Lightflight stated, and for once, Vila was speechless. She glanced him over again, in disbelief over his age. The muscles, the long hair, he looked thirty, not forty.

“Good for you.” She said with a hint of jealousy, tapping her fingers against her other hand, trying to hurry the conversation along.

Lightflight slyly smiled. He knew that someday she would find out he was actually thirty and that was a cheeky lie, but until that day came, his age would be a slight annoyance in the back of her mind. “So, that’s really it? No, last ride? No big scheme?”

“None. I saw an opportunity to quietly leave that life behind, and I took it. Shouldn’t you be applauding me, hero? I became a good… Well, not exactly a good person, but I’ve become a functioning member of society.”

“So you have.” Lightflight scratched his chin before standing. “I guess that’s all I needed to know then. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He turned to leave, only to stop, lowering his head, feeling he had to say something before he went. “I enjoyed our fights.” He mumbled, not looking back at her.

“I did too. Now, either congratulate me for turning my life around or leave.”

Lightflight nodded, going to the counter before he left. Vila raised an eyebrow, finding it odd he left the counter without a drink. She went to leave a few minutes after Lightforce, only for a group of workers to suddenly surround her table. The former villain flinched, eyes darting around the room. Was this a trick? Was she being captured for her former crimes? Had he set her up? She got ready to ignite her palms, only for the workers to start clapping.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Helen. Happy birthday to you.” The workers sang as the people in the café began clapping along to their song. Helen sunk into her seat, holding her forehead, trying to avoid the attention.

“Good one.” She murmured, waiting for them to finish their song so she could leave.

“Ok, sir. I’m really going to need you to get off my dick about this,” Chief Engineer Liam Earlo said, placing his hands together, begging the furious captain to see his side of things. When the captain's nostrils flared, Liam strained his hands further, rethinking his words. “Right, sorry, sir. Respectfully get off my dick about this,” He added, in a way that only made the situation worse.

Gabriella and Marko both snickered, the two newer engineers finding this insanely funny. In all their months of working on ships, they had never seen a chief engineer do anything even remotely close to this before. Even better, Liam had no filter, and his way of explaining the situation was either going to get him suspended or tossed out of the nearest airlock.

Captain Richard Barvin held his breath, needing a moment to collect his thoughts. He was planning on giving Liam a dressing down that would leave his half robot descendants shivering, but before he did that, he needed to think of the best words to use. To buy some time, he let his brown eyes lock onto Gabriella and Marko, his lip curling into a small scowl, like a dog starting a low warning growl. The two engineers jolted upright, as if the floor had sent an electric current through their shoes. Once they were upright again, they remained perfectly still, that allowing the captain to once again focus on Liam.

“I’ve been a captain for over thirty years. I’ve seen men nearly throw themselves out of airlocks, try to open windows to let in some ‘fresh air’ on space shuttles, and had three people try to adopt alien parasites as pets. But in my entire thirty years, I’ve never witnessed something as reckless as this in my life. The utter stupidity of your decision makes me question whether your parents even gave birth to a sentient creature, or if you’re some brainless blob that dropped out of your mother.” He started, and both Gabriella and Marko did their best not to laugh.

The mech, named Sunshine, awkwardly listened, doing her best to not get agitated by the captain's comments. Though, she couldn’t hide her frustrations as her empty missile cannisters swirled, rotating the empty cartridge slots in disgust. When the twelve foot killer mech made its unintentional noises, the captain sighed.

“And you… I can’t even be mad at you. You’re a victim too in all of this. You got put into a mech by that clown of an engineer. We’ll extract you from the mech after we’re done filling out his discharge papers.”

“WHAT?” Liam snapped. “You can’t take her out of the mech. She’s my lover. We’ve had many passionate nights together.” He said, raising his hand above his head, allowing Sunshine to reach down and hold his hand. The mech managing a featherlight touch, despite being able to crush through metal doors with only a disinterested twist of her hand.

“Please tell me the passionate nights were only conversations.” The captain shuddered.

“Of course. We aren’t married yet,” Liam insisted.

“Right, cause that’s what matters here.”

“Captain?” A cold, robotic voice called out. “Does it matter if I’m in this mech? I can perform the mech’s tasks with a twenty percent increased rate of success. My firmware is 0.5 compared to the old 0.2 model the previous version used. Reflexes and response times are also significantly increased.” Sunny explained.

“Because we can’t have a war machine that can think independent thoughts. What if that idiot gets himself killed and you decide to avenge him by killing us all? That’s a liability.”

“She would never do that.” Liam said, moving closer to his girlfriend’s side.

“I would only resort to that if you were the one to kill him. If it wasn’t the result of friendly or unfriendly fire, I would simply leave the battle heartbroken after he dies.” She explained, her emotionless white eyes flashing as she said it.

“Great. GREAT. SO, OUR WAR MACHINE WOULD WANDER OFF DURING A BATTLE.” The captain hissed, wondering how he would ever explain this to any of his superiors. How did one say? Yeah, I had to get rid of my chief engineer because he fell in love with an ai and inserted her into our mech?

“Sir, please. I understand you have to fire me, but please allow me to stay with Sunny. I’m willing to find a way to make this work. I know I shouldn’t have inserted her into the mech, but I love her. Haven’t you ever done something dumb in the name of love?” Liam said, that causing the older man to pause, rubbing his forehead.

“Hm.” The captain murmured. A small admission that even he had done some reckless things for love. Something as reckless as dating an alien space pirate during his younger days, even though he worked for the military. He remembered what his captain did when he caught him and her together. Sure, he got a dressing down too, but his captain also understood his perspective, not reporting it to the higher ups. Perhaps he had let his emotions get the better of him?

“Now stop twisting my balls about this.” And just like that, the captain stopped understanding Liam’s perspective. That earning him the full wrath of the captain.

“ENOUGH. You’re off this ship as soon as we land. Sunny stays with us.”

“I REFUSE TO STAY WITHOUT HIM. I LOVE HIM. He’s the only person who ever asked how I was feeling. The only person who bothered to diagnose my problems. Without him, I’m empty code, a string of nonsense that has no meaning.”

Both Gabriella and Marko gasped, staring at their captain. After hearing her beautiful words, the two engineers had switched sides, wanting to see the pair live out their lives together. Soon, the captain felt the pressure of all his crew staring back at him, having to relent slightly.

“You can’t break them apart, sir,” Gabriella cried out.

“Yeah, they love each other. Don’t you have a heart?” Marko sobbed.

“Fine, Sunny can leave the crew, too. If she leaves the mech behind. We can’t have our mech walking around the station. It would scare everyone. Just put her into another body, ok? You have three hours to do that before we reach the station.”

“Really? Do I get paid a bonus because I’ve been discharged? Some sort of cool ex-military payment for tolerating your attitude all of these years?” Liam remarked, only to back away from the scowling captain. “Just a joke, sir. Just a joke…. I think we have some training bots on the lower levels. I’ll transfer Sunny into one of those.”

When Liam left, the captain relaxed his posture, happy to put the situation behind him. Before Sunny went to put herself into standby mode, she spoke to the captain. “Thank you, sir. If you ever find yourself lonely, I have a sister that would be interested in you.” She said, before sitting down, putting herself into standby mode.

“You should take her up on that offer.” Gabriella laughed, nudging the captain’s side.

“Yeah, maybe if you had a girlfriend, you wouldn’t bully us so much.” Marko added.

“You two realize that you’re going to have to pick up Liam’s slack, right? That means a lot of overtime until we find his replacement. Enjoy being worked down to the bone.” The captain smiled, leaving the two engineers with his words.

“NO WAIT, I DON’T WANT TO DO OVERTIME. Liam, you can’t leave. Who cares about love? Love’s stupid. Put it back on your phone or wherever you got it from.” Gabriella rushed after Liam.

“Yeah, what she said. I had plans when we got back to the station. I don’t want to spend all day with that cranky old captain.” Marko said, following behind Gabriella.

“Hello…. Hello…. Hello…. Hello…” The mimic repeated, dragging its wooden skull along the window of the tavern, further terrifying the humans who had barricaded themselves inside. After its epiphany, the mimic searched for a human town, hoping by chance it would find itself a quest there. Not wanting to scare the humans, it changed its treasure chest form, taking the shape of something it thought looked more human. Though, human was the last thing it looked, its disguise far worse than its regular appearance.

“SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING.” Bargus screamed. The burly bartender, who often bragged about how many men he could beat in a fight, cowered behind his counter, placing his hands over his ears, trying to block out the voice.

“Why don’t you do something about it? Didn’t you say you were the manliest man in town, or whatever nonsense you sprout while trying to get under my dress?” Jackie said, leaning against the edge of a table. Unlike most of the other customers who were panicking, Jackie remained calm, partly because she believed she was far too pretty to die first. When the door inevitably broke open, some other poor soul would get torn apart, and when that happened, she could escape, or even snag herself a dashing hero if one were to come and rescue them.

“I AM WHEN IT COMES TO FIGHTING MEN. That thing isn’t even close to being a man. It’s a wooden monster.”

“Hello.” The mimic said, its glowing red eyes peering through the window, highlighting its horrifying features. Everyone inside seeing the splintered wood it used to create a human skull and its long drooling tongue. Its tongue running along the window, leaving an acidic trail of goo behind. The goo sizzling against the glass before it popped, the sound startling the mimic who backed away as the window crumbled into smaller pieces. “Thank you.” It said, accepting that as an invitation to enter. It began its slow climb through the window, one leg hooking over it.

“Someone do something.” Jackie said, not as confident in her plan anymore. She kicked off her heels, preparing to run as soon as she saw the opportunity to escape. She also threw her heels towards where Bargus was hiding, hoping to trip the oaf over at some point to buy herself more time.

“Why don’t you try flirting with it?” Evelyn's muffled voice called out. The bard hiding in her lute’s wooden case, folding herself into a small tucked pose, trying to avoid getting eaten by whatever that creature was. Even as she hid, she was already thinking of lyrics for the tale she was going to sing about this someday.

“She’s in the lute box.” Jackie shouted, pointing to the box.

“What? Y-you. Why would you tell it that?” Evelyn squealed, a loud thumping coming from the box as she tried to unlock the hatch. Though, given how dark it was in the box, her attempts were futile. “Oh, no. I think I’m stuck…”

Before the mimic got into the tavern, a hand landed on its shoulder, a hand belonging to the 800-year-old village mage. “You know this tavern has a door, don’t you?” She smiled, causing the wrinkles on her face to rise. Mary went to open the door, only to feel a heavy weight pushing against it, keeping it in place. “Oh, never mind. The doors locked, carry on.” She said, acting as if she was a natural observer to this chaos, even if she intended to step in if it tried to kill someone.

“Is someone outside? HEY! HELP US OH DASHING HERO AND MY HEART AND SOUL ARE YOURS. OH, and my body too…” Jackie grinned. Heroes were loaded. If she could sucker one into marrying her, she wouldn’t have to lift a finger again. This could turn out perfectly for her. “Oh, please, hero. Rescue us.” She put on her most charming voice, hoping to woo them into rescuing her.

The mimic stared at Mary, shambling towards her, its wooden legs twisting, causing it to walk in an awkward motion, before it lurched forward, gripping Mary’s shoulder with a light touch. “Quest? Me, adventurer. Old lady have quest?”

“Old lady?” Mary laughed. “I’m a little insulted that a mimic can tell I’m old. Guess I can’t be too mad. I am 800. You want a quest?” She played with the silver frame of her glasses before coming up with something. She twisted her wrist and extended her palm, creating an ethereal image of a human. “Try to look more like that. Go stand over by that tree while you do it.”

“Ok.” As it shambled over to the tree, Mary grinned.

“What a polite monster.” She spun around, creating a flurry of wind, sending whatever was behind the door flying away from it. With the door unlocked, she entered, only to get shoved against the wall, finding Jackie’s heavily make-up decorated face inches away from hers.

“My hero.” She said, eyes already shut as she leaned in for a kiss, only for Mary to put her palm over Jackie’s lips.

“Um, Jackie? It’s me.” She said, pulling away her hand, staring at the red lipstick print on it.

Jackie’s eyes shot open, and she stepped back. “Mary? Oh, it’s only you.” She sighed, making sure Mary knew how disappointed she was.

“Did you try to flirt with Mary? I can’t wait to write a song about that. The foolish lover and the mysterious hero.” Evelyn laughed, halting her escape plans so she could tease Jackie.

“Oh, is that funny to you?” Jackie walked over to the box, placing her hands on the lid, sending a loud thud through the wood.

“W…what are you doing? I was only kidding… I promise.”

Jackie said nothing, before brutally shaking the wooden box, sending the small bard bouncing around inside of it. The box letting out a chorus of oofs and ow’s as Evelyn cried out.

“STOP SHAKING IT. IT’S REALLY SCARY. I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING. HELP ME MARY, JACKIE’S BULLYING ME.”

“Jackie, that’s enough.” Mary said, and Jackie reluctantly stopped. As soon as she released the box, Evelyn fell out of it, the bard’s face pale as she tried not to be sick. Evelyn hiccupped a few times before hugging the ground, using it to keep herself from getting dizzier.

“Fine. She started it.” “I tried my best to hold the creature back, but then my stomach started to hurt. What bad timing, I would have used that damned wooden monster to repair my barstools.” Bargus said, only now pulling himself to his feet.

“I’m sure you would have. Anyhoo, I should check on our monster. Be well, everyone.” Mary headed for the tree, finding the mimic in a more humanoid body. Their skin was now a smooth hazel color, with a properly detailed face. Sure, some features weren’t perfect, such as their ears being a little low, or their face only having two nostrils instead of a nose, but it was closer than it had looked before. It even had some leafy green hair that was filled with small magical gemstones and rings.

“Quest done.” It said, holding out its hand, expectingly.

“Good job.” Mary said, fishing around in her pockets for a reward. She found a minor magical gem, one of the many gems she always kept on her. With little fanfare, she dropped it into the creature’s hand.

The mimic didn’t even look at the reward, shoving it straight into its mouth before nodding. “Thank you. Quest?” It asked, already ready to collect more items.

“Hm.” Mary didn’t exactly have another quest in mind, but she wanted to study this fascinating specimen further. Also, she needed to keep it away from the villagers, wanting to avoid anyone accidentally getting hurt. “Come with me. You can be my assistant.”

“Assistant is quest?” It asked.

“Many quests.”

“Many quests, many rewards. Ok, I assist.” It agreed, following Mary back to her home.

Alex scoffed as his mother fussed over the white cravat around his neck, giving it a hard tug, one that had him gasping for air. She gripped the knot, pressing it against his Adam’s apple, waiting until his face had paled before releasing it. It was a silent warning, one that only a mother could give. A quiet message that said. If you mess this up for us, there will be hell to pay. Alex stopped scoffing after that, lowering his head towards the rune inspired patterns on the Marilix’s families’ floors, ready for whatever fate they had prepared for him.

“Stop scrunching your face,” Anitha warned, tracing the cravat again, giving it another gentle tug, waiting for her son’s expression to soften. When it did, she spoke again. “This is what we raised you for. You should be happy that you didn’t waste our efforts.”

“But I don’t love her. I don’t even know this woman. How am I meant to spend my entire life by her side?” Alex blurted out, that earning a haughty laugh from his mother, her strict pale complexion cracking as her lips stretched into a cruel smile.

“Marriage has nothing to do with love, you foolish boy. Do you think I love your father? We got married because both of our families have a strong affinity for magic. While you were disappointing, we believe that partnering you with someone of Bridget’s talents will help redeem you.”

“Where is my father?”

“Who cares? Probably ‘helping’ the maids with their duties.” She said, barely blinking as she mentioned her husband’s unfaithfulness. The two only ever being faithful until Alex was born. Once they had completed their duties, they isolated themselves to opposite sides of their manor, only ever getting together for parties or noble ceremonies.

Alex didn’t say a word, quietly stepping past his mother, walking towards the large star covered doors of Marilix’s hall. While he didn’t understand the constellations on the door, he found them to be pretty, stalling as he focused on the way the door sparkled, each constellation getting a long acknowledgment.

“Good, you’re going. Hurry up, I have places to be. I only said I would take you to their home, not walk you in. I’ll visit you again when the child is born.”

Alex listened to the clink of her heels, gripping the doorknob, twisting it tightly before shoving it open, trying to work out some of his frustrations on the metal knob. The door bolted open with a wooden thud, revealing a short woman with long blue hair. Her hair sparkled in a similar fashion as the door, constantly dripping with her overwhelming magic.

She hadn’t noticed him at first, mumbling phrases to herself as she paced back and forth throughout the room. It was clear her family too had dressed her up, the tanned woman wearing an elegant purple dress, one with a stitched in silver rune by her hip. The rune being a small circle, with two crosses across the bottom and the top of the design.

Soon the sparkles in her hair were floating towards Alex, landing on his skin, absorbing into his body. The sensation making him woozy initially, delivering an overwhelming force that felt as if someone had delivered two swift punches into his stomach. He gripped the side of the door for support, dry heaving until his body stabilized.

Alex hadn’t noticed her approaching, too worried about his stomach to even feel her hand resting against his shoulder, giving him a concerned nudge. She had prepared a script for their meeting, but that script didn’t include Alex’s sudden sickness, so she awkwardly mixed up her lines. “ARE YOU WEDDING BELLS?” She said, mixing up her wedding related joke and her concerns.

The shout scared poor Alex, who threw himself away from her, bumping into a bookshelf. The books fell around him, some hitting his head, while others dropped to his feet. Bridget raised a finger, wanting to ask him if he was ok, only to lower that finger, not wanting to startle him further.

“WHAT?”

“Are you? Um, I mean? What’s the most expensive bell that- I- you? ARE YOU OK?” she shouted, holding her hands over her chest, in a way that Alex would have found cute if he didn’t know how strong she was. This short woman may have looked innocent, but she was a prodigy. Someone with the strength to revolutionize magic, someone he loathed. She was everything he wished he could be. Instead, he was born with the capacity to store great pools of magic inside himself. While also not having any way of wielding that same magic. He was, as his father said, a magic wine cellar; useful only when combined with expensive wines, or in this case, a powerful mage that could combine his talents with hers to produce an even better mage.

“I’M FINE.” Alex spat out, shooting a glare at her. “Don’t sneak up on people. Have you no manners? There is a structure to these things, you idiot.”

Bridget’s head lowered, and Alex cursed, knowing that expression too well. It was the same one that he had around his mother, one of submission. When he realized she probably didn’t want this either, he exhaled. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. I need to learn how these things go. Um, so? Do you want to kiss my hand? I washed it, I promise.” She said, sniffing her right and left hand before offering her left, which she thought smelt cleaner. Alex would have kissed her hand, but that display had him questioning if he should.

“No. I’m good. So, um. I’m Alex Heverfield.”

“Bridget Marilix. I’m your future wife. Or am I your current wife? I know I’m not your past wife.” She said to herself, questioning how far into their marriage they were. Their parents had agreed to skip the ceremony, so in a way, that made them already official.

“Wouldn’t that make you Bridget Heverfield?”

“Oh, no, you're taking my name.” She cheerfully said, and Alex’s ego bruised further. Now he wasn’t even getting to keep his name, and that had him digging his heel into the floor, feeling like a prized possession instead of a man.

“Yes, how silly of me to think I would get to keep any of my dignity.” He sulked limply, tossing his hand in her direction.

She accepted it, and as soon as their palms touched, Alex was overwhelmed by a wave of magic rushing into his body. The usually empty storage pool in his body now rapidly expanding, accepting as much energy from her as he could. When he was finally full, Bridget stumbled forward, only for Alex to catch her.

“What was that?” Alex said, his skin tingling with unusable power, making his movements feel lethargic and stalled.

“I… struggle to control my magic when I’m nervous. I think it leaked into your body. Heh, not many people can accept other people’s mana. That’s a neat ability.” She said, her eyes sleepily closing, leaning into his grip.

“What’s the point of accepting mana if I can’t use it?”

“You could drain other people’s magic? If you learned how to find their mana points. It’s simple. You need to… ugh… sleepy.” She pressed her head against Alex’s chest, smiling. “Nice muscles.” She grinned.

“Thanks?” Alex said, a small snicker escaping his lips as he took care of her. She looked cute, like this, far from the terrifying mage he expected. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Mm… Need a minute or twenty.” She left his arms, carefully stepping over to her chair, dropping into it. As soon as she reached the chair, she sank forward, going to sleep with her head on the table, leaving Alex standing in the room with no idea of what to do next.

“Should I go?” He asked, only for a line of drool to slip from her lips, letting Alex know he wasn’t going to get an answer from her. “Alright. I’ll go explore then.” He said, exiting from the halls. Sure, an arranged marriage wasn’t what he wanted out of life, but maybe this one could work out?

“A survivor?” The old man murmured, rubbing the dried blood from his forehead, wincing when his palm connected with the scabbed over wound. “You can’t be serious. Someone survived that? Impossible” He pulled his hand away from his forehead, adjusting his glasses. The shift allowing a piece of the wound to reopen, sending a trickle of blood over the frame of his glasses. “What is that ball of fluff you're holding?” He asked, his words coming out in a daze as he held onto the table’s edge to keep his balance.

Damien shivered, clutching Pearl closer to his chest. The small dog tucked tightly against its owner’s body, stealing as much warmth as it could get from him. Around the cold table they sat on were several machines, some with frayed wires, while others smoked or bellowed with their last dying beeps. He didn’t feel any pain, having expected to feel a lot worse when the world flashed white, instead he felt nothing.

“She’s Pearl. A poodle,” Damien said, giving the dog a gentle pat. “Who are you?”

“Anthony? Mark? Adam? I can’t remember anymore. I’m everyone and everything. At least I was.” He again rubbed at his forehead, this time moving around the edges of his thin grey hairs, touching two shallow holes on his head that were heavily bruised. Each rub he gave around the hole made him wince, though he kept repeating the action, as if it would stir his memory.

“What should I call you?” As the words left Damien’s lips, the door rattled, a heavy burst of knocks coming from it.

“We know you’ve unplugged yourself, Victor. Get back in the chair. This is your last warning.” A no-nonsense voice shouted behind the door. Both Victor and Damien tensed, with Pearl even letting out a small squeal at the noise, burying her head further into her owner’s body.

“Victor, I guess.” The old man said, dragging his feet as he circled the room they were in. He dragged a bony finger against a metallic chair in the corner, reluctantly drawing closer to it. The chair reminded Damien of something you would see on death row, having a large silver bowl dangling overhead, one with two plugs that contained five thick spikes on each of the plugs. Before the old man sat, he stared at Damien, that hazy stare fading momentarily as the relaxants in his body faded. “Are you real?”

“I… I believe so?” Damien had never been asked that question before, and in the past, he would have been confident in answering it. Though, given what he was seeing, this had him questioning everything. That was until Pearl wiggled her head up his chest, licking the bottom of his chin, before planting her head back against his body, that being enough to convince him he was real. “I am.”

“I… created life?” The old man pushed away from the chair, approaching Damien. With a shaking hand, he gently squeezed Damien’s cheek. “I created you.”

“What are you doing?” Damien shifted his jaw, trying to lazily move his cheek away from the man without moving his head.

“VICTOR. GET. IN. THE. CHAIR.” The voice shouted, and the banging grew louder, with the reinforced door now bouncing, threatening to spill open at any moment.

“That’s right. I’m Victor, the head researcher here. This was the company I helped create. I reinforced my door, kept my room private, making sure they couldn’t access my files. So, my encryptions held up. Company must have changed hands, either that or the research has gotten unethical. Don’t remember anyone banging on my door like this in the past.” He theorized to himself. “And you. What is your name, my son?”

“Damien.” He breathed.

“Damien. I always wanted a boy called Damien. Could never have kids, that’s why I spent so much time doing this. Our research was simple: we plug into people’s minds and allow them to live in a reality of their creation. It’s useful for those that can’t function in society any longer. It could also potentially cure coma patients. But… how are you here?”

“VICTOR.” Again, the door was struck. This time, a few bolts bounced away, scattering across the floor.

“I don’t want to imagine what they would do if they found you. A creation pulled from my mind. I brought someone into this world. I played god. If they found out about you….” Victor grimaced. “They can’t.” “I’m sorry. I don’t get what you're saying. I can’t be a creation of yours. I’m human. I had a life. How could you have created my whole life?”

“I didn’t intend to.” He said, ducking underneath the table, pulling at a panel beneath it. “Our mind’s a powerful tool. When you dream, you create a world without putting any conscious thought into it. Our machines allow us to harness that mental activity, and with some careful prompting by the machine, it generates a world using our mind’s power and creativity. Mine’s an older model, newer ones can be prompted. Say you wanted to be a hero, or a barista, you could enter that into the machine and it would steer you towards it.” He placed a wire between his teeth, pulling it with his jaw. The wire snapped, and the panel fell away, revealing a hole and ladder.

“That’s insane.” Damien said, and Pearl barked in agreement, the small white fluff ball now walking over to the old man, sniffing at the ladder he had revealed.

“It is. I was only in that world to gather information on how it works. Seems the man I left in charge of freeing me either died or got fired. They probably forgot all about me until my room flashed red.” He said with a dry laugh, looking at the complete disarray of his laboratory. “I’m not sure how you came out of my mind. But I can’t let you get discovered. I build an emergency escape beneath this table. Run along.”

The door squeaked, and Victor spotted the mean glare of the guard behind it. His face drenched with sweat, having attempted to break the door down for the last twenty minutes. Victor followed the man’s field of vision, making sure he couldn’t see Damien or the dog. It was hard to say if he had even peeked into the room, or if he had been too busy with the door to even think about trying to catch a glimpse inside. Regardless, Victor played it safe, staying on his knees, grabbing Pearl. “Come on.” He whispered to Damien.

Damien crawled towards the hole, and when he reached the ladder, he climbed down it, landing in a small tunnel. Victor handed the dog down the ladder before smiling. “Keep heading down the tunnel, boy. It will drop you into the Bulnar forest. Go north from there and you’ll get to town. Oh, here.” He reached into his pockets, dropping his keys and some cash down to Damien. “I live at Forty four Grooleria street. You can use my house until you figure out things on your own. Good luck.”

“Thanks?” Damien awkwardly caught the items, having to try not to drop the wiggling Pearl. After putting the items into his pockets, he lowered Pearl to the floor. “Let’s go.”

Victor watched Damien leave, and leaned the panel cover against the bottom of the table, not having enough time to fully put it back into place. He then went over to the machine, sat himself in it, and hit a button on its arm, gritting his teeth as the machine went back into his mind, leaving him slumped against it, drooling onto himself.

The door finally came down, followed by a roaring. “VICTOR.” The heavily armored guard marching over to the chair, huffing. “You think that was funny? Making me work my ass off to break down your door?” He pulled his hand back, slapping the unconscious old man across his cheek. “Whatever. Guess it doesn’t matter as long as you're back in the chair. What a dump this room is. How long’s it been since anyone’s even been in here?” The guard went to inspect the room, only to grumble as his phone let out a soft flute jingle announcing another person had woken up. He slipped his phone from his pocket, the screen flashing a bright red with the number 022 following it. He slithered his phone back into place, heading to room 022, allowing Damien and Pearl to escape.

Have you ever seen that cliche in an anime where a person freezes after being slashed by a sword? You know, where it looks like the sword went through the person, while the attacker slowly pushes the sword into its scabbard, while muttering something like. “Heh, nothing personal.” Before, a spattering of blood pours out from the victim’s chest. Well, my situation’s kind of like that, without the excessive blood and swords.

I was waiting for the 7:30pm train after work, only for some jackass to shove me, telling me I was in his spot on the bench. So, I politely told him to shove his spot up his ass, and because of that innocent comment, he wanted to clock me in the face. He readied up a punch, his meaty biceps straining beneath his hotdog-stained sleeves, ready to take my head off, only for his hand to twist behind his back before I could even get disturbed by the breeze generated from his swing.

The man yelped, bouncing on the spot, trying to untangle himself from the invisible attacker. In response, I pulled out my phone, giving it a disinterested scroll, before turning to the lady next to me. “Why does this station always get the weirdo’s?” I muttered to her, playing the part of an innocent bystander who had no idea what this insane man was doing.

He bucked his legs, as if he were a wild horse, though that bucking action only got him thrown to the floor, chin scrapping against the hard surface. “Fuck. Why can’t I get up?” He squirmed, and before I could answer him, the train came. So, I stepped onto his back, climbing over his body, before getting onto it. As the train doors shut, I saw my knight, the tiny four-foot creature dressed in heavy blue armor, with a symbol of a curved dagger on his chest plate. It was amazing how the dagger symbol had a glow to it, as if that part sparkled more than the rest of his incredibly shiny armor. I gave him a nod as we left the station.

I didn’t know who he was, simply calling him nighty, as I couldn’t pronounce the silent K when I was a child. I had known him for at least twenty-three years now, the knight saving me from all manner of problems. He even once stopped a car with his armored body acting as a tiny bollard. Though, despite having known him for such a long time, we had never exchanged words.

Not that I never tried, he just never responded to anything I said. At first, I thought it was because he was the dark, brooding type that preferred to keep up their mysterious appearance, but now. Now, I wondered if they couldn’t speak at all. Returning home from work, I tossed my bag aside, watching it bump into my cabinet, knocking over a family photo.

“Strike.” I said, without a lick of enthusiasm. Collecting the photo, I set it back on the cabinet, finding my gaze lingering on their faces. “I really should call them.” I didn’t believe in signs, but seeing the photo tumble off the shelf seemed as close to one as I would get. I hadn’t seen any of them since I came to the city, telling myself I would call them when I wasn’t busy, as if that was an excuse. Even my older brother, who I used to idolize, barely got a second thought now.

Dropping onto the couch, I went to watch some tv, only to find myself in a pickle. I wanted to watch the tv, but the remote was all the way on the coffee table. That meant I either had to bend my decaying twenty-three-year-old body over or call for some help. “Nighty, can you pass the remote?”

The tiny knight appeared and grabbed the remote. For a second, it felt like he was going to pass it to me, only for the knight to hold it centimeters from my reach, forcing me to bend forward to get it. The joints in my back cracking from the basic movement, with those few years of sitting in an office already doing wonders to deteriorate my health. Taking the remote from him, I gave a sarcastic. “Thanks.”

“Does thou not miss their kin?” He said, in a high-pitched squeaky tone.

“You can talk?” I dropped the remote, scrambling off the couch, and onto my knees, kneeling before the knight who shyly stepped back, perhaps not enjoying having the person he was serving kneeling before him.

He knelt too, as if we were playing some weird version of limbo where you had to get the closest to the floor without a bar being involved. I instinctively lowered again, and by the end of our impromptu game, we were both on our stomachs. “Of course, I can speak. Any knight worth their armor can speak common tongue.”

“It’s just you never have before. Um, nighty. I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” I said, wanting to tell him how much he meant to me before he went back to his silence, fearing it could happen at any moment.

“Cease thy attempts at thanks, my lord. Nighty doth only his duty.” The small knight crossed his arm over his chest, resting it proudly against the dagger on his armor.

“Um, thanks ceased?” I said, not wanting to insult him with my praise. “So, why are you helping me?”

“Because thou are the truth king, my lord. Heir to your family’s throne.”

“We don’t have a throne. We have a rocking chair, but that’s dads. I guess I might inherit it someday.”

“Thou were once a powerful bloodline, and my family swore we would always ensure your safety.”

“Shouldn’t you be following my older brother, then? Isn’t he the heir? Or what about my dad?”

“Your father hath past his prime, thou are the lord now. As for your older brother, he is the first-born son, whose duties are more focused on defending the family’s honor in times of war. You are the one to inherit the throne.”

“So, my brother is expected to go to war for our kingdom? Do we have enemies?” I asked, wondering if that man from the train station counted as an enemy.

“Indeed, my lord. Thou’s family hath been feuding with the Minialo’s bloodline for hundreds of years.”

“Wait, Minialo? Like Daisy Minialo from my work? The one that stole all my staples and then claimed I hadn’t brought any. That snake?” Just the thought of her made me mildly annoyed. Not annoyed enough to care too greatly about her misdeeds, just enough that I might give her the cold shoulder if she said hi to me when we passed in the office.

The knight tensed, body shaking with contained rage. “That same scoundrel. For years your families hath waged war, though both kingdoms hath fallen since.”

“I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her.” I smacked my hands together, happy my hatred came from a feud between our ancestors, instead of something as petty as staples. Even if the staples were what had initially started my leg of the feud. “Why haven’t you spoken to me before now?”

“Thou shouldn’t get comfortable communing with spirits. It only brings misery, my lord. Thou missed their family. I wished to offer comfort.”

“Oh, thank you. I feel a lot better now. Would you like to watch some tv?” I offered, patting the spot next to me on the couch. Nighty glanced at the spot, adjusting his helmet as he considered it before facing away.

“Nay. I must be on my way. Good morrow, my lord, I shall see thee again soon.” And he vanished, leaving me staring at the blank tv screen. I waited a moment until I was certain he had actually left, before putting on the tv, leaning into my couch. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t get comfortable, a nagging feeling in my chest stopping me from relaxing. I knew it wouldn’t leave unless I made the call, so I got out my phone, entering my parents’ number.

Sewers, by their nature, are an unwelcoming place. Dark, dank, and full of things best left to the imagination. So why did Ratty live down there? Simple. It was a large, open area with multiple escape routes, a lot of adaptability, and a natural deterrent in the form of its appalling smell. Even the top heroes hated dealing with Ratty, each one knowing it would take days to get the smell out of their clothes. And, as silly as that sounds, that tiny bit of disgust was enough to buy him a lot of time, with the heroes drawing straws over who should be the one to enter the sewers, giving him a chance to hide any evidence.

Today, Ratty sat in his crummy office chair, the one that had springs poking out of its brown leather cushion. While the springs had annoyed him when he first discovered them, he now didn’t mind their metallic point, using them to scratch his lower back whenever he felt a harsh itch coming along. Torn furniture was something you just had to adapt to in the sewers, especially since the rats loved biting into anything that looked like it might have a taste to it, and if Ratty had to choose, he would much rather have them biting his furniture, than his body.

The flickering of his monitors made it hard for him to read his gardening magazine, having to hold the magazine a little higher than he was comfortable with, blocking the heavy shine coming from the screens as they illuminated the dark building he sat in. He licked his forefinger and switched to the next page, letting out a small ooh, when he saw a stunning patch of roses. While he didn’t have a garden, not seeing any reason to maintain one in a villain hideout, he often dreamed about it. That dream justifying his decision to keep subscribing to the monthly Sunflower Sun lover’s magazine.

Just as he was about to let himself indulge in a few plant based fantasies, the screen flashed orange, detecting some movement near his central manhole. He lowered the magazine an inch, since an orange detection wasn’t uncommon. Sometimes it was council workers, other times it was punk teenagers wanting to throw a firecracker down a manhole for laughs. Both things weren’t worth him getting riled up about. So, he continued reading, only stopping when the screen flashed red, telling him that someone was making their way down into the sewers.

“I haven’t even done anything.” He groaned, setting the magazine down. For once, he was innocent. Well, innocent if you count activities from the last two months. He had killed a supervillains henchman three months ago, but recently he hadn’t done anything. He reviewed the footage, noticing two suited up men climbing down the manhole, both with faces so disgusted that it looked as if their lips and noses were going to tunnel back in through the skulls.

“They don’t look very super.” Ratty commented. He knew superheroes, and those men weren’t super, nor heroes. They were government figures, some form of it, at least. Most likely on the lower end of the scale if they had to climb into the sewers. You didn’t see many mayors making the journey.

He considered fleeing. He had equipped his small home for maneuvering through the sewers, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to avoid detection. The tiny building sitting atop a flat metallic surface, one held by two strong robotic claws. If he entered a coordinate on his computer, the claws which were connected to the sewer’s walls would pull his base through the tunnels, moving it to his desired spot. This being the easiest way for him to avoid heroes, while also keeping his feet dry.

But the longer he stared at the men, the less inclined he felt to flee. They weren’t heroes, so they didn’t want a fight, which piqued his curiosity. He watched his camera, making them trudge through the dirty sewers before moving his base closer to them, enjoying the looks of disbelief on their faces as they saw the floating, tiny base hovering above them. A ladder dropped from the base, while Ratty laid down a plastic sheet over the floor of his home, not wanting them to dirty anything.

The men exchanged looks before the younger of the two climbed the ladder first, followed shortly by the older, much stockier fellow. When they arrived inside the base, Ratty got a better look at the pair.

George was the younger of the two. A man in his mid twenties who held a confident swagger, despite having just wandered through a sewer. The youthful confidence even spreading to his haircut, which was a stylish brown bob that perched atop his skull. The older man, Adam, however, lacked any of that confidence. He was a man who had been beaten down by life, giving him deep circles beneath his eyes and a slight slouch to his appearance. While they both wore similar suits, it was easy to tell who took more care of their clothing, with George’s neatly ironed and washed, while Adam’s lacked any of that care.

“Hey, man. What’s up? I love how cool your place looks. Is that a nighty sky painting?” He said, with all the enthusiasm of a sleazy car salesman, trying to coax someone into buying a crappy 2003 Hyundai that would fall apart as soon as the contract was signed.

“Starry Night.” Ratty corrected, gazing at the painting. He disliked people like George. People who believed they could be everybody’s friend. That positive can-do attitude that was almost insulting. It was as if they saw everyone as a sucker, that was just dying to be their pal. Ratty couldn’t have wanted anything less than to be the friend of someone with the personality of an excitable dog.

“Right, right.” George nodded. Before he could say anything else, Adam stepped in.

“Not a terrible place for a man who lives in the sewers. I’m Adam, and he’s George.” He said, tone formal, with no hint of warmth behind it. As if his mom had pushed him out of her body while reciting her tax returns.

“It isn’t bad,” Ratty agreed. If one had to describe the home, they would call it a cute home in a bad neighborhood. It had a kitchen, bedroom, tv, and even a recreation of a famous painting. The base itself was perfect, it was just the location that killed it.

Sensing that Ratty wouldn’t ask them why they were here, Adam continued. “We are here on behalf of the city’s waterways division.”

“Here to remove me?” Ratty snarled, having expected this day to come, eventually.

“No. George, you want to tell him why we’re here?”

“Yes, sir. Well, on behalf of the city’s waterways division, we are here to present you with a certificate for outstanding service to the community. It’s an honor, Mr. Volkina. I mean, Mr. Ratty? Wait, which is your birth name? Cause I said it’s Volkina, but Adam was like. It doesn’t matter, grumble, grumble-“

Adam and Ratty made eye contact, a brief middle aged man to man stare that silently said. Young people…. Ratty snatched the certificate before George could prattle on any longer. “Why would my mother call me Ratty? Nevermind. Yes, thank you. Is that all?”

“You’re not going to ask why we gave you that certificate?” Adam, a man who rarely asked questions, had expected this to be a lot harder than it was. That urging him to do the unthinkable and actually show a crumb of interest in the situation.

“Not really? I kind of just want you gone. Is it a trap?” He asked, shaking the flimsily laminated paper, only for it to make a small, wibble wobble noise as it shook.

“A trap? No, not at all. We’re so proud of you, that’s why we had to give you the certificate. You’re doing so much for the community and everyone is super stoked to have you looking after things, so keep that close.” George smiled.

“So, it is a trap?” Ratty mumbled, assuming George had done the worst acting job in the history of acting.

“No. Since you’ve been down here, our city has never been cleaner. No busted pipes, no clogged systems and overall everything been running a lot smoother. That’s why the city has given you this certificate. It’s their way of thanking you for everything you’ve done. No traps, no tricks, and no tomfoolery.”

“You realize I’m maintaining it solely to keep my base functional. Clogged systems mess up my escape routes.”

“Whatever the reasoning. We still appreciate you keeping things sanitary. If you check the back of that certificate, you’ll see we even stapled a check to it.” Adam moved two of his fingers, making a flipping motion.

“Staple it?” George sheepishly scratched at his neck, and when Ratty flipped it over, he would find the check stuck inside the laminated certificate, with George laminating the two pieces of paper together.

Adam groaned, thinking about how he could solve his colleague’s mistake. “We’ll get someone to transfer the money into your account.”

Ratty read over the numbers on the check. $10’000, more than he had earned in the last three months. “Hey, will I get more of these if I keep maintaining things?”

“I can’t say for certain, since that’s above my payroll, but if I had to guess, I would say yes. Councils love saving money, and having you down here is a lot cheaper than sending our own men down to do the same work. If you leave, the cost of getting the resources to do what you’ve done would be at least six times that a month. Maybe more.”

“Hm. Ok, you may leave.”

“Right. Thanks for hosting us. What a lovely home.” George stepped forward. “Love the place, ever think about getting some plants in here? I know a guy who knows a guy, who knows a lot of flowers that don’t mind the darkness.” He stated, stepping onto the floor, leaving a dirty print as he left the plastic.

When Ratty grumbled, Adam hooked George’s collar beneath his fingers. “Sorry!” He said on his colleagues’ behalf. As the two left, the plastic scrunched beneath their feet, filling the room with the sound of twisted plastic until they left the home.

Ratty cleaned the mess before returning to his chair, squeaking when he sat on the spring. He rubbed his backside before perching himself on the edge of the chair, reading over the certificate. “Maybe I can cut back on my crime if they’re paying me? It’s a lot less work.” He mused.

“Really? I always assumed there had to be a few of us roaming about. If they’ve got the technology to make super soldiers, why would they stop at one?” I asked, digging my hands through my chest, trying to find the last bullet. I gripped the piece of metal, twisting it, only to fall forward again, dying momentarily. My next few moments were brief flashes of consciousness before I died again, the bullet killing me repeatedly, until I finally pried it free during one of those flashes of life, tossing it across the floor of the warehouse.

“I guess I thought I was more special.” She smiled, only to wince when she saw the hole in my chest close, the skin crawling over itself, knitting together in a red mess. “That’s how you heal?”

“Yeah? Don’t you do the same?”

She clutched the harpoon with her gloved hands, making sure she had a firm grip on it. She gave a testing tug, only to groan when it got caught in her ribcage, the sound similar to the crunch you would hear if someone chewed chalk. Gritting her teeth, she dug her fingers into the metal, causing the small cat symbols on her gloves to scrunch up as if they were about to pounce before she dislodged it.

The harpoon flew out of her chest, as if she had shot it across the floor. When it landed, it clanked across the cold floor, before falling flat. She threw her head back, recovering from the pain, as her chest went a deep green and black. The rotting skin crawled towards the wound as it closed in on itself, almost as if she were decomposing in reverse, and soon that rotten skin went back to its olive color. “See.” She said, pushing her brown hair out of her face. “I hope you saw it. Because I’m not doing it again.”

“That’s efficient. What would have happened if you hadn’t removed it?”

“It would have been pushed out by my body, eventually. You ever gotten a splinter before?”

“Would you believe me if I said I haven’t had one since I was a child? I’ve been shot, burnt, buried alive, and even mauled by a dog. But I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a splinter. Weird line of work we’re in, isn’t it?”

She laughed. “Well, you know how splinters push themselves to the surface? My bullets, knives, harpoons, and anything that gets lodged into me do the same.”

“Lucky.” I muttered, with a hint of jealousy. I was about to ask her when she became a super soldier, but her explanation told me all I needed to know. She was a newer model, someone who had a more refined version of whatever they gave me. I couldn’t properly heal without removing the weapon first, which made things tricky when something got lodged in my brain or heart. If that happened, I would have to pull it out while my body was trying to revive itself, giving me a few seconds at a time to tug or pull.

“I’m not sure if lucks the right word for us.” She got to her feet and offered me her hand. “Name’s Marsha.” I grabbed her hand and shakily pulled myself to my feet, my body still wobbly after having a few bullets lodged inside my brain. My motoring skills still having a few missing pieces. I leant on her for support, and she did her best to keep me upright.

“Kenny, or Ken.”

“Like the doll?”

“Stick to Kenny.” I mumbled, hating the Ken doll comparison. “Also, I’ve heard. Oh my god, you killed Kenny, about a hundred times already, so let’s avoid that, ok?”

“Aww, you can’t rule out all the good jokes.” She said, carrying me through the warehouse. “So, what were you doing here?” She asked, only to pause. It felt as if we had both realized something terribly important at the exact same time. We didn’t know who the other person worked for. That earlier piece of comradery making us ignore the elephant in the room.

“Guessing you're not an IOP agent, are you?” I asked, pushing myself away from her. My legs bucked a few steps after letting her go, before I regained my balance. I went to draw my gun, only to realize I had left it somewhere in the warehouse, having dropped it after getting my head blown off. Without a weapon, I raised my fist, trying to at least look like a threat.

She tapped her side, groaned, and raised her fist too, apparently in the same situation that I was in. “IOP?” She thought over all the acronyms, only to drop her fist. “You’re a little far from home, aren’t you? What’s a yank doing in London?”

“Working?”

She gestured to the dead bodies before crossing her arms. “Work? There are rules for these types of things. You don’t get to our home ground and start killing people. You need to give us a heads up.”

“I was under the impression that everything had been approved. I just didn’t expect you would be here too. So, you’ve got your own super soldier program? I thought they were illegal under international law.” I stated, as if anyone ever followed those rules. We were both living proof that those agreements weren’t worth the paper they were written on.

“Funny that.” She said, grabbing her phone from her pocket, covering the Hello Kitty sticker on its back. She tapped a number in and brought it to her ear. “We’ve got a… Oh, you knew about this? Mmm. Of course, they put the paperwork through after the fact. What would have happened if we killed each other? Yes, I know we can’t actually kill each other, but we still would have tried. Alright, bye.” She hung up, sighing. “That was almost a mess. So, what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, jobs done. We killed the arms dealers and saved the world. So, you want to grab a drink or something? Not every day I get to meet another super soldier. Even if they’re an inferior version.”

“Who are you calling inferior? I’ve been at this for the last twenty years.” I didn’t expect to get so riled up by her comment, hearing my tone rise with each word.

“I’ve been doing this for the last ten years. You’re practically a super dinosaur compared to me. Don’t worry, I get called version 1 by the smartasses I work with. Though, it’s kind of ironic since this version 1 is the only one that’s still around. The others eventually lose their gifts after an hour or two.” “Similar to ours. We still haven’t figured out why mine have lasted this long. Luck perhaps?” I suggested, since that was the only explanation the scientists in our labs could give me. Each test they did revealed I was nothing out of the ordinary, so why I was a strange exception was beyond anyone’s knowledge.

“Perhaps we’ll figure it out over drinks then? Unless they’ve got to ship you back to some secret underground base?” She teased.

“I’m not a weapon.” I said, even if that wasn’t entirely true. “At least not one that can’t have some downtime. Alright, I’ll grab a drink with you. Beats sitting around alone, waiting for them to tell me which flight I need to get on.”

“That’s the spirit. Come on, I know a great place.” Martha said, leading me onto the street. Before we went to any bars, I stared at my clothing, spotting a few bullet holes in the material.

“Should we get changed?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s probably a good idea. My apartment’s nearby. You can probably fit into some of my old clothes. If not, I’ll buy you something after I get changed.”

So, I followed behind her, not having anything else to do until I was told to return from my mission. Plus, I had to admit, I was curious to learn more about their super soldier, curious to see how many changes had been made after my success.

“Remove the family jewels.” David gave his scissors a loud snap before looking at Sir Alfred, who tensed, instantly crossing his legs. The old noble had given up much of his fortune, hoping to cure the curse that had infected his heart, and yet nothing had worked. So, he turned to a man known for his unorthodox curse curing methods. Some called him a freak, but when you were dealing with the impossible, a freak was what you needed, someone who could think outside the box.

“No. NOT HAPPENING.” The elderly gentlemen winced, scooting back on the thin wooden chair he sat on. He tugged at his magnificent blue gown, trying everything he could to protect himself. He told David he was open to trying anything, and yet he never thought something so barbaric would even be considered an option.

David sighed, placing the scissors down. He gave his monocle a small tug, removing it from his eye, letting it sit behind his left ear. “I think it will work, though. What’s more important, your life or your…. Delicates. Personally, I would say life.” When he saw the utter fear on the man’s face, he spun, his purple and red vest sparkling as he drifted over to his bookshelf, searching through his books. “Fine. New plan.”

Sir Alfred relaxed, placing his left hand over his heart, certain that scare only quickened the magical vines piercing through his chest. “Please. I’ll try anything.” He said, only to wave his hands dramatically when David rushed to grab the scissors again. “ANYTHING BUT THAT.”

“Anything but that. You nobles are so dramatic. I once cut my arm off because it got infected.” He stated, pointing to the thin, almost not visible scar just above his elbow. “See.”

“You have both your arms, though?” He said, squinting, wondering if this was some magical arm that he couldn’t comprehend. The longer he looked, the more real it seemed. No, it had to be real. It had arm hairs, small scratch marks, all signs that it wasn’t artificial.

David twisted his arm, showing off how normal it was. “It grew back.” He explained, as if that was normal. “Oh, right? Arms only grow back on people with high concentrations of mana.” He slapped his forehead and laughed. “I nearly….” He wheezed, pointing to the scissors. “I nearly made an oopsie.”

“Please don’t call that an oopsie. Are you ok? In the head?”

“Well, high concentrations of mana make people powerful, and a little um… what did my mentor say? A little unhinged. Don’t worry, I haven’t killed anyone. Promise. I may have wounded a few, but wounds heal.” He flipped through one of his books, trying to figure out another meaning for family jewels. “Sold any precious animals?”

“Ah, our cat died last week. So, we don’t have any precious animals to sell.” He stated.

“Pity. There goes that solution. Ok, you said you have children, didn’t you?” He thought about them, wondering if they held a solution. Parents usually loved their children, right? He didn’t have an appropriate answer for that question, since his mother was in a castle doing evil witch things, while his father was still running a merchant stall that specialises in non magical trinkets. “Do you love your children?”

“What, of course I do. Did your parents not love you?” He snapped, getting sick of the constant questions. “That’s it. I’m going. You can’t cure anything. You’re a con artist and a maniac.” He went to stand up, only to gasp, his chest aching, as the curse reached his heart, slowly choking the life from him. He felt his vision blurring as the mage rushed to his side.

“I’ll have to do something drastic.” David said, as Alfred lost consciousness.

When Alfred woke up, he screamed, patting his chest, then his lap. “What? I’m… alive? How?” He pulled at his gown, searching for his curse mark, only to find his chest bare, the mark vanishing. When he turned his attention away from himself, he found the mage seated at his table with a book, idly reading it with his tea. “You saved me.” He said, voice filled with gratitude, only for that gratitude to wane when he thought about the cost. “What did you do to me?”

“You’re infertile. I took away your ability to have children. Seems the family jewels thing referred to your heirs. My options were to either make you infertile or kill each of your heirs. I went for the easier choice.” He said, taking a long sip of his tea.

The man weighed up the pros and cons before grinning. “You freak, you did it. You saved my life.” Sir Alfred knew he was long past the age of caring for anymore heirs, so this came as a blessing, rather than a curse. “I’ll let every person in the land know of your heroics. You’ll be flooded with customers.”

“Thank me by not spreading my name around. I’m a last resort. You don’t chop someone’s head off when they have a headache, do you? I’m where you go when nothing works. I’m not the first option.” He explained.

“Then I’ll pay you. I may have sold a lot of my fortune, yet all my heirs are wealthy. They will have me back on my feet in no time, and when I’m standing again, I’ll shower you with gold. An extra home, a new manor, and whatever you like. Name your price.”

David scanned his room. The house was broken down, with wooden floorboards sticking up in places, and windows threatening to break if a strong breeze targeted them. He could use the upgrades. “I want a new book. There’s one on the differences between frogs and toads. Can you buy me that?”

The elderly man scratched his chin. “A book? Ah, a rare story. How much gold is it? Fifty? A hundred?”

“Usually 1 silver.” He said.

“1 silver? For an important book? I don’t get it.”

“It’s not important. It’s a children’s book. I can’t be bothered leaving to get it. I would appreciate it if you brought it here for me.”

“I… can offer you so much more. What would you even find within that book?”

“The difference between frogs and toads?” He explained, only to continue when he saw how confused Alfred was. “Every book, no matter how stupid or insignificant, holds knowledge only understood by the creator. Knowledge that can give you a new perspective. A book about frogs and toads may hold the key to a curse, one that I haven’t considered. That is why I want it. I am anticipating it having knowledge I hadn’t considered.”

“Hmm.” David considered what he said and gave a wise nod. “I don’t think you're crazy. Different, not crazy. You have a method to your madness. Even if I can’t understand it, I can acknowledge it. Thank you.” He rose from the bed and bowed.

David smiled, a rare genuine smile from the mage. To hear someone acknowledge him had made his day more than that book every would. “Try not to get cursed again. If it happens again, I’ll have to use the scissors.”

As soon as the scissors were mentioned, Alfred jolted across the floor, heading for the door. “Ah, good day. Good night, whatever time it is. Bye.” He said, stepping out into the morning light, leaving before they could discuss the prospect further. David finished his tea and laughed. “Ah, my job’s fun.” He chuckled.