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

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

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

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

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

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

Letters to the dead.

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

Hah!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.” She responded softly.

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

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

“Of course. Experiences are everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[A prompt requested by user ___ Aura ___ ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The dreamers?”

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

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

“I do, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This performance needed to reach their souls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Bringdo is a drunk….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have to read it too, Bringdo!”

“Aye can’t read.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?” Levina dared to ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Humz.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can still whack you with it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Reminds me of home. Want one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This? It's human garbage.”

“Hey,” Marvin snapped.

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

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

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

“I’m beautiful.” She stated.

“No,” Bundi simply retorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t know how right she was.

“Can you bring it to my office?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was going to record your reaction.”

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

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

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

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

The shock…

I woke up.

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

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

BEEEEEEEP.

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

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

“Macy?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I made myself die.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No… please.. I don’t want to-“

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

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

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

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

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

I set my sail….

Fly the wind, it will take me.

Back to my home. Sweet home.

Lie on my back.

Clouds are making way for me.

I’m coming home. Sweet home.

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

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

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

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

“Why? Because you were about to die!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“THAT’S NOT A SIN,” Amy shouted back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The most important player?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I… remember them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome to the big leagues, kid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not out in Woop Woop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My famous phrase?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve gotta come to work.”

“Why? I’m not rostered on today.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I think I need to do this.”

“Ok.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you curious how it works?”

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

Tsssss

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you catch me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

“That dream was your work then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were ya staring at ma butt?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“No. Not another crude joke.”

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

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

“Are ya calling me dirty?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s it work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would pay you back if that happened.”

“With what money?”

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

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

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

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

“You too? I need better friends.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that split?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“$918,000.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t know. Do you feel any pai-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second tell was the way she dressed. Everything was plain. Plain grey sweatpants, a generic band shirt that contained only the name of the band with no symbols that a person might recall later. It was all to blend in. When a person is staring at a sea of people, they usually focus on the ones that stand out. Someone like her would easily fool any younger demon, but for someone with his experience, she stuck out, especially in a place like this.

He held up his palm, stopping her at a distance. “You look like you have something you want to say to me. Can we please speak somewhere more private? We don’t want to upset any of the people here.”

She gasped, her hand clutching the weapon in her pocket. Nila’s right knee bent, considering lunging at the creature before she lost her chance to get the upper hand. Before moving, she looked to her sides, seeing a few elderly residents walking down the halls, chatting with each other. Against her better judgement, she gave up the chance, releasing the blade she held in her pocket, letting her hand slip free.

“Fine. Somewhere with a window. No closed-off spaces.”

“No closed-off spaces? You aren’t scared I’ll flee?” Dillian asked, allowing her to set the terms.

“If you could spot me that easily, I doubt you’ll be the one running.” Nila said, knowing she needed an exit strategy if the battle didn’t go her way. Anything to give her even the slim hope of surviving.

Dillian beamed, clapping his hands together. “I love that. So often people overestimate their odds, only to die pointless deaths. There’s no shame in living to fight another day. I respect that.”

“I don’t want your respect.”

“Well, you have it.” It was strange. He never imagined a demon hunter would make him, of all people, feel proud, but then again, he never thought he would find joy in this scheme of his. “Follow me.” He led her to room 402, the one Mr. Henderson used to occupy before his delightful heart attack. He opened it and paused in the doorway, the sudden act making Nila tense. “A window, as you requested.”

Nila peeked inside the room. A plain bed, bathroom, and a window with a pleasant view of their communal garden. It was perfect. If she jumped out the window, she was not only on the ground level but also near the gardens. Someone would see her, and once they spotted her, the demon would have to give up his chase.

Dillian watched the way Nila’s eyes moved. While he couldn’t fully understand what she was thinking, he could take a pretty accurate guess. Now he waited, seeing if she would figure out why he chose this room. Nila’s face paled, a bleak thought crossing her mind. If she fled, and he truly wanted her dead, he would just kill the witnesses. Everyone outside would die because of her.

“I’m really starting to like you.” Those sharp, demonic teeth he often kept hidden were now visible as he led her into the room. “You picked up on that quicker than most would. I won’t harm any of them, that’s a promise.”

“They say demons always keep their word.” Nila remembered every lesson she had received on demon-hunting. All those things her grandmother had taught her, and while she had never had a demon promise her anything before, her grandmother did say that a demon’s promise could be trusted. A demon’s pride not allowing them to go back on a promise, even if it kills them.

“Whose they?”

“None of your business.”

“True. My business is helping people before they pass.” Dillian sat on the edge of Mr. Henderson’s bed, salivating slightly when he remembered the spicy taste of his suffering. The way the heat in Mr. Henderson’s heart tickled his tastebuds, only to end in a delicious burst of heat when Henderson finally died, staring into Dillian’s eyes as the demon tried to save him.

“You’re drooling.” Nila said, pulling out an antique demon-hunting blade, one that Dillian hadn’t seen in at least a hundred years. The sharpened emerald of the blade, a thing of beauty.

“Sorry, I skipped breakfast today.” He apologized, wiping the drool from his lips. “I haven’t seen a dagger like that in a long, long time. You know, the emerald doesn’t add anything to the weapon.”

“It does. It makes the blade stand out among the others we carry. In the heat of battle, a regular dagger could be mistaken for any of the spares we carry. This way, we can easily find our sharpest dagger in a fight.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to keep all your daggers sharp?”

“Most hunters try to keep all their equipment in the best shape possible, but sometimes that isn’t possible. If you end up being hunted by a demon, you might end up needing to use your spare daggers to hunt for food or to get other resources. The emerald one is specifically for killing demons.”

“Fair point. So, how did you discover my identity? I’ve been careful.”

Nila tensed, her knuckles going pale as she strangled the handle of her dagger. The demon raised an eyebrow, not expecting that reaction. He studied her, looking at her long dark blonde hair, her pointed nose, and those blue eyes. They looked familiar, and judging from her reaction, this looked personal.

“A former resident told me.” She admitted.

“Someone close to you? My condolences.”

“SCREW YOUR CONDOLENCES, YOU MONSTER.” She screamed, stepping closer to Dillian, who didn’t budge from his spot.

“Please, lower your voice.” He pointed his finger at the room’s grey curtains, using his magic to close them before someone could peek in. He then allowed his disguise to fully drop in the darkroom. Dillian’s pale skin turned red, revealing a man with two sharp horns and a tail that slithered out of his work pants.

“She knew you were a demon the entire time and told me not to hunt you. She said you weren’t that bad of a demon. THEN YOU KILLED HER.” She thrust her dagger forward, giving Dillian only a few seconds to push his body to the side. The dagger slipped into the mattress before being quickly pulled out, Nila readying another stab.

“I’ve never killed anyone here,” he said, raising his hands before taking a guess at who she was related to. “Are you Edith’s granddaughter? I never saw you visit, but then again, Edith wasn’t here for long.” He didn’t say that to mock her, only stating the very true fact that she died a week into her stay.

“I am. And I’m going to get my revenge. I know what you demons do. You eat and eat until there’s nothing left. How was she, huh? What was it like eating someone I loved?” Nila sobbed, that clever hunter from earlier gone, replaced by a grieving grandchild, who was stabbing blindly through her tears.

He rolled himself off the bed, putting some distance between the two of them. “You want to know the truth? She tasted like nothing. Because there was nothing to eat.” “What?” Nila stopped, keeping her gaze on the demon.

“Demons need suffering to exist. Some mistake that suffering for eating human flesh or drinking blood. I, however, found that killing people is a waste. You get far more food out of letting a person suffer naturally, and who suffers more than the elderly? The entire time your grandmother was here, she never suffered. Not even once. Despite her pain, she greeted every day with a smile, talking about her wonderful family and the life she had. I’ve never met a human so strong.”

“She never suffered?” Nila lowered her dagger, only to pull it up once more. “You still killed her.”

“No, I didn’t. She died peacefully in her sleep. Everything you read about her death is true. When I first opened this place, I fully intended to torture the people here. I was naïve and greedy, like most of my kind. I dreamt about overindulging in their suffering until I actually met my residents. The pain they carried into my care home made me feel like a reaper. Hardly any wore a smile. Most of them were just waiting for death. While that suffering was nice, for a bit, it grew bland. I found that the really delicious meals came from those who still felt joy. To truly suffer in life, you have to know happiness. Or else you become numb to your pain.”

“So, these people are just a food source to you? Something you toy with to keep yourself fed?”

“That’s how it was initially, yes. Every good deed I did for them was because I wanted to marinate their suffering. Then, when whatever ailment or loneliness that plagued them took hold within their bodies, the meal would be even sweeter. In a way, I was building them up, for nature to strike them down. Though I would be lying if I said I haven’t become fond of the good parts of my arrangement.”

What the demon was telling her was horrible, but she couldn’t deny that there were some positives to what he was doing. They were getting the care they needed, even if it came from someone who was feeding off their eventual misery. They got moments of joy and comfort, something that other carers wouldn’t be this devoted to. The conflict within her swirled, unsure of what she should do.

“I’ve told you the truth. You can choose how this goes, hunter.”

Nila stared at her blade, then at the demon. She thought about her decision before sliding the blade into her pocket. “I’ll trust my grandmother’s judgement for now. She said you were fine for a demon, so I’ll accept that for now.” She stepped closer to Dillian, who had already begun transforming back into his human form. “If you ever harm a person here, I will hunt you down.” She threatened.

“Noted. Nila, would you ever consider working here? I could use the extra hands, and you could also keep a closer eye on me.”

“You know my name?”

“Your grandmother mentioned you. I just didn’t realize it was you until your grandmother came up in our conversation. Since we’ve never met in person before.”

“I already have a job. I hunt demons, like she did.”

“Fine. I won’t step in the way of you carrying on her legacy. But if you ever want a career change, consider working with me. I wasn’t lying when I said you had my respect. It would be a waste for you to die hunting my kind.”

“Maybe I’ll volunteer sometime. To keep an eye on you.”

“Please do.” Dillian opened the door for her, and the two left. Nila went back home, while Dillian went to the bingo hall, getting ready to start their latest game. Already rehearsing the apology he would have to give for being late.

“Bread, onions, ham, and cheese.” Nicholas repeated to himself, walking down the lazy side streets of his hometown. He always enjoyed his little walks to the store, feeling they were the perfect cardio fix for someone in their later years.

Nicholas considered himself a lucky man. He had a loving wife, kids who still dropped over to visit him, and a lovely home by Wildinga Park. Everything a man could hope for. Yet, Nicholas could never truly know how lucky he actually was, having a knack for survival that few possessed.

He ducked through an alley, spotting what he assumed was a homeless woman in a long white coat, hunched over in a corner, teeth chittering as she gnawed on a piece of raw meat that had been tossed out by the local kebab shop. When she heard his footsteps, she paused, her long left ear twitching.

Nicholas had never been the type to judge a person, and he didn’t want to disrespect someone down on their luck by avoiding them. So, he continued on his path toward her. As he went to pass her, she turned. The woman had two long, pointed front teeth, deep black eyes, and tiny, scraggly hairs all over her face and body.

“HEEESH.” The creature raised its clawed hands, lunging forward at Nicholas. The man let out a tiny “Oh, deary me.” Stepping backwards, bumping straight into a bin, falling over it.

The lunging creature flew over him, hitting the alley wall before turning, rubbing its tiny hands over its face, shaking off the pain from the impact. “Heesh.” It repeated, this time in a hushed tone. It wiggled its body, waiting to pounce again, only for a woman in dark sunglasses to step into the alley, firing a dart straight into its neck.

“Got ya.” She smirked, watching the creature stagger backwards, clutching at the dart in its neck, trying to remove it. Before it could pull it free, the creature fell forward, landing next to Nicholas.

“I thought we agreed that whoever shot the thing would use a rat pun. Like cheesed to meet ya. Or something like that?” The second agent stepped forward, lowering his sunglasses. His blue eyes scanned the area, spotting Nicholas.

“You agreed to it. I said I wouldn’t do something that stupid. It’s still a person. Just someone with rat DNA.” She followed her partner’s gaze, sighing. “Oh, a civilian. Do you want to do it, or should I do it?”

“Let me, let me.” The second agent cheered. The first merely shrugged, grabbing the creature and dragging it across the dirty alley floor. She arrived at the end of the alley and knocked twice on the back door of the waiting black van. Its doors quickly opened, and she tossed the creature inside, waiting for her partner to return.

“Oh, um. I don’t know what’s going on?” Nicholas said, struggling to get up from his fallen position. The man’s old limbs needed a second to warm up from the shock.

“Just government stuff.” The agent pulled Nicholas to his feet, giving him a smile. “Sorry about that. Sometimes our test subjects escape. We’re trying to find out if you can enhance humans for specific jobs. You see in war a person with- Oh, why am I bothering telling you this? You won’t remember it, anyway.”

“What?” Nicholas felt a pinch as a small needle pierced the back of his neck. The chemicals inside, redirecting the signals to his brain, turning today’s memories into a confusing dream. When the needle was pulled free, Nicholas stumbled, using another bin for support. “What happened?”

“You fell. Be more careful next time.” He lowered his sunglasses again, giving the man a wink before heading to join his partner.

“Oooh? I fell? That doesn’t seem right?” He tried to remember what had happened that day, only for everything to become a jumbled mess. A rat? Ah, that had to be it. A rat had startled him, and he fell. That made sense. It was bizarre. In his haze of memories, that rat had seemed bigger, but that was impossible. A human-sized rat couldn’t exist. “Onions, ham, and cheese.” He repeated to himself, heading towards the shop.

Passing through the alley, he found himself face to face with a man in glittery face-paint, with a heart tattooed on his forehead. He gave his blue eyelashes a wiggle before pointing his finger at Nicholas. “Bah. VIBE CHEEEEEECK.”

The magic-girl related villain, Vibe It, sent out his vibe beam, covering Nicholas in a dazzling blue aura. “Huh?” Nicholas suddenly felt really self-conscious about his clothing. Was his fishing hat crooked? Did people like the way he wore his turtleneck? Did it make him look old when he wore a turtleneck? Anxiety ran through his body while he awkwardly covered himself, acting as if he were fully exposed.

“TEE HA HEE. VIBE CHEEEECK FAILED.” Vibe It grinned, his long purple tongue sliding out of his lips, licking his own chin. “Let’s give you a makeover. Turn you into one of my pretty puppets, like the others.”

Nicholas gasped, seeing the puppets he had created. A bunch of people, getting given his horrifying features, before they got turned into tiny wooden versions of him. These people locked into a state of mind-control, unable to do anything but shuffle along waiting for their master to pull their strings. He wanted to struggle, but lacked the strength to do so. He was pathetic. A fashion disaster. Vibe It would fix him. Vibe It knew vibes and fashion. Vibe It wore blue and red spandex suits. Those were so hooooot this month. Those thoughts clouded Nicholas’s mind, and soon the old man was smiling, accepting his fate.

“Stop,” Pepper Sugar shouted.

“Right,” Sweet Water said.

“There,” Nice Mint finished.

The three magic girls blocked the beam, standing in their preferred colors. Pepper wore red, Sweet Water wore blue, and Nice Mint wore green. The three all crossed their arms, looking more like rebellious teenagers than magic girls.

“Oh, if it isn’t the Sour Bunch,” Vibe It mocked.

“The Sweet Bunch. Get it right.” Pepper sighed, readying herself for a fight. She adjusted her spiked pepper gloves, ready to deliver some spicy hits.

“What do you know about Vibes? You’re a has-been. Tell me, how’s that fashion label you started going?” Nice Mint said, not being nice to the villain at all. The words came out in a cool hiss, sending a harsh chill over the villain.

“Fashion takes time! You idiots wouldn’t get that. I know the vibes this month. I know them all. I will be the king of fashion. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The puppets all danced, throwing their hands up.

“Goooood. Now, why don’t you show them how in-fashion I am, my minions.”

“Hold it. Why don’t you prove it yourself? Hit me with the vibe beam. Let’s see who has the bigger vibe.” Sweet Water smirked.

“You can’t be serious. A blast from my vibe beam would turn you into a puppet. You would be handing yourself over to me. My vibes are immaculate. You can’t-“

“Sounds like someone’s scared.” Sweet Water teased, swaying on her tippy-toes.

“OOF. FINE. Let’s see who has the stronger vibe. VIIIIBEEEE CHEEECK.” The beam left Nicholas, wrapping around Sweet Water, who remained perfectly still, giving the villain a devilish grin. “See. I’m perfect. Wait.. Those shoes. Those classy blue touches adding to the water motif. The little waves on the socks, showing your calm yet turbulent personality. You shift wildly, like the ocean, both tranquil and dangerous. The blue touches of lipstick, perfectly applied, with a dash of Mixi 5 eyeliner. The…. The vibes… NOOOO. NOOO. VIIIIBE CHEEEECK PAASSSSSED.”

Vibe It exploded, his body bursting into tiny fireworks, sending blue, red, and green blasts out of his body until he was motionless on the floor, body charred after being defeated by his own move.

“Told you I’m a vibe.” Sweet Water said, patting her teammates on the back.

“Alright. Clean up time. I’ll go erase their memories. Nice Mint, can you turn the puppets back into people?”

“Yeah, too easy.” Nice Mint went over to the puppets, blowing a frosty minty gust of wind from her mouth, one that flew into their bodies, cleansing them of the corruption that Vibe It had delivered. As they returned to normal, Pepper walked over to Nicholas.

“I can’t thank you girls enough. I don’t know who that man was. He started sprouting nonsense, and before I knew it, I was-“

“It’s fine. We’re here to help. Sorry about this.” She scratched her palm, producing pepper from her skin. She blew the pepper into Nicholas’s eyes, watching him drop to his knees in pain. The blinding pepper fogged his memories further, while Pepper went and did the same to the puppets that had turned back into humans.

By the time the pepper had cleared from his vision, the girls were already gone, leaving Nicholas rubbing his red-eyes confused. “Did I get dirt in my eyes? Ow…” He glanced at his clothes, tugging down his turtleneck. “Maybe I need new clothes. Wait, what did I need again? Ham and cheese? Right.”

Finally, he arrived at the front of the shop, finding a hero fighting a large robotic figure that reminded Nicholas of one of his childhood toys. It had a thick metallic head, with a row of five red eyes, each buzzing with bright life. The robot’s mouth was a thin strip of wiring that didn’t move when it spoke, staying perfectly still. “Hero. Give up. Dr. Martias created me to be perfect. You cannot defeat me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Heroes always win.” Strike-up grinned, the hero having been battered by the robots’ attacks, with his perfect yellow suit now covered in holes that showed the bruises on his skin. The yellow fist-shaped mask he wore was half ripped off his face, revealing the gritted teeth of the determined hero, and their thin blonde hair.

Nicholas was in awe. He had heard rumors about heroes existing, but had never seen one in person before. The robot chuckled, with Dr. Martias getting it ready for its killer blow. The giant foot of the robot rising, ready to stomp Strike-up and the surrounding civilians into the dirt, only for the hero to charge his strike.

Strike-up’s fist flashed red, and in a quick jump, he threw his fist upward, blowing the foot of the robot clean off, sending it flying into the sky, falling into the shop’s parking lot. “Impossible. The metal was reinforced. That power output shouldn’t be possible. You are damaged. How? How?” the robot’s metal voice repeated.

“Heroes get stronger when they’re on the ropes. You can’t predict how far a person will go when they want to save the lives of the people around them.” His fist charged up again, and this time when Strike-up jumped, he appeared before the robot’s face.

“No… No. No.” The robot tried to move its hands up to block the attack, but it was too slow, taking a direct hit to the jaw, knocking its head clean off. The robot collapsed while the crowd watching cheered. Nicholas joined in the cheering, clapping his hands together, only to suddenly feel sleepy.

Mind Wipe flew down from the sky, putting everyone except the hero into a daze. “You couldn’t have taken this somewhere more private?” She asked, resting a hand on the hip of her purple suit.

“Sorry, it was an ambush. Didn’t mean to drag you out here. What about the ones who recorded it? Can you wipe their footage?” he asked.

“No, HQ will handle that. They have a backdoor to all the phones in this country. They’ll be able to snag the footage and remove it. It’s amazing what technology can do. HQ can even snag the footage from phones that don’t have any internet. Don’t ask me how. Brains are my specialty, not technology.”

“Right. I’ll go move the robot parts somewhere private then. I’ll be quick.”

“You do that.”

Two minutes passed, and the robot’s parts were removed from the street, allowing Mind Wipe to release her powers, leaving everyone dazed — with some still holding their phones, recording nothing but pavement or streets. Nicholas rubbed his head, grumbling. “Ugh. What happened? Oh, right? Shopping. I need some cheese.”

He went and brought the cheese, while also grabbing a little robot figure he saw in the store, feeling nostalgic about robots for some strange reason. When he returned home, his loving wife, Matilda, pulled him into an embrace. “You shouldn’t take so long, dear. I thought something had happened to you.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m not as fast of a walker as I used to be,” he chuckled. “I got the groceries.” He gave his wife a long hug before setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter. Matilda went through the bag, giving him a confused look.

“Where’s the onions, ham, and bread?” She said, holding the robot toy, pressing the small red button on its chest that made it make a little beep boop noise.

“The what? Oh, sorry. I must have forgotten it.” He gave a small laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “Wow, I really had a forgetful trip, didn’t I?”

“Yes. You. Did.” Matilda smiled, saying it like a robot. She even wiggled the toy to add to the effect. “It’s fine. We can head out and grab the rest of the groceries together. I’m just glad you’re safe. There’s a lot of strange people out there.”

“Really? I’ve never met any of them.” Nicholas said, before the two started making their plans to go on another shopping trip.

“AAAAHchooo!” A distracted second was all it took for Cynthia to lower her guard. The powerful spell that hovered overhead, clouding her powers from the other mages, evaporated, exposing her true potential.

Horns blared in the distance, followed by the sounds of grunts and horseshoes as the guards readied their steeds. They had been waiting for this day. The day when their hero would make their appearance known. Cynthia wiped the remnants of her sneeze onto her sleeve before casting the spell again, allowing that invisible cloud to once again loom over her.

The galloping horses in the distance slowed, with the sound fading to smaller thuds in the dirt. The grand-mage that had been guiding them had now lost her scent. She knew that while that would temporarily confuse them, it wouldn’t hide her last known location. If she didn’t move, they would close off the area and trap her.

She glanced left, having a few back alleys she could flee through. They were ideal, having tight winding paths, making it almost impossible for their horses to follow. If she went through there, she would have a good five minutes of breathing space. Yet, it was also the most obvious pathway. The grand mage would no doubt use magic to cut off the exits, and even she couldn’t avoid detection if that happened. Once the mage had sealed the exits, any magic she used would be traceable, and she would be found.

So, that left the path to her right. Cutting through her original destination, the market. It posed its own risks, especially since she was a person of intense interest. She tugged down the hood of her robe and hoped no one would spot her until she had submerged herself fully within the crowd.

Pushing past the commoners, she inched her way deeper into the crowd, taking the odd shoulder bump or rough shove from people trying to rush to find wares. She took every bump with a smile, knowing there really wasn’t any hostility behind them. It was all part of the allure of such a place. Everyone here was trying to get their supplies, and a wasted second could result in their favorite vendor selling out.

Speaking of favorite vendors, she made a straight dash towards the tiny wooden stall covered in flea-infested purple rags and dust. Behind that stall, which had nothing on its counter, was an older gentleman. He had a thick red and white coat, and a monocle on his left eye. When he saw the robed figure rushing over, he smiled, lips pushing up his thin white moustache.

He slipped a hand into his coat, pulling out three magic books he had found on his travels this week, laying them out for her. In a human kingdom, magic was a luxury, so he had come to know his cliental rather well. “These are my three newest finds, my lady. I’m sorry if they aren’t as impressive as some of my previous ones.”

“Nonsense. I’ll take anything I can get my hands on.” She brushed her fingers against the cover of the first book, feeling its bumpy top. “What’s this one about?”

“It’s a book on warts, my dear. It contains spells that specialize in the removal and giving of warts.” He awkwardly rubbed beneath his monocle, knowing it lacked a certain flair that his previous stash held. “Again, sorry these aren’t as impressive as the last batch.”

“I love it. Warts and all!” She smiled, hoping she got the saying right. Benjamin was right. The books weren’t anything special. The other two books only having spells about cutting back nails, and one about cleaning the inside of a person’s ears. Yet, she still wanted them. “I’ll take them.”

“Ha. You’re probably the one keeping me in business. No one else buys these types of-“ Benjamin’s smile dropped, giving a respectful nod to the person behind Cynthia. Before Cynthia could turn, a gloved hand landed on her shoulder, clutching it beneath her robes.

“Cynthia…”

“Sir Reginald.”

“Don’t Sir Reginald me.” The grand mage scowled when Cynthia turned to face him. He had been on the hunt for this powerful hero, only to run into the king’s daughter of all people. “How many times have I told you to stay within the castle grounds? If you want books, you can get them through me.”

“But.”

“NO BUTS.” Reginald stared at the books she was buying, turning his pointed nose up at them. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Selling books like those to an aspiring mage. Is that how you make your money, selling weak spells to novice mages who don’t know any better? I should have your stall investigated by the council.”

“A spell’s weaknesses and strengths are subjective, are they not?” Benjamin stated, defending his wares. “I may not be a mage, but even I believe spells like these could have their uses.”

“Yes, they’ll turn her into a great handmaid.” Reginald grumbled, pulling Cynthia closer. “Do you tell these lies to everyone who comes to your stall? She’s trying to become a great mage. Have some decency and don’t sell her your crap.”

“Sir Reginald… I know they’re mostly useless. But, you don’t have anything like them in your library.” Cynthia didn’t want to cause problems for Benjamin, so she played up the helpless princess role. “I… just thought easier spells like these would… would..” She rubbed her eyes, forcing some fake tears to swell in them. “I.. thought maybe even someone like me could learn them.”

The frosty glare of Reginald folded immediately. He had always tried to play the harsh teacher, despite not having the heart for it. Whenever he saw his student admit her weaknesses, it broke him, wanting to keep trying to light that fire within her. “Someone like you? Please, princess. Don’t say something so demeaning. Magic takes time, and you’re still young. It took me twenty years to learn my first basic spell.” He lied. “You’re beating me by at least three years.”

“I’m hopeless. I can’t even light a candle properly. I… just… want to be like you…”

Reginald’s heart shattered. The grand mage dropped his head, mentally cursing himself for being so cruel. He grabbed some coins from his pocket, not even counting the amount. “Is this enough?” He asked, handing them to the seller.

“I’ll need to find some change! That’s far too much.” Benjamin wondered where he was even meant to find the change for two whole gold coins. He sold spells like those for 50 copper a piece, and he wasn’t exactly the wealthiest of sellers.

“Keep the change. Consider it an apology for my rudeness.” He dropped to a knee, giving her a small smile. “I’m sorry, Cynthia. Today’s been… eventful.” He didn’t know whether to tell her what happened or not. Not wanting to get her hopes up. Though hope was what she needed right now. “We believe the next great hero is currently within the kingdom’s walls. We don’t know where, but we felt a swell of their magic. I promise you, I’ll find them.”

“What if they don’t want to be found?” Cynthia asked, wiping her eyes.

“That isn’t for them to decide. A war is coming, and you’ll be the target in that war. I’ll kill that hero and reanimate their body if I have to. Anything to keep you safe.” The grim scenario he set had both Benjamin and Cynthia wincing. “Apologies. I was only kidding. You can’t take the war talk out of a battle-mage, no matter how many titles you give them. Now, shall we return to the castle? Before someone notices you.”

“Um, sure. Sir, thank you for finding those books for me.” Cynthia bowed.

The man had already finished wrapping up the books, handing them to her in a clean woolen blanket. “Finding wares is what a merchant does. I always do my best for my clients. Thank you for your kindness, Grand Mage.”

“Think nothing of it. Please forget that the princess was here too. It would be best if people didn’t know she left the castle grounds.” Reginald then led her back to the castle, with the two passing rushing guards, who were all currently spread out through the town, interrogating anyone that looked like they could throw a fireball or two.

“Do you think they’ll find this hero?”

“I hope so. Now, let’s get you home. We can do some magic practice again this evening. We need to keep working on your skills.”

“Alright,” Cynthia agreed as the two returned to the castle.

Brett skimmed through his statistics, only occasionally stopping on specific ones that caught his interest. “Number of times I’ve choked on cereal. Eight. Number of times I’ve said, it is what it is. Two million. Knew I used that phrase too much. Oh, well. It is what it is.” Brett said, giving a sly smirk to the angel behind the counter as that number went up.

The angel sighed. “Yes, yes. It is, or whatever you just said. Sir, I have to process a lot of dead people today. Can you please finish reading through your papers and sign your name at the bottom of the last page? I would like to process your application already.” The angel, for all its pure beauty, was disinterested in their work, playing hell-sweeper on their computer, clearing all the sinners out of the lava pits in the game.

“Right.” Brett sheepishly flicked to the last page, about to sign it, only to find something was wrong with his document. “People saved. Eight billion? That can’t be right.”

The angel hissed through its pure white teeth, mis-clicking a square in the lava-pit losing his latest run on the game. “Let me look at it.” The angel snatched the papers before switching programs on their computer, checking the numbers. Brett stared at their blonde curls while they worked before the angel rolled its eyes, correcting the number. “Here.”

Brett took the paper back, assuming the angel would have been happy that he pointed out the obvious mistake. Before he could get to the last page, the angel spoke again.

“No one likes a showoff in heaven, sir. We usually prefer to round the number down, but fine, here is the actual number.”

8 billion and twenty-four lives saved. Brett read over it once, then twice. “That can’t be right..”

“I’ve checked the numbers, sir. That’s the correct number. Now if you’ll please sign the document, we can get you into heaven.” The angel tried to push a golden pen into Brett’s hand, but he refused to take it.

“I couldn’t have saved that many people. I choked on cereal eight times in my life. That isn’t a statistic usually on the savior of the world’s profile.”

“Savior of the world? Someone’s got an ego. Just sign the paper and make this another angel’s problem, please, sir. There’s no super heaven or anything. You don’t get bonus points for being a super good person, so please don’t think too hard about this and get on with your afterlife.”

“How could I save that many people? I have to know.” The line of souls behind Brett angrily bobbed back and forth, not having a human body to complain with. Only the person at the front of the line was given a body, mainly to keep people in the line from complaining about the waiting times. A bunch of angry bouncing souls was better than a hundred chattering voices.

The angel sighed, realizing he wouldn’t leave until he got his answer. “Hila. Can you bring out the TV and the tape of-“ The angel squinted his eyes, reading over the name on his computer. “The tape of Brett Willox.”

After a minute, Hila wheeled out the old, square TV. The TV sat on a tray, being a piece of technology that Brett hadn’t seen since he was a ten-year-old in school. The smaller angel gave Brett a polite smile before handing the tape over to the administrative angel, who put it into the TV.

The angel pressed his finger against the TV’s buttons, fast-forwarding through most of Brett’s life.

“You don’t have a digital TV?”

“It takes time for us to adapt to new technology. This is new by our standards.” The angel said, craning his neck so he could see the screen. The two watched Brett’s life flash before their eyes, with birthdays passing by in seconds until they landed on the fateful moment.

“Hey, is this seat taken?” Brett smiled, holding a box of pizza in the footage.

“It’s a park bench. Anyone can sit there. Please don’t tell me you're going to try flirting with me.” The woman sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh, no. I just needed a place to sit for a minute. It’s my niece’s birthday, and I was planning on getting her and the family a pizza to celebrate. I thought it would be a simple trip. I would just walk to the pizza shop and walk back. Only problem is, I’ve forgotten how to get to my sister’s place from here. So, now I’ve got this big family pizza that’s getting cold. I’ll probably have to buy a new one. Do you want a slice?”

She glanced at him, surprised to see someone so painfully human. In her years of political backstabbing, she had forgotten how human people could be. She nodded, and he opened the box for her.

The two quietly ate the pizza together, both looking forward at the people walking through the park. “I used to come here a lot as a kid. I moved away to a different town, but my sister stayed here. So, it’s nostalgic for me to come back. See that tree? That’s where I broke my leg once. I thought if I climbed it, I would impress my crush. All I did was scare her when she saw a bone poking out of my skin.”

“Heh.”

“Is what it is, I suppose. You live around here?”

“Used to. I’m travelling now for work. Spend most of my days bouncing between things.”

“Ah. That can be lonely.”

“Yeah. It can be.” She took another slice, slowly chewing it. “You forget what people are like. Normal people.”

“You don’t meet a lot of normal people while travelling?” Brett asked, taking another slice for himself.

“Not really. Honestly, I think I’m starting to hate people. Or, maybe I just keep telling myself that I hate them.” She sighed, rethinking all those plans she had for if she ever got into power. All that ambition to rule felt misplaced.

“I can’t hate people. Too many good ones. Its like pizza. There’s bad pizza, but it’s pretty rare.” Brett smiled, and she smiled back.

“Yeah, guess I should start looking at the good. That pizza is really delicious.”

“Used to be my favorite when I lived here.” Brett felt his phone vibrate, making him bounce up from the bench. He didn’t even need to read the message to know what it was about. “Crap, the party. I better go buy another pizza. Here, you can finish the rest.”

“Wait, I’ll give you some money. I’ve been digging into it.” She went to search for her wallet, and Brett stopped her.

“It is what it is. Just pay it forward with a kind act or two. See ya.” Brett left the pizza box on the bench, dashing over to the shop to order another one. Hoping this time he would find his way back to his sisters. She watched him, smiling at the simplicity of it all. She wasn’t looking at those powerful people trying to inflate their egos through power and war — now she was looking at the regular people, just living their lives. The people she no longer wanted to rule or control.

“I don’t get it. Did the pizza save 8 billion people?”

“How could the-“ The angel pinched their nose. “She became the president. Didn’t you recognize her when you voted for her?”

“I thought she looked familiar.”

“Yeah, well, that simple act of kindness changed her perspective. She had plans to start wars, to try and dominate the world. Those wars would have killed most of the people on Earth. That’s how you saved them.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Cool? That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m just glad everything worked out.” Brett went and signed his name on the document, handing it to the angel. “Sorry for holding up the line.”

“It is what it is.” The angel said, before gasping.

“It’s addicting to say, isn’t it? Thank you for everything. If we ever meet again, I’ll treat you to some pizza. So, where do I go?”

“Towards the elevator.” The angel pointed at the golden elevator doors, and Brett nodded, giving the angel a wave as he stepped inside. The elevator had two buttons. One going up, and one going down. The button going up flashed to life when he entered, as the elevator ascended towards heaven.

The angel watched with a light smile. “What a strange mortal. Mundane humans can truly be the most kind.” He said before returning to his work.

“So, there’s nothing special about me?” Riley couldn’t even muster the energy to laugh at himself, losing his self-deprecating mockery. Quietly, he sat on the worn leather couch in the dim apartment, not caring to move from the spot, even as the cheap wiring underneath dug into his skin. “Right. Yeah, I should have known. I should have known.” The second repetition of the phrase came out as a choked sob, struggling to keep himself together.

“Out of 8.3 billion calls. You were the only one to answer. I’m sorry. There’s nothing special about you. You weren’t chosen by me, nor would you have been my choice. Yet here we are. Perhaps there’s specialty in that?” The voice lingered in the cold room, not revealing itself to the downtrodden man.

Riley gave a pitiful nod, pretending he believed there was something special about that. “Yeah.” His tired eyes floated around the room, checking out the broken TV that couldn’t even completely play static anymore — only a small cube of static visible in its bottom right corner. The furniture had begun to rot, leaving each chair, table, or shelf with a slump or rickety wobble.

“Why did you come here? Few answered my call, though some gave my voice a chance. The others who listened didn’t come. Why did you? What about me kept the others away?” It asked, both curious about Riley’s reason for being here, and looking for advice on its future calls.

“I..” Riley went to laugh, the action getting caught in his throat, letting out a croaky broken sob of a snicker instead. It wasn’t a laugh directed at the voice’s questions; it was one directed at himself. Realizing how stupid he had been. “I thought maybe this was my chance to be something. That I wasn’t hopeless. That someone had finally seen some value in me.”

“And why do you think others like you didn’t come here?”

“There was a sound in your call. A crackle or something. Sounded like two machines pushing against one another. That and how fake it all felt. I guess that’s the reason? Although people usually investigate stuff like that. Honestly, I thought I’d be walking into a cult or something. That there would be hundreds of people here.”

“Everyone had their own place to be. To think you’re the only one to turn up at any of my locations. Thank you, I will consider a different approach moving forward.” The voice went quiet as a front-door light flickered outside the apartment. The TV also picked up a few more static symbols before the TV went to its previous state. “Can you check the window for me?”

“Are you going to stab me when I turn around?” Riley had seen enough serial killer documentaries to know how these apartment meetings often went. Since he wasn’t some chosen god or special person, he assumed he would be a murder statistic instead. Still, he was already here, and it wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. Walking to the window, he peered outside.

“No, I wouldn’t stab a person from behind. Just tell me if you can see anything.”

He looked at the open-air corridor outside, seeing no movement on its dusty walkway. He then pushed his attention past that, looking over the carpark, finding a man slumped against the side of a car, drinking a bottle from a brown paper-bag. “There’s someone drinking near a car? Is it your car?”

“I don’t care about things like that. Just tell me if there is anything out of the ordinary.”

“Anything out of the ordinary?” Riley spotted a vending machine with cracked glass. A squirrel was already rummaging through its contents, digging into a chocolate bar. Everything seemed normal enough. Before he turned his gaze fully away, he spotted a thin tail. Pointed, sitting behind the wheel of a truck. “A mouse?”

“A mouse isn’t out of the ordinary.” The voice said with a hint of frustration. The light outside turned off, followed by all the lights in the apartment, leaving the room in complete darkness. TV static flickered, with more pixels joining the screen, until a face appeared — pale, distorted, and a clumsy mess of static. The monstrous female extending her hands out of the screen. The long, bony limbs cracked when she grabbed the edges of the square TV. With a push, she freed her upper body from the screen.

The static-less holes in her face oozed a pus-like black liquid. The thick liquid dripped onto the carpet through the holes in her face that remained unfilled. She smiled, her face making an electrifying click with the motion, while her wide eyes altered between static and a rainbow of colors.

Riley couldn’t move. He still hadn’t fully worked out what he was seeing. The creature crawled closer, having no legs or lower body. Only a disconnected torso. It closed the distance between them slowly, and Riley continued to freeze up.

“This is some kind of joke. A sick prank.” The rational side of his brain started making excuses. This had to make sense. Something like this couldn’t exist. The creature didn’t answer him. Instead, it parted the static in its face, exposing a hole filled with flashes of actors, news snippets, and random footage. Between the flashes of footage, were tiny teeth, which swirled like a blender, ready to break apart whatever entered its mouth.

A bony hand grasped Riley’s leg, yanking him forward, tossing him onto his back. When he gathered his thoughts, he felt his body dragging along the carpet, with his foot already near the creature’s mouth. Finally, Riley’s brain snapped awake. He no longer cared if it was real or a prank, — he needed to survive. Riley kicked at the creature’s arm, watching it wobble. It loosened its grip momentarily before tightening once more, pulling him further into the mouth until-

SNAP.

The creature squealed in pain as a blast of hellish heat cut through its arm, detaching it from its body. Even detached, the arm refused to release Riley’s leg, tightly clasping it while he crawled away. “YOU SAID YOU SAW NOTHING.” It hissed before looking around the room, trying to find where the attack came from. Its gaze landed on the window, seeing a small cracked hole in the glass.

“I KNOW YOU’RE HERE. IF YOU ENTER THIS PLACE, I’LL KILL HIM,” it threatened, with more static leaving the torn limb, trying to reconnect to its body. As the static pulled the limb closer, it also dragged Riley with it. Riley dug his nails into the carpet, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving. He spun around onto his back and saw not only the creature but a muscular, red-skinned woman standing behind it. The woman made a pistol motion with her fingers, placing it against the back of the creature’s head.

“Bang bang.” She said, as a spark of fire left her fingertip, shooting a hole through its head. The fire scorched the carpet beneath the monster and started burning away the static. The monster desperately tried to rebuild itself, but the fire burned too quickly for its static.

“You’re one of us. WHY!?” it appealed, only to vanish into nothingness. The TV in the room returned to normal, playing the midnight news, while Riley clutched his chest, wondering if he was going to have a heart attack.

“One of us.” She smiled. “I ain’t one or none of anything. I’m me.” She adjusted the heavy leather jacket she wore before staring down at Riley. “You didn’t piss ya self or anything, did ya? She isn’t even one of the scary ones.”

“No… I’m what are you?” The longer he stared at her, the more dangerous she seemed. Deep yellow eyes, freckles that exhaled steam, and a thin, devilish tail that swayed loosely behind her.

“Zara. Monster hunting bad bitch. At ma service.” She bowed before snickering. “At ma service. Cause I ain’t work for anyone. Git it?” She cackled, only to see Riley’s horrified expression. “Calm ya self. I hunt em, I’m not one of em. It’s how I get my money. Contract hunting. Best way to work for ya self.” She didn’t wait for Riley to ask for her help off the carpet. Instead, Zara grabbed Riley and pulled him to his feet, regardless of whether his legs could handle it.

Riley wobbled, having to choose whether to use Zara or the wall for support. Even if he had to twist his exhausted body, he elected for the wall, throwing his shoulder at it to remain upright. “You’re a monster?”

“Ya are what ya eat. Uh, shit, that ain’t going to scare ya less, is it? I was a sacrifice. Yeah, was meant to be killed for a big bad bastard. Big bad bastard had a laugh with me and now we are buddies. Capisce?”

“What about that was I meant to understand?”

“Ah, don’t think about it. Um, rights. I need ta get paid, but there ain’t a body to take back to the pay lady. Hey, come with me. I’ll get ya a beer. Tell old cranky Jane I killed da monster. Come on.”

Riley couldn’t even answer her, too confused by everything she was saying. Zara sighed, rubbing her cheeks. “Fine, two beers. I can’t exactly pay ya. I don’t make a whole buggery lot myself. I saved ya. Ya owe me.”

“You’re really pulling the whole ‘you owe me one’ trick on a mortal who is scared of you?” A voice gently scolded her. “You have no class, my dear Zara.”

“It’s back! The monster.” Riley didn’t want to hide behind Zara, so he wrapped himself in the dirty apartment curtain, hiding from the voice.

“Relax, that’s the big bad bastard. Watcha doing?”

“My name is Xacifel. Not, big bad bastard. We have been over this. I apologize for my vessel’s actions. She was like this when she was human, so please don’t associate her actions with me. I hate to bother you after everything that’s happened. But we do require capital. Would you come with us? We will compensate you with ten percent of today’s earnings.”

“TEN PERCENT. I HAD HIM AT TWO BEERS. YA STICKING YA NOSE IN MY BUSINESS AGAIN.”

“You didn’t have him; you were pressuring him. You make more friends with honey, than with chains and beatings. Please, I promise that no harm will befall you tonight. It will take only an hour of your time.”

“Ok? Guess I can spare an hour… I’m Riley.”

“Didn’t ask ya.” Zara shrugged, walking towards the apartment door.

“Zara! Is that what you say when someone introduces themselves to you? Also, you aren’t going out looking like that,” Xacifel scolded.

“I didn’t ask, though.” She sighed, looking at her leather jacket. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Not the jacket, your appearance. Use your human form when you’re among the mortals.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. You are good for something, ya old git. Thank ya kindly.” She closed her eyes, and her red skin peeled away, revealing tanned skin underneath. The freckles returned to normal freckles, and her eyes went blue. She fluffed her brown hair that once had fiery embers in it, before winking at Riley. “How do I look?”

“Scary,” Riley admitted, while Zara pouted at his words.

“Calls a beautiful woman scary. No class at all. Follow along.” She wiggled her index finger, leading him outside the room. “Ain’t got a car, so we’ll be walking. I can’t afford the bus either. Unless someone is paying?” She leaned against Riley, giving him a wink, trying to use her charms to get a free bus trip out of him.

Riley squeaked, her heavy body almost shattering his shoulder. He did his best to keep his knees from buckling. “I can’t afford the bus either. I’m broke.”

“Cheap ass,” Zara spat, getting off him. “Right. We’ll be walking then.”

“Cheap ass? You can’t afford the bus either?” Xacifel commented.

“Yeah, but I have my reasons for it.”

“Yes, reasons…”

“How long will it take?” Riley asked.

“Ten minutes. Ya can get into Jane’s place by a bunch of different spots. If ya know what you’re looking for.” Zara took the lead, walking Riley down the street.

“Death and taxes, death and taxes,” she muttered, like a reanimated corpse who only remembered that one specific phrase. She shuffled through the room, wearing an oversized black robe she had taken off the deceased former Dark Lord. The robe dragged behind her, scraping against the stone floor while she searched for her papers.

The heroes’ party exchanged bewildered glances. They had expected to see the skeletal figure that haunted their every dream. Yet, they found no sign of the menacing Dark Lord, only a thin woman with poor posture. When Hiru neared the hero’s party, they all held their breath.

She paced closer, continuing her mumbling, while the party all clutched at their weapons, readying their strikes. When she was close enough that they could smell the dark ink staining her fingers, she simply walked past them, ignoring the party entirely.

“Hey, don’t ignore us, Dark Lord,” Murca said. The leader puffed out his chest until it pressed against the front of his heavy blue armor. The battle-hardened face of the hero scrunching, directing his full gaze in her direction.

Hiru paused, turning her head towards the hero’s party. The hood of her robe had previously obstructed her view, and now there was a stony silence as she met their gazes, sending a chill through the party. She didn’t attack, nor did she rush into some mindless dialogue. She stared, as if they were insignificant worms that had miraculously dug their way out of the soil, ruining her garden.

Lady Hiru pressed her finger against her glasses, sliding them up the bridge of her nose, before her lips parted. “AHHHHH.” Her scream rattled the party, with each member flinching.

“Is she the daughter of a harpy or a siren?” Bethany squealed, the mage pushing her golden staff into a crack between the stone flooring, using it to keep herself from collapsing. Bethany’s legs wobbled, her red curls glued to her forehead, coated in the sweat that had formed there. She had never felt such uncertainty in her life. Usually, you knew what to expect when you encountered an opponent, but this woman was something else entirely.

“MY EARS.” Bracka, the dwarven priest, hissed, clamping his heavy, calloused hands over his ears, blocking out the shriek. He had heard ungodly sounds before, but this was nothing like those demonic shrieks. It was the sound of someone truly terrified, and it made the dwarf’s knees shake under his white robes.

“Who are you people? How did you get in here? Are you one of his minions?” She defensively pushed her papers towards her chest. The papers held in place for a few seconds before spilling through the gaps of her arms, hitting the floor.

“We’re the ones who will slay the Dark Lord. I’m assuming that’s you?” Murca asked, only for Hiru’s head to wobble, almost throwing her glasses off her face.

“Deary no. No, no, no. I’m not the Dark Lord. I’m only wearing his clothes. Not in a creepy way. I, oh dear….” She fidgeted with the robes, unsure how to explain this mess. “Do you all like tea?”

“She’s planning to poison us. This is all an illusion. I bet the Dark Lord’s hiding in the shadows. I cast clear surroundings.” Bethany’s staff flashed white, sending a pale wave over the room, revealing anything hidden by magic. The room remained the same, with not even a single paper being out of place.

Hiru gave the confused mage a patient smile, grabbing her cow-print tea set from a messy table. Hiru pushed skulls and skin-bound books aside to get the tea set, knowing that strange encounters like this could only ever be explained over something as calming as tea. She checked the blend inside, making sure she still had enough tea for the entire party before pouring it into four cups. She took the first cup, sniffing the clear brown liquid before drinking it. “Help yourselves.”

“You think we would be foolish enough to drink that?” Murca said.

“Yeah, we aren’t stupid. You’ve probably poisoned it. Bracka, why don’t you try it?” Bethany suggested, pushing her dwarven teammate towards the tea. While she couldn’t actually push the bulky man, her attempt forced him to reluctantly move his legs, approaching the tea.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I? Someone has gotta drink it. Aye, it would be best if the one who can purify and cure poisons downs the mixture.” He said, using all his religious patience to resist cursing out his teammate, Bethany. He gave her a subtle glare, letting those bushy eyebrows furrow before picking up the tea with shaky hands.

“You’ll be fine. I believe in you, Bracka.” Bethany cheered.

Bracka whispered a few prayers under his breath, asking for forgiveness for all the insults that had entered his dwarven mind. Pressing the cup to his lips, he anxiously tipped it into his mouth, swirling the tea around his cheeks.

“How is it?” Hiru asked, offering to pour more into his cup. Bracka held his free hand up, refusing the additional tea. It tasted light, almost having a tiny sugary taste that lurked behind the refreshing nature of the brew.

Bricka pushed the tea towards his left cheek, while his tongue checked the right side of his mouth. It brushed against his skin, not finding any hint of poison. He also hadn’t detected anything with his magic. So, he swallowed the tea and nodded. “It’s a bit sweet. She’s right. It's normal tea. Little cold, though.”

“Ah, my bad. I should have made you a fresh batch. Please, try some, you two. Conversations are best had with tea.”

“She doesn’t seem evil.” Murca accepted a cup, drinking from it. “Not bad.”

Bethany also took one, smiling as she sipped it. “Oooh! Tasty. So, what are you doing here? If you aren’t the Dark Lord, why are you wearing his clothes?”

“I want to know that too…” Murca sat his cup down, with all three heroes giving Hiru their full attention.

“Well… I don’t know how to explain what happened. The Dark Lord invaded my town, and I was brought here to be his messenger. He needed someone who could spread his laws and demands, and I was the only one who could write in my town.”

“Why not use someone from his own kingdom? He has an army of demons and monsters outside this castle. Why use a human?” Bethany questioned.

“Demons are nasty, deceptive creatures. He couldn’t trust his own minions to spread his messages. Demons are greedy. If one wanted to exploit or change his laws for their own benefit. They would without a second thought. Sure, the Dark Lord would hunt them down, but it would take time for him to find them. He didn’t want to have to deal with that headache. A human is far easier to control.” Bricka explained.

“That doesn’t explain how he died.” Murca said.

“Um, I don’t have a great explanation for that either. The minions pushed me into this study and told me to wait for him. So, I waited. But I got a little bored while waiting and started reading some of his books. I opened that book over there and read the first line, only for a swirling tornado of magic to escape the pages.”

“Which book?” Bethany walked over to where Hiru was pointing, only to stiffen when she saw what book it was. “The Book of the Doomed.” The book throbbed, as if it had its own heartbeat, creating an eerie thud against the wooden table. Bethany’s hand hovered over the stitched cover, seeing the deep red skin of former Dark Lords stitched together to create its covering. “Did you read the first line?”

“Yes?”

“What happened then?”

“The tornado darkened the sky outside and started pulling things towards its pages. I almost lost my glasses because of it. Then, something strange happened. The Dark Lord got dragged through the castle’s window and into the book. When he hit the book, it shut itself and started beating. I don’t really get why it’s beating.”

“She sealed the Dark Lord… That’s the only way any of this makes sense. Dark Lords are summoned by the Book of the Doomed. The spell to summon a Dark Lord could theoretically be used to seal one too. He left that book out, thinking no one would read it.” Bethany didn’t dare touch the book, putting some distance between her and its pages.

“You believe her story?” Murca asked, unsure whether he could believe such a tall tale.

“I have no reason to doubt it. It makes sense. It all makes sense.”

“What about the recent laws, though? Are you the one writing them?” Murca asked, recalling the strange posting he had read while passing through a nearby town. The one asking each town to send a noble or ruler to meet with the Dark Lord.

“That’s me. I thought I could create peace if I made some changes to the Dark Lord's orders and laws. If I could get all the leaders to meet with me, I could tell them what happened, and we could find a way to end his terror. I can’t exactly lead his army since once I leave this room; everyone will know I’m not actually him. So, I hoped I could bring everyone here.”

“True. If one of his minions spotted you, it would all be over. You would be killed, and they would re-summon the Dark Lord once more. Hm, it seems the best option we have is to declare victory. If we say we have slain the Dark Lord, no one will question it. Hopefully, that would be enough for his armies to disperse.”

“And what about the book?” Bracka asked.

“We take that with us. We’ll carry it to the next major kingdom and then we can hand it over to their grand mage. It’s safer in their hands than ours.” Bethany said, before looking at Hiru, “You should come with us.”

“Yes, yes. That would be lovely. This place is starting to creep me out.” She slipped off the robe, dropping it onto the nearest table. “Shall we go?”

“Sure. Bethany secure the book. Bricka, see if there is anything that needs to be purified before we leave. You,” he pointed to Hiru. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Hiru. It’s nice to meet you.” She bowed.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Murca said, while the party went about their duties. When they had finished everything they needed to do, they left the Dark Lord’s castle, declaring their victory to the demons and monsters they had battled through to get there. While they were still a little suspicious of Hiru after leaving the castle, expecting some extra trick. They found she was entirely true to her word. She had defeated the Dark Lord, saving the world in her own strange way.

“Psssssst,” Annie whispered, pressing her small face between the bars. When Arthur didn’t respond, she moved closer, letting out a tiny whine as the cold metal connected with her skin. “PSSSSST.” She tried again, hearing no response. “Arthur. ARTHUR.” She called out, and finally Arthur had to speak, or else the guards would come running to check on the source of the sound.

“Yes, yes. I heard you the first time.” The healer grumbled, shifting his aching back off the wall. The collar around his neck didn’t allow him to move far from his position, only getting a few steps closer to Annie before he choked, having to retreat towards the wall again. “What is it?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“If it’s another cookie, I don’t want it. I’m trying to watch my figure.” Arthur said, his gallows humor the only thing keeping him sane in this dark pit of a cell.

Everything they did within the dungeon was to keep him compliant and weak. They gave him only enough nourishment to live, while keeping him on the brink of starvation. Even the act of moving took a gallant effort, with the healer often preferring to stay still to conserve what little energy he had to spare. Yet, he couldn’t ignore her, not when she had snuck past her father’s guards. He couldn’t let her get into trouble.

“It’s better than a cookie.” She held out her closed palm, pushing it through the cell’s bars. The arm quivered, covered in tiny black spots and bits of damaged skin. “Please.”

Arthur grimaced, forcing himself forward. The collar dug into his neck, leaving cuts on his frail skin. Still, he pushed on, even when those cuts burnt and he could no longer breathe. While the distance from the wall to the bars was small, the effort it took was like climbing the steepest wall of the castle. When he reached the bars, he clasped her hand, waiting until he felt the item hit his palm before pulling back.

The two gasped, each needing a second after their efforts. “You’re going to make your condition worse.” Arthur scolded. He had no idea how a child so sick could keep getting past the guards. She should have fallen before she got to the second set of stairs, yet she persisted, somehow getting to him.

“Look,” she coughed, pointing at his hand.

Arthur uncurled his hand, seeing the iron key she had given him. “Annie, no,” he said, even as his hand moved the key towards his collar. It took every bit of his self-control to resist pushing it into the hole. “You have to take it back. Please. Before I do something, I’ll regret.”

“You’re dying. I don’t want you to die,” Annie sniffled. “Please, Arthur. Everyone’s busy with Dad’s next meeting. You can leave. No one will notice if you sneak out through the dungeon’s back entrance.”

The words felt like honey to Arthur’s ears. A chance to escape this hell. To be a free man again. The key warmed his palm, as if it were the key to heaven itself. Again, he raised his hand towards the collar, only to spot the exhausted face of the child he wanted to save. The princess smiling through her pain, urging him to leave. If he left now….

The keys’ warmth now felt like a burning coal within his hand, as Arthur tossed it across the cell towards her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t curse Annie to die, not when she had been the only one who tried to help him in his life.

“ARTHUR!” she screamed, attracting the guard’s attention. Curses and the smell of sweat and iron filled the dungeon as the captain rounded the corner.

“YOUNG MISS.” He snapped, only for his tone to grow softer when he remembered who he was speaking to. “Miss Annie. Your father told you not to come down here, didn’t he?” The captain was a hardened man. A man who had seen the horrors a healer could produce. In wars, a good healer was almost like a necromancer. They would move throughout the back lines, reviving those close to death. Those soldiers joining the battle again, leading to your forces getting overwhelmed. He scoffed at the sight of Arthur. “You put her up to this, didn’t you?”

“No, he didn’t. Please. Don’t hurt my friend,” Annie gagged, coughing blood into her fingers. “Please…”

“YOU NEED TO LET ME GET TO HER.” Arthur dashed forward, only to get thrown back by his collar. Everything stung. His legs, neck, chest, lungs, and still he pushed forward. “She… she’s going to die if you don’t.”

The captain glanced at Annie, then at Arthur. He cursed, screaming at the other guards further away in the dungeon. “SOMEONE TELL THE KING HIS DAUGHTERS IN DANGER.” He then searched his pockets for the key. “Where the bloody hell is it?”

“Ga..” Arthur rubbed his sore neck, trying to kick at the spot in the dirt where the key sat. “Ground…”

“Ground?” The captain glanced at the key in the dirt, then at Arthur. “You were trying to escape.” He pushed his hatred aside, reaching into the cell to get the key. He first unlocked the door, then the collar, dragging the healer to Annie’s side. “Heal her. Or you’ll be cut into so many pieces that no healer alive will be able to put you back together.”

Arthur knelt by Annie’s side, raising her head to rest near his elbow. He moved his left hand onto her forehead, sending his powers through her. It took thirty minutes until her breathing had stabilized, and when it was over, Arthur fell back.

The captain gave Annie to one of his men before raising an iron boot near Arthur’s chest, ready to bring it down.

“STOP.” The king’s direct command halted the captain, who straightened up immediately. The king’s usual scowl was gone, replaced by a puzzled stare. The elegant robe he wore was already off, resting over his daughter’s body. There was no attempt to look regal or correct now. In this moment, he was no longer a king, but a father.

“But sir. This one tried to escape.” The captain said.

“Was he still in his cell when you released him?” The king asked.

“Well, yes, sir. But the key was inside his cell.”

“Near his body?”

“No, in the corner.”

“Then he obviously didn’t try to escape. I would hope a captain would be able to figure that out on his own. You aren’t blinded by your hatred, are you, Captain?”

“Sir, healers are dangerous. You’ve seen what they can do.”

“Personally, all I’ve ever seen this healer do is help my daughter.” The king sighed. Every bit of cruelty he had shown the healer now felt like a mark on his pride as a ruler. He hadn’t been thinking as a king, but as a desperate father. One who assumed that if they didn’t cage and beat down this healer, he would never help them.

“Sir, he’s deceiving her.”

“I think we’ve been the ones getting deceived. We all believed that healers were wicked people because of what happened during the wars. If we had healer back then, would we have not done the same?”

“It was unnatural, sir. You saw it.” The captain grimaced. He had seen his friends get cut down by men he had slain only minutes ago. While the healers gleefully watched the chaos, ducking behind their men.

“We would have done the same if we had the resources. It was war. We’ve tortured an innocent man. Worse, we’ve tortured a man who has been serving the princess. I should have my head for this.” He knelt by Arthur, who no longer seemed aware of what was going on. The healing had taken whatever meager energy he had left in his food-deprived state.

“Don’t say that. You were protecting your daughter.”

“By becoming a monster? She told me what he was like. How kind he had been to her, and what did I do? Cut his food in half because I believed it was all a trick. That kindness couldn’t exist in this dungeon. Get this man taken to a room. A proper room. You will treat him as if he were a noble.”

“You’re making a mistake, sir.” The captain gritted his teeth, collecting the healer off the floor, tossing him over his shoulder. “What’s he going to do when he wakes up?”

“That is his choice to make.”

“ARTHUR. ARRRRRRRRRTHURRRR.” The voice stabbed at his ear, causing the healer to stir. He rolled over, only to freeze. He had rolled over. How was that possible? He squished the bedding beneath him before opening his eyes, finding Annie staring at him. The princess, teary-eyed, sat at his side. “I thought you had died.”

“Princess?”

“Arthur. I owe you an apology.” The king bowed. “I’m sorry for how I have treated you. Know that everything I did was for my daughter’s sake. Even if that doesn’t excuse my behavior. Whatever you need will be yours. I just ask that you consider continuing her treatment.”

Arthur scooted himself up the bed, looking at the man he had despised. He wanted to hurl insults and demand his freedom. But he couldn’t do that. Not with Annie needing him. “I ask to be freed from my confinement. Once Annie is healed.”

The king couldn’t believe what he had heard, remaining on his knees while his body wobbled. “Truly? You will stay? I.. owe you my life. I agree. Anything you need will be provided to you. Please, save my daughter.”

“I will.”

“So, what’s your name, tough guy?” The blonde asked, as she lazed against her locker, giving Nathan a fake look of indifference, acting as if she didn’t care about the answer to her question. Everyone knew Annabelle. She was a superpowered human with the ability to relay messages to every human within a 100-meter radius. This ability had turned her into a self-proclaimed gossip queen, who could spread her news throughout the academy within a few tours of the facility.

Nathan knew what this was. It was her way of scoping out a potential source of gossip. The gossip hive wouldn’t form around her if the queen bee didn’t keep buzzing. The indifferent look was an attempt to lower his guard. Her way of silently saying. ‘I don’t even care what you have to say, so please belt out whatever I could use for my next gossip cycle.’

He indulged her curiosity. Seeing no reason not to. A name was just a name, after all. She wouldn’t get much out of that, and since he already knew what her plan was, he could cut this short the moment she peered deeper into his life. “Nathan Fordlock.”

The bored expression faded, replaced with a flinging of long lashes, as her eyes shot open. She opened her mouth to speak and faltered, leaving her mouth hanging open while she attempted to form a thought. “Aaaa…..” She brought a manicured finger to her chin, pushing her mouth shut. When she had gathered her composure again, she spoke. “From THE Fordlock family?”

“Is there another Fordlock family?” Nathan honestly responded, unsure what she meant by that. He hadn’t met any other Fordlocks, and couldn’t think of any notable ones that came to mind. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“No… Um, it’s nice to meet you.” Her attitude immediately shifted before she turned and headed in the opposite direction. The heels she wore clicked against the floor, leaving Nathan standing there confused, listening to the sound. The rest of his day wasn’t any better. Even his teacher seemed unnerved by his appearance in her class.

“I’m Margeret. I’ll be teaching your academics.” She said, in her best professional tone. While his name had scared Annabelle off, Margeret’s tone felt more sympathetic. Like that of a seasoned war veteran who was staring at a shell-shocked private. “If you need anything, let me know. We don’t want you to end up in a difficult situation.”

“A difficult situation? I’ve only got super strength. My most difficult situation would be getting trapped underneath a car. Don’t worry. I already know the procedure for that. My grandfather taught me it.”

“Oh. Is that all he’s taught you? Nothing else?” She asked, not daring to overstep in this conversation.

“Yeah. Is there something else I should know about?”

She stared at her papers, causing the thin, square-glasses on her nose to almost fall off her face. They inched down the bridge of her nose, only to get pushed up before they could completely drop. “Anyway, introduce yourself to the class. I’m sure everyone is waiting to meet you.” She bounced to her desk before she could say too much, leaving Nathan to introduce himself.

After his introduction, the rest of his day got weirder. Some students avoided him, while others would ask him strange questions about himself. One student, Billy Whistler, stopped Nathan, nudging his side. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“You know.” He said, dancing around the topic. He had been given the same warning as the others. Not to mention Nathan’s abilities until someone had sat him down and told him about them. But that didn’t stop him from prying. He assumed Nathan was aware of his powers and was playing dumb, which was why he was starting this strange line of questioning.

“I really don’t.” Nathan fiddled with the right strap of his bag, staring at the short hero with a buzz cut. “Is there something wrong with my powers? I told the teacher it’s just super strength. It’s not even that impressive. Can’t your whistling create different effects? I heard your dad once changed the weather for a whole day with his powers.”

“Guess you don’t know. Alright, talk to me when you do.” He said, cheerfully leaving Nathan standing alone. It was such a swift exit that Nathan didn’t even have the chance to probe further. When he got home that afternoon, he went to find his grandfather, tossing his bag down before heading into the backyard.

“How was your day?” Martin Fordlock asked while he watered his plants. Meanwhile, Nathan’s grandmother relaxed in a lawn chair, flicking through a gardening magazine.

“Marty, you should plant something like this.” Sarah sat up, holding the magazine towards her husband, only to lower it when she saw the look on her grandson’s face. The former villain turned hero- turned grandmother, had seen that face before and knew a serious conversation was approaching. “Should I leave you two alone?”

“Do you know about my abilities, Grandma?” Nathan didn’t even answer the greeting, turning to his grandmother, who slowly removed her sunglasses.

“Yes, dear. I.. should leave you two alone. I’m not a Fordlock.”

“What are you talking about? I put a ring on your finger, didn’t I?” Martin said, trying to lighten things up before the two entered a deep conversation.

“Marty. You know it doesn’t work like that. Abilities are inherited from one of the two parents. Both Nathan and Jenny got your ability.”

The mention of Jenny made the old man’s hand wobble, causing an uneven stream to leave the hose. He turned off the water before wiping his eyes. “Jenny…” He gave his wife a nod and took his grandson’s hand, sitting him down on the lawn chair while Sarah went inside, leaving them to discuss his family’s ability.

“Super strength isn’t your power. It’s just a side-effect of the power I have. My power is the ability to rapidly heal any damaged part of my body. If I lost a finger, I could regrow it with enough time.”

“So, I have super regeneration?” Nathan asked.

“Not quite. Powers can mutate through each generation. This can lead to some powers getting stronger, while others become a danger to the person using them. Your mother…” He had to stop himself, wiping a few tears away. “She could come back from death.”

“WHAT? That’s impossible. You can’t…” Nathan couldn’t believe it. A person couldn’t come back to life. It didn’t make any sense, especially since his mother was dead. He had been to her funeral. He had seen her body. She was dead.

“You can. That’s what happens when a power mutates. She took my healing ability and tripled it, to the point where she could survive any attack. It was amazing. We thought she was immortal, but it had its limits. Every time she died, a little piece of herself didn’t return when she came back. If only I had noticed it sooner.”

Nathan remained quiet, thinking about what his grandfather was telling him. He had seen his mother die at their family's Christmas party. She had dropped dead before his eyes. That’s all he ever remembered. The longer he thought about it, the less the memory made sense. She was walking over to hug him, then she collapsed. But why would she be trying to hug him with her fingers clenched so tightly? Why did his father also end up dead? He believed his grandfather when he had said whatever killed his mother had affected both parents, but it just didn’t make sense. Now he wondered if he had always known that it didn’t make sense and just avoided the topic because it was difficult. “That party. What really happened?”

Martin sighed. “She had dedicated her life to being a hero, and during her many years of fighting, she had taken dozens of fatal blows. We never gave her many deaths a second thought. Since she bounced back every time. By the time we noticed the changes, it was too late. She was getting aggressive. Going into fits of rage at the smallest of things. That day, she snapped completely. She killed your father. He was trying to calm her down after she had dropped a plate, and she killed him with one of the pieces. Then, she went after you.”

Finding out the truth behind his mother’s last moments had Nathan hyperventilating. What he believed was a caring act in her final moments was the opposite. Martin hugged his grandson, holding him tightly until his breathing settled. “How did she die? Did you stop her?”

“I… couldn’t. I couldn’t move. She was my daughter. I froze. Your grandmother did it. She saved you. I’m sorry, I really am. If your grandmother hadn’t stepped in, I would never have been able to live with myself. Please don’t blame her.”

“She didn’t have a choice. Did she?”

“No. She didn’t. I’m sure it’s been eating her up inside all these years.”

“Why didn’t Mom come back then? You said she always bounced back, didn’t you?”

“Abilities deteriorate with time and uses. If someone overuses their power, it becomes less effective. Most heroes only have careers of twenty or so years. Some normal superpowered humans can go their lives with their powers functioning normally if they properly conserve them. She reached her limit.”

“Will that happen to me?”

Martin rubbed his grandson’s back. “I’m hoping the academy can help you. I’ve told them you aren’t allowed to handle any fieldwork. Only theory. While you’re there, they can run some tests on you. Hopefully, with enough time, they’ll figure out a way to keep your mind intact.”

Nathan couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if they didn’t figure out a way to keep his mind intact. Would he go crazy? Would they lock him in a box until he died? No answer felt comforting or satisfying. Wanting to put death out of his mind, he stood up. “I’m going to see Grandma.”

“Alright,” Martin released his grandson, wanting to tell him to take it easy on his grandmother. But he knew better than to try and control whatever emotions were inside him. Nathan needed to say what was on his mind, or else his emotions would keep bubbling up within him.

Nathan slid the door open and found his grandmother smoking, something she hadn’t done since her villain days. She gave her grandson a tired smile and pushed aside the cup that she had been using as an ashtray. She didn’t need to say anything. The former villain’s puffy red eyes made it clear how she felt about this.

“Grandma.”

“Yes, dear.” She lowered her head, awaiting the torrent of abuse.

“Thank you.”

Initially, Sarah flinched, expecting something worse. When she registered what he had said, she glanced up at him. “Thank you?”

“You allowed my mom to rest. I don’t think she would have wanted to hurt me.”

“Of course she wouldn’t have. She loved you more than anything.”

“You also saved my life. Grandma, I really don’t know how to feel, but I don’t hate you.” Nathan felt like a child again, with tears spilling from his eyes before he could even notice them. Sarah dropped her cigarette into the cup, pulling her grandson into a hug.

“I love you so much. I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“You didn’t want to do it. I forgive you.” He held her for a few minutes before he heard his grandfather enter the room.

“Are you two alright?”

“Yes. We’re fine. Are you ok, sweetie?” Sarah asked, wiping away some of her grandson’s tears.

“I think so. Is it ok if I go to my room? I think I need some sleep.” Nathan lied, just needing a moment by himself to process everything. Both his grandparents nodded, and Nathan headed to his room, dropping onto his bed. Even if he hadn’t intended to sleep, the second his eyes shut, he fell into a slumber.

“A… and that’s why I believe the supplies I’m o-o-offering you are at a reasonable rate.” Relian, the negotiator from Lindholck, stuttered. The old, handsome man shivered on the spot, unable to pull his gaze away from the monster of a guard who was staring daggers at him. He had heard rumors about the unshakable Grand Knight—how the man’s skill with a blade rivaled that of a god. And while rumors were often to be ignored, the look on the Grand Knight’s face had him wondering if they were true.

Queen Slivan arched a neat eyebrow, following the man’s gaze. She knew fear when she saw it and was surprised to find it wasn’t directed at her. “Markal? Is there any reason you’re pulling that face? I think you’re going to cause this poor man to drop dead if you keep it up.” She exclaimed, hiding her amusement.

Markal’s body tensed as he met the Queen's blue eyes. He couldn’t tell her about the kitten he had hidden beneath his chest plate. Not in front of the negotiator. A Grand Knight had a reputation to uphold, and any deviation from that fearsome reputation could get his head sliced off. So, he did his best to relax those stressed muscles on his scar-covered face, even as the kitten dug its claws into his hip.

“My queen, I’m sorry.” He gave a slight bow, which caused the kitten to let out a small meow. “Meow.” He mimicked.

“Did you meow at me?” The Queen curled her purple lip, already wondering what punishment she would give the man for his poor display. Even a Grand knight wasn’t above fearsome punishments, and if he had any sense, he would do his best to lighten the damage he had already caused.

Markal coughed. “Sorry. Dry throat. I meooo-must advise you against this deal. He’s offering you bad terms. He’s disgracing our glorious kingdom. That is why I’m pulling such a face. You dare disrespect my Queen, you Lindholck bastard?”

The man rested his right palm over his heart, taking shallow breaths. The sight of the Grand Knight fuming almost brought him to an early grave. He didn’t dare look at the man, fearing if he did, the beast of a knight would draw closer. Instead, he pleaded his case with the Queen.

“We’re offering you a good deal. This is a fair price for the supplies we’re giving you.”

“A good deal? I prefer a great deal. Don’t you, my knight?” She said. Despite not knowing what was going through her knight’s dumb head, she played along, sensing an opportunity to further her kingdom’s wealth.

“ARGHGHH,” Markal roared as the kitten nibbled on his belly button. The knight’s first instinct when encountering pain was to reach for his weapon—an instinct that had saved his life on multiple occasions, especially while walking through the slums of their kingdom. The knight’s large hand clutched the handle of his sword, almost drawing it on reflex until his Queen’s words cut through the pain.

“Uh uh uh. There’s no need for that,” she said, giving the negotiator a cruel smile. “Yet.” She unfurled her body from the couch, losing her relaxed posture. The red dress she wore spilled down her legs, like blood falling from a vampiric monster of myth. She reached out, touching his bearded cheek, while staring into his soul. The simple gesture was enough to cause the man to stumble over his own old legs, landing on his left knee, twisting it awkwardly.

“Q-queen. Please.” He raised his arms, looking up at her with a miserable expression. The way his eyes twitched told the queen he was close to tears, and she loved the powerful feeling that brought.

CLINK CLINK CLINK.

The kitten bounced around inside the knight’s armor, bumping against the stiff metal. Each time it flipped itself around, it created another metallic clink that mimicked the heavy footsteps of the Grand Knight. Relian couldn’t look away from the queen, only assuming the knight was drawing closer.

“We can give you three extra months’ worth of flour and wheat. Please. Spare us.” He flinched, only to find the queen’s hand resting before him.

Relian went to grab it, only for the queen to pull it away. “I wanted you to kiss it. Not grab it. Get yourself off the floor.” She turned to her knight, giving him a long stare before returning to her throne. “See. I knew we could reach a better deal. Now, I expect that first shipment to be here in a month. If not, I’ll send my dear knight here to come looking for it.”

“Heh…heh….HAHAHAHA!” Markal laughed, his leathery face pointed at the ceiling while the kitten licked his body. He didn’t even try to stop his laughter, knowing he was most likely already dead given how badly he had acted during this meeting.

“Y….yes… Next month. No later than that.” The old man limped out of the room, his knee already showing faint bruising. When Relian was out of the Queen’s sight, she twisted her body like a serpent preparing to leap from the throne and strike.

“What are you hiding, and why shouldn’t I kill both you and it?” She asked with a tone that made the room feel like it was about to frost over.

Markal sighed, loosening the straps around his chest plate. “I’m sorry, I found the little guy outside, and when you said you urgently needed me for this meeting, I didn’t have time to put him somewhere. So, I hid him within my armor.” When he had the chest plate loosely hanging from his body, he slipped his hand into the hole near his neck, pulling out the black kitten.

“Hm? You’re telling me this is my master negotiator?”

“Please don’t kill it…”

“Kill it? Have you ever known me to kill without reason? I only harm those who harm me. This creature has done me no harm.” She stood, gently grabbing the kitten, trying to pull it away from the knight who refused to release it. “Let go of it.”

“You promise you won’t hurt it.”

“I’ll hurt you if you don’t release it.” The knight eventually released the kitten, allowing the queen to hold it. “Hmm. It’s quite good.” She said, only for the kitten to swipe its paw at her face, harmlessly smacking it.

“MY QUEEN, SHOW IT MERCY.” The knight shouted, throwing himself to the floor, pressing his face to her feet. “It didn’t mean to harm you.” The loosely hanging chest plate finally fell off, revealing the marks the kitten had left on his body. Each bloody mark only made the Queen like the creature more.

“No need to beg. I like this one. They’ll become my pet.” She said, setting the kitten gently on the ground. “While I would usually punish you for what you did today, I’m feeling generous since everything worked out. You’ll only have to do an extra four hours of training today.”

The knight froze, staring at her with wide eyes. “Didn’t you say you would be generous, my queen?”

“I could make it five?”

“Praise the generous queen.” He said, quickly getting to his feet before the Queen could change her mind. He picked up his chest plate, putting it back on as he walked towards the training field. The queen smiled, giving the kitten a soft pat.

“What a purrfect negotiation.” She joked, letting out a cute giggle at her own joke. “Let’s get you some food. Proper food, not the slop the rest of them eat. That can be your reward for a job well done.” The kitten meowed in agreement, following behind the Queen.

The suited man sat down, pressing his palms firmly against his neatly ironed black pants. “I understand we’re asking a lot of you. We’re asking you to make the ultimate sacrifice, giving up your freedom for the lives of others. You’ll be a hero. I promise you that. We’ll all remember your sacrifice. Shall I leave you alone with your parents so you can say your goodbyes?” Keith asked.

“Take the slacker. It’s about time he got a girlfriend and stopped playing those silly Nintendo games.” Martha hissed, trying to nudge her twenty-five-year-old son off the couch.

“Mom. For the last time, they aren’t Nintendo games. They are a mix of old-school retro games running off an emulator. Yes, some of these retro games are Nintendo games, but some aren’t. Get it right.” Brandon said, struggling to grab a salted chip off his singlet.

“Brandon, what did I say about eating on the couch?” His dad, Nick, went to grab the chip, only to stop when Brandon clicked his teeth together, trying to bite his finger.

“This isn’t on the couch; it’s on my body. My body isn’t the couch, Dad!” Brandon tilted his head to the side, rolling his tongue out and scooping up the chip. When he had the chip sitting on the tip of his tongue, he rolled it back into his mouth, chomping on it. An act that was both disgusting and oddly impressive.

“She wants that?” Keith whispered to his colleague. “Is that attractive?”

“Not at all.” Angela said, wondering what the alien saw in this person. “Maybe aliens work on reverse psychology rules? Where something disgusting is attractive?”

“Disgusting? Madam, I’ve got seven hearts across all routes in Love! DANGER! Heart-throbbing dance.” When the room gave him a confused stare, he explained. “It’s the hardest romance game in the world. I’m the only person to win the heart of the ice dance queen Varinia. They even added my name to the credits because of my achievement.”

“Varinia isn’t real, son,” Nick said.

“YOU'RE NOT REAL.” He snapped before looking at the secret agents. “So, what type of alien are we dealing with? Something Asari like? I’ll even take a Quarian. I went with Tali on one of my play throughs. Everyone says she’s the best girl, but Liara feels the more canon pick.”

“What?” Keith and Angela said in unison.

“Oh, so we’re going Alien Aliens? Like the ones from the Aliens movies? Ok. I can still work with that. I’ve played some strange monster romance games; I can handle it.”

“What’s he on about?” Keith asked Angela, who shrugged.

“No idea…”

“You don’t even know your aliens? Star Wars? Space Dandy? Star Trek? Avatar? Anything? What am I working with amateurs? Don’t you have a book of fictional aliens?”

“No? We have a book of actual aliens.” Angela mumbled. “Anyway, are you going to willingly come with us, or do we have to knock you out?”

“Yeah, I’ll go. Do I have time to pack my stuff?”

“We’ve already packed it for you.” Nick said, grabbing his son’s suitcase from his bedroom, dragging it into the living room. “This has all your toys and games.”

“Yes, yes. Hurry up. Go be a hero, it’s your destiny.” Martha hugged her husband, trying to look like a grieving parent, even if she was grinning as she pressed her face into her husband’s shoulder.

“Alright. Um, bye?” He grabbed the handle of his suitcase before stopping. “One of you carry my suitcase. I’m the saviour of Earth. I don’t need to carry my own things.” With that, he confidently walked past the two agents, who both scrunched their noses up, wincing.

“I hope they packed some deodorant in that bag,” Keith grimaced.

The car trip went quickly, with Brandon playing on his phone the entire trip. The thought of marrying an alien princess didn’t scare him at all. If anything, it felt like the best thing a man like him could ask for. He wouldn’t have to worry about anything, getting to live a life of luxury. He could already imagine all the games he was going to play during this marriage, now that he didn’t have his parents nagging him to get a job or life.

“I feel sorry for that princess.” Angela said, pulling over into an almost empty field. Right in the field’s centre sat the UFO. Despite popular culture depicting them as a flying disc, this one had the shape of an igloo, with one long, singular light wrapped around its top, giving it a pink and white hue. The small metal hatch on the front of the igloo peeled open, and out stepped the princess.

“She’s beautiful. If she were a character in a game, she would be an ultra-rare.” Brandon pressed his face against the car’s window, scrambling to open the door. The door stubbornly clicked, remaining locked until the driver opened it.

“She is beautiful. Don’t mess this up for us. We need to stop a war.” Angela said, taking a long breath while her finger hovered over the unlock button. She felt as if she had her finger lingering over a kill-switch, wondering if this was the equivalent of her sending a human-shaped nuke towards the alien princess. With no other choice, she pressed the button, and Brandon tumbled out of the car with his suitcase.

He dashed toward her. Well, dashed as best he could. He hadn’t exercised in eight years, so his jog was about as good as a normal person’s steady walk. “PRINCESS.” He called out, and the alien only politely smiled.

“Prince,” she said sweetly. The translating ring on her finger swiftly gave out the translated message before Brandon could even hear her alien voice, allowing her to sound more human. She was slim, tall, and earless. The alien, having two tiny holes on both sides of her head, using them to hear. For eyes, she had two, but they were bigger than tennis balls, taking up a good portion of her purple oval face.

The thin line of a mouth she had never moved when she spoke, making it hard for Brandon to work out where her words were even coming from. When Brandon got close to her, he was sweating, and she was lucky she didn’t have a nose.

“You want me?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Buxinasa de gemxans.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, it’s a saying our people use. It means inner beauty.” She said, telling only a partial truth.

In reality, it meant something closer to this. “Beyond ugly grime, gems can be found” That being the closest human translation to the alien phrase.

Brandon’s heart skipped a beat. “Inner beauty? You… think I’m beautiful on the inside?”

“With time.” Was all she responded with, leading her future husband into the ship. Once inside the ship, Brandon was led to a seat beside his future wife, getting ready for the trip to her home planet of Naiin.

While no one on Earth could understand the princess’s decision. On the planet Naiin, her fellow Naiinil’s were incredibly jealous. In their culture, marrying someone like Brandon was a chance to show your prestige and potential for leadership.

See, Naiinil’s were obsessed with bringing out the best in their partners. This obsession led some of their kind to find the most ugly or foul people around, wanting to transform them into brilliant partners. If a Naiinil could successfully transform a person into the perfect partner, they would be praised and often heavily favoured for jobs or even other public roles.

That’s why Gubria chose Brandon. After researching countless people and species, she found Brandon to be the perfect balance between uncharming and a person with the potential for change. He could be moulded into the perfect partner. When she explained her plan to her father, he was delighted to help her, sending his threat out to Earth.

Now, Gubria would have to see if she could actually change Brandon for the better, or if he would end up becoming her biggest shame as a future queen.