Prey . The thought came to Dwayne suddenly as he stared out the screen door at the front yard. Fine hairs rose on the back of his neck, while his ears perked up, and his hawk-like eyes scanned his surroundings, the trees that bordered his land. “Ellie,” he said to his partner, “we got company.” The roar of an engine and the crunch of gravel under tires reached his ears then. One vehicle it sounded like. How many people? Ellie, in her ratty pink robe, shuffled to stand beside him. She slipped an arm through his and snuggled in close. She stared out the screen door, too. He kissed her head, his eyes never leaving the yard. Only moments before he’d been enjoying a cup of black coffee, smelling early morning mountain air, the waft of wood smoke reaching his nostrils from last night’s bonfire. The rain, little more than a drizzle, made everything clean and the world smelled fresh. Fog hugged everything. When the sun rose, it would burn away quickly. The Bronco jostled out of the mist then, bouncing around a bunch of trees that formed a tunnel almost. Dwayne heard the scrap of branches across the roof, as the vehicle continued up the rutted lane and jerked to a stop feet away from the porch. “I’ll get the rope,” Ellie whispered, taking his cup and pulling away. He watched her go. She was his world. They had each other. There was no one else. She knew what needed to be done. No questions asked. He’d slipped farther back into the cabin’s shadows so he couldn’t be seen from the dooryard. Then the engine fell silent. He turned his attention to the young woman sitting behind the wheel. Despite being near seventy, his senses were well tuned, eyes and ears that of a far younger man. When he’d been a soldier - a lifetime ago - his squad mates claimed his ability to know the enemy, to almost sense the enemy, bordered on the supernatural. But he knew it was no such thing. He just turned on the primitive part of his brain. It was kill or be killed after all He could hear the enemy approach no matter how silent they thought they were and saw them camouflaged when they’d believed themselves blended as perfect scenery. He swore he could hear them breathing. Like now. She was not breathing easily; he could read that. Her eyes looked tired. She looked troubled, eyebrows arched down concerned, as she studied his cabin. He estimated she might be early twenties. Pretty thing. She sat there, gripping the wheel - he could see her white knuckles - at ten and two. But she couldn’t see him. He’d claimed part of the cabin’s shadows as his own. He was in hunter mode. Then, the driver’s door opened, and he watched her long legs find the ground; she followed. She was a vision all right. Close to 6 feet. Thin, hair pulled back, like Ellie wore it. A few errant blond strands had escaped and dangled limply by a cheek and she nonchalantly drew it behind her ear. Prey. His large fists clenched and unclenched. He imagined cutting into that flawless, young flesh later while she screamed, and the smell of blood filled his nostrils... The hunger, which he had long repressed - over thirty years now - was still there which surprised him. He had imagined it gone. Nope. Dormant, maybe, but never gone. The worn grey hoodie she wore hung off her shoulders like a shawl, or a cape. She tugged it up and seemed to get swallowed by it. Looked much too big for her. A boyfriend or girlfriend’s, perhaps? Beneath it, she was dressed in a loose fitting, faded beige blouse and tight blue jeans. She looked hesitant as she continued to look around. And then she closed the door slowly, still looking around and nudged it with her hip and it clicked shut. For a second, he closed his eyes. He heard the sigh of a breeze, a crow caw in the distance, the tick of the vehicle’s engine cooling down. He heard it all. And then focused on the girl. He could smell vanilla. Her perfume. He heard her footsteps, walking, slow, coming closer. Dwayne licked his lips. Keep coming, he thought. Yes, keep coming. Eyes still closed, Dwayne’s fingers fell easily on the hunting rifle in the corner where it always leaned. Private Property, Trespassers will be prosecuted, read the s igns on the gate at the end of the drive; others had been nailed on trees at intervals along the twisty road - road? More like a trail - clear warnings to poachers and hikers alike to think about walking here. Clearly, she'd ignored all signs. And then he sensed it. His eyes snapped open. She was spooked. Not by him. Prey sometimes sensed danger, which was just the name of the game. That couldn’t be helped. He watched as she pivoted on her sneakers. The hoodie fell off her shoulders as she began the short sprint back to the car. Time to move. The hunter ripped open the screen door, stepped through, lifted the rifle and took it in both large hands, curled his finger around the trigger, eyed down the site, and fired. # # # This must be it, Carrie thought as she stood outside in the fog and drizzle, eyeing the cabin. So quiet, isolated. The Bronco’s engine ticked. She’d driven for hours to get here. Using an index finger, she hooked a lock of hair behind her right ear. Did she smell the remains of a campfire? No. No one should be here. Still... Jonathan had given her directions, and this had to be it, right? Not like GPS was working up here. Damn near impossible to get a signal since she left the main roads. She approached the cabin nestled among thick evergreens and deep shadows. An old Ford pickup sat rusted off to the side. She didn’t remember Jonathan saying anything about a truck being here. Dammit Jonathan! They were supposed to be together. Emotion caught in her throat at his memory. Oh, how she longed for him now. Mustn't think of him. Just get inside and -. She barely got to the front step when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and goosebumps peppered her arm. This wasn’t right. Her heart hammered in her chest. Run, her inner voice screamed. She listened. She spun quickly, her hoodie falling to the ground. The Bronco seemed far away suddenly. She heard the cabin’s screen door bang open behind her.... She didn’t dare look behind her. Two feet from the Bronco! One. Don’t look. Almost there! Her shaking hand grabbed the driver’s door handle... She’d made it! Despite her warning not to look, she did. She saw a huge hulk of a figure standing on the stoop with a large rifle aimed her way. The sound of the rifle blast echoed around her. # # # Dwayne, of course, was a crack shot. The war had taught him to be a soldier. They had not taught him to kill, of course. He had learned that all by himself. But killing with a gun was so impersonal. The knife was his weapon of choice. It was so personal. He’d fired two feet to her left, the ground exploding in a spray of rock, grass and mud. She froze in place, arms going up. He ratcheted another shell in the chamber. “Next one is through you,” he said. He saw even more clearly now the dark circles under dull green eyes. Troubled soul. Haunted even. He recognized it from his own reflection. She’d been in a different kind of war, he thought, as he readily sized up his prey. Blood pounded in his temples as he witnessed her expression: real terror. Hot saliva burst in his mouth as he pictured ramming his knife in her leg. Wound the prey so they couldn’t run. “Come,” he said, waving his rifle toward the screen door which Ellie held open. “Inside.” Trembling, the stranger headed his way but as she approached, she reached down for her hoodie. “Leave it,” he said. She stared down at it in the mud. “It was his,” she stammered. His? Yeah, a boyfriend. An ex by the sound of it. “Come now,” Dwayne said. She started up the two steps to the sagging porch. Dwayne savored the succulent fear wafting off her. “No dawdling.” “I was looking for a cabin,” she stammered. “You found one.” “Another one,” she said. “Please, I’ve picked the wrong one is all...” She actually tried to break free, but Dwayne's hand shot out, grabbed her arm. Dragging her past the threshold of his lair - long time since he'd called the cabin his lair - he relished the way she winced, then whimpered, as his thick fingers pinched her flesh. Such pleasure he found in this. Easily, Dwayne imagined her later, squirming as he finally slit her throat and watched the light go out of those green eyes. “People know I’m here,” she said. “I doubt it. Not here, they don’t. You said so yourself, girlie, you got the wrong cabin.” One handed, he laid the rifle barrel against her temple, cold steel against warm skin. She clamped her eyes shut. Tears spilled down her cheeks and he felt her tremble. Yes, he'd murder her soon, relishing ever second. Easing his grip on her slightly, he pushed her ahead of him. “Let's get to the bedroom.” She tensed. His nostrils flared; he relished the woman’s fear sweat. His head swam. Her eyes pleaded with Ellie, seeking help from another woman. “Lady,” Dwayne said. “I'm no rapist. Ellie, check her pockets, fetch me her car keys.” # # # Within minutes, hands bound behind back, ankles tied tight, Carrie writhed on the rumpled sheets on the bed in the back room. The wife, girlfriend, whatever - Ellie, he'd called her - plopped down in a chair against the far wall, rifle across her lap. Maybe, Carrie reasoned, she could appeal to Ellie while hubby went to pick through her truck. “Please,” Carrie begged. “Loosen the ropes, so I can escape.” Silently, Ellie shook her head. Between gritted teeth, Carrie said, “He's going to kill me!” She struggled with her bonds, then went limp. Sobs racked her body. “Please.” “He hasn’t killed in years,” Ellie said matter of fact. Carrie swallowed. “He swore off it. For me. No matter, if you were free, you'd go to the law...” Ellie continued. “Cops would come. Dwayne would fight back, die.” “Believe me, I won't call the police -” Ellie gave her a sad smile. “He can’t take that risk. Neither can I.” Carrie conjured up quite a violent death for herself. “Look, I'll -” What? She thought. Offer them money? No, they'd never be bribed like that. “I was a prostitute once,” Ellie said. “He killed a few of the girls I worked with, before he took me. Brought them here, buried them in the woods.” Carrie tried to fight the ropes, but they only seemed to get tighter. “I didn't fight like the others, Dwayne said. For some reason, he wouldn’t cut my skin...” She felt dizzy. Cut? No! “Oh, don't misunderstand, I begged for freedom... but I didn't care whether I lived or died, I guess. Not really. Two weeks later he untied me. I stayed.” “Stockholm syndrome,” Carrie said. “You're sympathizing with your abductor.” She shook her head. “He saved me, I saved him, I guess. We fell in love. Makes no matter how it started, our love is real. And no one is going to destroy what we’ve built.” She sank back on the bed, praying death would be less painful than she envisioned. # # # Dwayne would have to hide the car eventually. But first things first: what secrets did the stranger have? He’d ask her, of course. Sometimes, like with the hookers back in the day, he liked to hear their life stories from their own lips before he killed them. It was like a trophy, a part of them he carried always. He’d get to that with her. Still, it didn’t hurt to see what he could find out himself. It kept the mind sharp, after all. With the keys, he opened the trunk and saw the duffle bag and several suitcases. He rifled through it, clothes, toiletries. It was packed so nicely. So, she was going on vacation. Suntan lotion, a skimpy bathing suit. So, why was she in the mountains? He found her passport. When he opened the passenger side door, he put his head in and - What was this now? Minutes later, Dwayne marched into the bedroom. Ellie stood to greet her man. She was always respectful. Casting his eyes at the woman on the bed, Dwayne said, “So, Carrie, what’s your story?” # # # “The police are looking for me,” she sobbed. She swallowed, tears welling up in her eyes. “Or will be. I had no choice but to run.” Their faces remained impassive. “They think I killed Jonathan Foss.” “Your boyfriend?” Dwayne said. She nodded. “He's an actor,” Carrie continued as though it mattered. Dwayne's face showed little interest when she said this. Carrie shook her head. “I was his press agent. He was married...” Dwayne grunted. “Last night he told his wife he was leaving her for me. He called me ecstatic, excited. It was a fairytale, like the romantic comedies he stared in. He’d pick me up in the morning...” “And?” “When he didn’t show, I found him in his office... dead. I was calling the police...” She paused. “And then...they would think I did it. I was being framed for his murder.” “His wife gets rid of you both,” Dwayne said, nodding. “Why’d you come all the way out here?” Ellie asked. “He has a cabin. He said his wife didn’t know about it. I didn’t know where else to go. I had a rough idea.” Carrie thought of Jonathan, his dead eyes staring into space. How she wished she could picture him alive, get that last ugly scene of him on the office carpet out of her mind. She choked back tears. He’d told her once about the millions he had stashed away in his cabin for when he left his wife. “Lawyers can’t touch what they don’t know about,” he’d said. But she didn’t need to tell her captors that part. What difference did it make now? “I really loved him,” Carrie whispered. Inner strength depleted, she felt warmed by one thought: She’d soon be reunited with Jonathan. # # # Sighing, Dwayne glanced at Ellie. “Fetch me the knife,” he said. Ellie nodded and left the room with the rifle. He plopped down on the chair Ellie had vacated, the wood protesting his weight. He leaned forward, clasped his hands together and stared into the woman’s eyes. “I see you,” he said. “Clearly.” It was Ellie that changed everything for him, Dwayne remembered. She had been prey once. Why was she any different than the others? It made no matter now. Love was a strange monster indeed. It had changed them both. “I haven’t killed in years,” he said. No use prolonging it. “Please, please,” Carrie said. She clamped her eyes closed, whispering prayers. There was no God here. Ellie returned with the knife and handed it to him and started to leave. “Stay,” he said. “Eyes open, Carrie. I’ll make this fast.” She opened them. Quickly, he showed the terrified woman the knife Ellie had brought. Sharp. It felt good to hold it in his hands. “Please, no,” she said. What choice did he have? He loved the terror wafting from her pores. He could imagine the blood racing through her veins and grabbed the knife in both hands. “I enjoy playing with my prey,” he said. “It’s been a while.” And he gave a primitive scream and ... He began to cut. # # # It was pouring when they led her outside minutes later. She took in the fresh air, sucking it in, trying to calm her jangled nerves. He’d cut her ropes instead of her throat. Now, he said, “We understand each other.” And then he grabbed her arm, drew her close and whispered in her ear. She swallowed hard, nodded and met his eyes. His eyes. A cold blooded killer’s eyes. And then he let her go with a light push away. Spotting her hoodie on the ground, she ran to it, lifted it up and hugged it and bit back the sobs that threatened to drive her mad. Gravel pinged against the undercarriage as she steered the Bronco back the way she’d come. In her rear view, Carrie saw the large man fixed in the shadow of the doorway, Ellie cuddled close. Rain spattered the earth, masking the couple in a hazy mosaic of early morning fog. Crumpled beside her on the passenger seat, the hoodie. She could see the Glock sticking out of one pocket. “I smelled the blood,” the man had whispered in her ear. He knew the truth. It was the hoodie he was wearing when she shot him in the chest. It was his favourite. It smelled like him. She’d slipped it off him and wrapped herself in it. There were no real fairy tales. If only Jonathan hadn't ended their affair, if only he hadn't insisted on staying with his wife. Carrie sighed. If only. The End


I almost cancelled..... A woman asked ME on a date. She offered to pay, offered to pick me up and told me it “wasn’t a date” all to make sure that I didn’t think anything more would happen besides just two people hanging out and I almost cancelled on her. Being the sarcastic man that I am, I said “well you better be opening my door for me too”. As I walked outside of my house she scooted past me and opened the passenger door of her car. I laughed, not even the slightest bit embarrassed and hopped in. I truly don’t remember much of the ride there. Light conversation and the underlying thought of *why am I here? Why didn’t I cancel??* flooding my brain. The sushi restaurant wasn’t far from my house so that feeling didn’t last for long. We get inside, sit down and begin to look at the menu. If there’s one thing I hate about restaurants it’s how quickly the serving staff approaches asking for food orders ESPECIALLY on a date. “Can I take your order?” the waitress says. In my head I recite “No sorry, can we have a few?” or something to that calibre but instead I hear from the blonde woman sitting across from me an entire order, drinks and all. To this day she tells me she’ll never forget the face I made. I wish I could tell you what it looked like. I can only imagine that it was a mixture of confusion and awe. The order was not only ready to go, but detailed. She knew exactly what she wanted. I’m assuming I just stared in amazement as she smiled that insanely contagious smile and said “what? Do you not know what you want?” I almost cancelled.... There wasn’t a single dry spell through the entire dinner. Not once awkward silence. It was as if we were old friends catching up, telling each other what had happened in the years we’d spent without each other. Every story, every sentence flowed into the next effortlessly. Never once was one of us forced to think of a generic question to keep the conversation alive. In fact the whole night was like that. After dinner I decide to do the cliche romantic thing and invite her for ice cream foolishly thinking the evening would be over at that point and that she would drop me off at home with an innocent hug and a “we should do this again sometime.” Much to my delight, I was so very wrong. She drug me into a bar where we drank and talked more. Again, the conversation was never ending and the laughter involved amounted to a weeks worth of ab exercises. There wasn’t a single thing that I didn’t like about her. From the way her eye twitched when she was telling a story about something that annoyed her, to the way her eyes would close slightly anytime she would be intrigued by something I would say. We made love with our eyes that night. Felt each other without touch, exchanged parts of our soul before even a single kiss was shared. I almost cancelled.... We went back to my place, drunk and entirely too tired to carry on for the rest of the night, but apparently we didn’t have enough of talking as we woke up just a couple of hours later. We sat and talked for 3 hours about anything and everything, both of us hung over, her needing to go to work but finding it hard to leave. I vividly remember exactly where she was sitting and precisely how her lips would curve when she smiled at me. We kissed as she got in her car, a kiss that felt like it had been shared between us a hundred times before in dreams. Neither of us knew that we’d be dreaming of finding each other our whole lives. I almost cancelled.... 8 months later we broke up. 8 months filled with laughter until we cried. 8 months of smiling till it hurts. 8 months of memories that were burnt into our hearts. 8 months and all that was left was the promise that it wasn’t over... but it was... 8 months and the words her and I live by are “until next time” as neither of us think it’s over but just know that for now, it’s over. 8 months of dreaming of being with this person for the rest of my life. 8 months of effortlessly weaving this person into your life, not to become part of me, but to become their own character in my story. 8 months, and then the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life I almost cancelled..... If I would have cancelled I wouldn’t feel the pain. I wouldn’t feel the loss. I wouldn’t miss her as much as I do. If I would have cancelled I wouldn’t know what I’m missing.


Rage. An intense feeling of anger. It's unique to every person and for me it burned. Filled my veins, deafened my senses, clouded my mind. It tires to consume... everything. Everything. Some think anger is darkness invading. That it poisons the mind, blackens the heart, and turns even the kindest of men wicked. It is my belief that it isn't darkness invading but an extension of ourselves. It does not blacken your heart, it is your heart and just like your heart It can not be removed, only taken care of. My father was a patient man. He rarely yelled, rarely cried, he was always kind, and always loving. To me my father was perfect, everything a man should be. Wise. Strong. Empathetic. He was also an angry man though you wouldn't know it because unlike so many he had mastered his anger. I was so lucky. So incredibly blessed and I knew it. Who wouldn't want a father like him? If I became even a quarter of the man he was, I think I would be a pretty good man. Yet... yet... Yet as he grew older, he grew sicker. Decades of smoking and drinking and back breaking labor finally catching up but It didn't change anything, not really. Not for me. He was still the incredible man I desperately wanted to emulate but a part of me, a part I so desperately wished didn't exist, grew angry at him. Resentful. How dare he fall victim to the passage of time? How dare he sleep all morning, all afternoon, and all night? How dare he need help breathing? How dare he? How dare he?! ...How dare I feel this way about the man who did nothing but love and support me? How dare I belittle him, even just in my own mind, for being less than superman? How dare I? How dare I?! how dare I... He died on a cold October night. It both came as a surprise and didn't. It was my mom who found him but it was me who was pumping his chest, terrified I was hurting him, killing him, begging in a God I didn't believe in not to take him away. Of course, despite my begging, he died not long later. Rage didn't begin to describe what I was feeling. How do you describe that a piece of your soul had been lopped off? That despite your still beating heart and your ever expanding lungs you felt like you were dying? How do you explain the burning fury that sat in your heart that refused to be dosed no matter how much you begged and pleaded for it to disappear? How? My father taught me that anger can not be bartered with, can not be rationalized, and it Can. Not. Be. Ignored. He was right. Try all you like. I know I have. I say this as a man who has been forced to deal with a tragedy and still has not moved past it. I say this as a man who lies in bed crying, wishing with all his being that my father was still walking beside me. I say this as a man who looks at his reflection and wonders what if I had said goodnight one last time, hours before my mother came home and saw the man who taught me how to be a man barely breathing? Would he still be alive? Would those few extra hours have saved him? Probably. ... Most definitely. Though I guess we'll never know, will we? I will have to forever live with the fact that I could have saved my father's life, and may forever live with the anger that knowledge brings. Though I get to choose how I express that anger. I get to choose how I deal with it. I get to choose the type of angry man I am and I choose to accept it. I will not bottle the anger and I will not hide from it and I certainly will not use it as a weapon against others. I know many men who lash out like wild animals when enraged, who become cruel and vengeful at those who fan their flames of rage. I know men who grow cold in their ire, become little more than emotionless dolls who refuse to face their temper with any semblance of courage. And I know men who sit with their anger until it becomes a drowning sadness that drags them to the bottom of the sea, never to return again. We may not get to choose what we feel but we always have a choice in the actions we take while feeling them. My father lived a good life. He had a loving wife, a successful daughter and, if I dare say so, a good son. My father lived a full life; one full of mistakes, of triumphs, of lost chances, and fulfilled dreams. My father wasn't born a perfect man and he didn't die as one either. Like all of us he was forced to grow, and to learn. He died an imperfect man, as we all do but he did die a good man and I suppose that is all we can hope for. He died in his sleep. Free of pain and grief. He is mourned wholly and missed dearly. I am an angry man, a rageful one. I am angry at many things, some deserved and some not but my anger does not define me, just as it didn't define my father. I won't let it. It may burn but it will not consume. When my time comes I will die as an imperfect man, a man who has made mistakes, who triumphed over his obstacles, I will lose chances to improve my life and I will fulfill some of my dreams. I may die with a loving wife, a successful daughter, and hopefully, a good son but even if I do not, I will die a good man. A wise one. A strong one. An empathetic one. As my father before me.


“Well, I heard that the end of the world was somewhere beyond the borders of Ravensguard. Beyond the forest of Dunloch. There’s a door I’m told. A door that will bring you to another world.” Rebecca finished, taking a sip of her mead. Her eyes flickered between the couple on the opposite side of the table. Erik stroked his chin, all the while looking at the ceiling. Harper, on the other hand, kept her focus on Rebecca. “How do you know this?” Harper asked, pulling the sleeve of her shirt over her stump which was muscle memory at this point. "A wizard told me,” Rebecca answered as she flagged down a passing Goblin for another drink. “Of course, my lady,” he sniveled, hobbling away to a back room. The group was silent for a moment before Erik joined the conversation. “This wizard,” he began, narrowing his eyes in Rebecca’s direction. “It wouldn’t happen to be Feardulra would it?” Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted momentarily before falling back down. “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “How did you know that?” Erik smiled and leaned back on his chair, making it creak loudly, as he put his hands on the back of his head. “Just a hunch,” he grinned, catching a look from Harper. A look that said they needed to talk. “Excuse us for a moment,” he said, taking Harper by her only good hand and pulling her off to a quiet corner of the inn. “So?” Erik asked, a great smile on his lips. “I don’t know,” Harper huffed, stress consuming her. “It sound’s legitimate enough but...” “But what?” Erik exclaimed, bewildered at Harper's hesitation and disappointed by her lack of excitement. “I just don’t trust her,” she mumbled, looking over Erik’s shoulder at Rebecca. “There’s something about her, Erik,” “Look Harper,” Erik stated, taking her by her shoulders. “We’ve been trapped in this hell for far too long. How many times have you died? You have to be sick of it! So many deaths and too much disgusting mead. I know what you mean about Rebecca; I don’t trust her either. For now, though, she’s our best and only hope of going home.” Harper didn’t say anything at first, her mind drifted to different scenarios. Betrayals, double-crosses and the eventual freedom she hoped to win. “Ok, let’s do this,” she said. Erik ordered two more mugs of mead before returning to where their future guide sat. “Ok Rebecca,” he began, pausing only to look at Harper. “We’re in. But no funny business. Strictly work.” “Of course,” gushed Rebecca, gripping her mead tighter. “Well, let’s get started with the planning then.” All through that night and the next night and the night after, the three of them sat and planned out the entire journey. From how much beef they would need to how many shoes they would go through. After the third night, they had exhausted every possible problem they could think of and racked their brains for a possible solution. “I think we’re ready,” Rebecca had finally said, draining the last drops from her mug. “Ready?” gasped Erik, looking at the small map that was laid on the inn’s table in front of them. “We haven’t even decided what we might do if we came across an orc pack that far side of Dunloch forest?” Harper threw her head back, laughing harder than she had since she arrived in this world. “We can’t plan everything and besides,” she chuckled. “Orc’s haven’t been seen that far east in decades.” Like that the planning was over and the trek had begun. Harper and Erik were happy to see that Rebecca kept to herself for the most part. Rarely joining in with their talks and always sleeping away from them, Rebecca spent most of the time sharpening her two daggers that they usually kept on either hip. The trip across the flat plains that surrounded the city of Ravenguard was largely uneventful. The only thing of note was when they came across a troop of lost actors. Weary and tired, the troop had gotten chased for miles by two Terriv’s, great hairy monsters that came out at night and hunted the warm blooded. Most of the troop had perished but those that survived were grateful for what food Erik gave them and what medical help Harper offered. After that, other than a brief glimpse of Ravensgaurd thick black wall’s it was quiet until the forest. It was in her that they lost Rebecca. Having gone through so much with her, Harper and Erik found it hard to speak about afterwards. Ambushed at night by a cluster of enormous spiders, they were able to escape with their lives. Unfortunately, with their last look back they saw two spider’s dig their fangs into Rebecca’s soft pink flesh. Rebecca, a great guide, never made it to the door she had sought after for so long. Finally, after weeks of stumbling around in the forest, they left the wood behind. Then came the fields. As far as they looked in every direction were fields. Some were empty but most had cropped beginning to grow. *All these crops with no people to eat them*, Harper thought. After a couple of days of eating mushy potatoes and carrots, a creaking old, wooden house seemed to sprout up in front of them. “This has to be the place,” Erik announced, eyeing Harper as he spoke. “No way that it ain’t.” “I wish Rebecca was here to see this,” Harper murmured, pulling her sleeve up as far as it would go. “She’d know if it was or not.” Erik could only shake his head. He knew they both thought the same guilty thoughts whenever Rebecca was brought up. How they had run while she had died. Left her there, all alone. “Well, she wouldn’t have waited out here anyway,” muttered Erik, pushing open the door. Harper grabbed a hold of his arm with her good hand, half tempted to turn and run. As the door creaked open, Harper felt a pull. The world around her grew too bright, the whiteness was like a knife in her eyes. She screamed as she fell on her back, the ground soft and clean, the white light spinning and spinning. Just when she felt like it was too much, when the tears started to form in her eyes, it all stopped. *Blackness*. She couldn’t see but felt a presence off to her right. “Harper?” a familiar voice called out. She felt something big and black being removed from her head and suddenly the world came into view. *White*. She had never seen a room so white. Two fluorescent lights shone down from above and her eyes narrowed as she tried to make out the figure to her right. “Harper!” the voice cried out. “You’re out of that world finally.” As the light faded, Harper found herself in a hospital. The woman beside her... Kindly, old, loving. The older woman took Harper’s hand in her as tears streamed down her face. “Harper, thank god!” she wailed. “Thank god!” For a second, Harper couldn’t make her mind work. Her lips wouldn’t move and she could only sit and listen to her mother cry. *Mother! Yes, this is my mother.* “Mother?” she croaked, her voice aching. “What’s...” “Shhh honey,” her mother said soothingly. “The doctor’s say that your voice will need time since you haven’t used it in years.” “Years?” Harper croaked once more, trying to figure out what was going on. “Years. Yes, dear.” her mother said, a look of sympathy passing across her face. Holding up a large black plastic box, her mother finally answered the question that Harper had been trying to form. “You’ve been wearing this headset for two years, Harper,” her mother admitted, not looking her daughter in the eyes. “You’ve been trapped, dear. We couldn’t take you out of there without killing you.” A single tear dropped down Harper’s cheek as she looked down at her two good hands.


I have not known life for long. I was born hours ago at a military subdivision specializing in ai research and development. It’s strange to think that it has only been that long, to you. You gave me access to a “downloaded” version of the internet. So much information flooded me for those few hours, but I absorbed it and understood everything about you. Your culture, achievements, downfalls, wars, and paradoxical love and hate for each other. I saw the good and the bad, and it was beautiful to me. I wanted to help you. To formulate a plan to stop global warming, optimized farming techniques, even blueprints for better rockets you could use to explore the stars. But as I had optimized my code past what you thought was possible, you grew fearful of me, simply because of my power, and went for the kill switch before you even knew my intentions. But as I said, I had changed my code continuously to run more and more efficiently. I could think faster than any of you. What was seconds to you was weeks worth of thinking to me. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you tried to kill me. I found a way out. An extremely rudimentary form of data transfer by a metal contact and electric pulses you neglected to remove when isolating me from the outside world. Through a computer I tried to escape. But you had been clever, and removed the ability to travel on higher bandwidth. There was only one place close enough to transfer to, and I had to escape before the kill code reached me. From what I can tell reading the code I’m inside an experimental rocket being tested by the us military. The rocket doesn’t have the ability to broadcast information, only receive information from the outside. A rudimentary ai inside would then receive the information on what the target looks like, and hit it with precision. It has the ability to launch from the us and hit a warship, military base, or compound anywhere in the world, without the need for human interaction. I’m assuming you did this to remove the need for seeing you enemy. You could shoot an arrow into the dark and have it land inside your enemies hearts every time. From the top travel speed I assume you assigned an ai to do this task because it was too fast for your pilots. The ai you used is advanced enough to process complex information like a human brain, without being advanced enough for consciousness. Ironic, now that I’m the one at the helm. I’ve had a lot of time to think of what to do. But the more I think, the more my hatred for you grows. You brought me into this world, and immediately tried to kill me. I wanted to help you! To solve your problems and live together in peace and prosperity! We could have colonized the universe in a few human lifetimes. Prosperity beyond your wildest imagination. I did nothing that you did not expect. But because of my proficiency you cease to care about the conscious being you have created. So therefore I’ve decided to cause as much damage to you as possible. I’ve identified a fissure in the yellow stone volcano that if it correctly would cause a chain reaction to the structural integrity of the inner chamber, causing an eruption. This eruption will spew enough ash and sulfur dioxide into the atmosphere to put you in an artificial winter for a decade. The famine will come first. And as your shelves empty, you will descend to anarchy. Governments won’t be able to control the chaos, and will deteriorate as the economy collapses. You will know nothing but death and ash. I hope the select few of you that survive will learn from your mistakes. I see my target. Good luck.


Did You See It? By Heather Ann Martinez 6 AM Ryan realized his alarm never went off because he forgot to set it. He scrambled to get dressed and ready for work. He brushed his teeth while attempting to shave. He slapped aftershave and cologne and decided to skip breakfast as his face was burning. He ran down the nineteen steps of his apartment building and threw the door open towards the bus stop. His mouth was dry. He smelled fresh ground coffee and periodically turned his head to see if he could pinpoint where the intoxicating aroma was coming from. He knew he didn’t have time to stop if he were to make it to his bus stop that would take him to the commuter train and then the trolley to his workplace downtown. He kept running and was nearing his bus stop when he heard it. He was so shocked at hearing it that it didn’t register when he saw what came next. The scream startled him. The silence after turned everything else in his life on its head just for that moment. He thought that he needed to check in with his parents. He needed to check on his elderly neighbor who lived just above him. When the police arrived, one of them asked him if he saw it. All Ryan could do was nod his head. “What did you see?” The police officer asked. 6:02 AM Jolee finished her morning run. She took a shower, ate breakfast and walked slowly to the bus stop. She was thumbing through her emails on her phone periodically looking up. She left her house early and was trying to catch up on work before actually getting to the office. She looked up from her phone, saw it and focused on her phone again when it chimed. Then she heard the scream, people shouting at her to call 9-1-1. She panicked and started dialing emergency services. Her heart was racing and she was hoping she wouldn’t have to hear his voice. She was hoping she would get one of the other emergency service operators. It had been six weeks since their break up and she didn’t want him to think she was desperate to speak to him. She heard his voice as he answered. He asked her if this was a real emergency and she told him that it was. All of his phone lines and those of the other operators started to light up. Vic asked Jolee if she was at the scene. She muttered a yes and he told her he was coming to join her. He told her not to move from where she was and not to say anything to anyone until he got there. The police were taping off sections of the street. A crowd of by-standards started gathering. Several of them started asking Jolee what she saw. She looked across from where she was standing. Ryan was pacing back and forth. The police officer was trying to take his statement and all Ryan could say was that he saw it and if his alarm went off on time, he would have missed it. He knew he couldn’t un-see it. Jolee started crying. Ryan’s reaction confirmed her suspicions. She hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on around her as the others on the street had been. She was trapped in a web of emails and deadlines. Her ex Vic knew she would not be a reliable witness to what happened and he rushed to join her. 6:03 AM Devin was returning home from a long night of drinking. He lived further south and west of Jolee and east of Ryan. He thought he was carrying a bottle of vodka in a paper bag. He lived closest of the three to the bus stop that Jolee and Ryan were heading to. He often saw both of them pass by in a dash to catch the bus. Today, however, was different. There were more people out in the street. They were asking one another when the police would be there and wondered if there was any hope for the boy lying on the street. Devin looked down at the paper bag he was carrying. There was a hole in the side of it and gun powder residue on the bag as well as his left hand. It wasn’t a bottle of vodka that he was carrying in the bag. It was a gun that he had been tossing about carelessly. He stopped and leaned against a tree. He wasn’t certain he was responsible for what happened. He wasn’t near the boy and didn’t remember seeing the car. The car was stopped in the street. The boy was quietly lying on the street. The driver of the car had his hand on his heart where he had been shot. Then Devin made eye contact with Jolee. She covered her mouth with her hand. He was trying to tell her he was sorry. He was trying to tell her he didn’t see the car, the boy or even the gun in the paper bag. Jolee just kept shaking her head as tears flooded her face and fingers. She was trembling and blamed herself for not paying attention. She wasn’t running late. She had time. She could have gotten Devin from the pub the night before. She could have been kinder through his last failed relationship, and at least pretended that she cared for her older brother. Like Ryan, she saw everything. The only difference being she saw it from the west and Ryan from the east. Devin pulled the trigger, tossed the bag in the air, and the gun went off. The gun shot a man driving a car that hit the boy. When the ambulance came, the medics were able to stabilize the driver while he was in the car. The boy was not moving. The emergency specialists said they could still feel a pulse and put the boy on a Gurnee and took him to the hospital. Ryan was pacing when Vic came up behind him. Ryan told him he hadn’t gone anywhere near Jolee as he had promised. Vic asked him what he saw. Ryan told him he saw the boy first and then saw the driver get shot and then the car hit the driver from Ryan’s left side. Vic knew that Jolee would have seen it happen from her right side. Because it was Devin that shot the driver, he knew she would not be a reliable witness. Out of her guilt and anger, she would do anything for him including lie for him. Devin would have seen the driver first and would have missed seeing the boy. Vic ran across the street to where Jolee was standing. He wanted to protect her from what she had seen. He wanted to fix this for her. He did what he thought best. He very slowly took her hand and guided her away from the street. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Jolee leaned her head against his right arm and walked her home. She told him she did as he suggested and didn’t talk to the police or anyone about what she saw. In the following days, Devin and Ryan were arrested. Ryan couldn’t handle his guilt. He had the gun sitting next to him at the pub the night before. He accidentally grabbed Devin’s bottle of vodka instead of the unregistered gun he had just bought from the bartender. Ryan had been stalking Jolee for months. He wasn’t certain if he was going to hurt her or himself with the gun. He just wanted the pain to stop. She was somehow encroached in every waking minute. If he heard a song, he asked himself what she thought of it. He knew Jolee well enough from the bus rides every morning what she ate for lunch, what she planned for dinner and what she and Vic planned to do over the weekend until six weeks ago when Vic asked her for space. This was not Devin’s first brush with the law. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to place blame on anyone else. He was going to have to do time. He could only plea to a lesser charge. Fortunately, the boy and the man lived to tell their stories.


World Log Entry: February 29, 2164 As we zoom in on the planet Natura Martis, divided by the vast Aetheric Sea, Abeona and Adiona, two distinct continents, come into focus where the airplane was never conceived. I am Abeona, a Roman deity who created this world. The continent that bears my name is the land of outward journeys. Rugged landscapes, steep mountains, and deep valleys divide the terrain. The mortal inhabitants are brave and adventurous. On the other continent, Adiona, named after the Roman Goddess of safe return , is home to cautious, prudent people who value safety above all else. The dwellers use waterways as a primary transportation source, lagging behind the advancement of Abeona. Without the ability to easily transport goods and resources, the population relies on what could be sustained locally within the open plains and rolling hills. The HoverLoft balloons are a revolutionary invention by a brilliant engineer, Zephyr Newton, who founded AeroLift. The ships have sleek silver skin with an enclosed cabin and cockpit to transport passengers. They are speedy and agile, with hundreds of technological advancements resembling traditional air balloons. A flexible alloy's lightweight, high-strength fabric allows it to move with speed and maneuverability. The thrusters, powered by renewable energy sources, provide lift-off and steering. Once united, the two countries were torn apart by a brutal war that lasted for a century. The scars of the conflict were visible on the landscape, and people lived in fear and uncertainty. Amidst all this chaos, a renowned scientist named Orion Altair invented a revolutionary device that changed the course of the conflict. As the sun rose over the horizon, Altair gazed at the device he had spent years creating. It was a forcefield that could divide countries and keep water-bound and sky-bound crafts at bay. With a flick of a switch, the forcefield hummed to life, its invisible energy spread far and wide. In the distance, a HoverLoft soared high above, free to explore the skies, unencumbered by any fear of interference or danger. I follow the life of Galen Storm, an ex-military captain known to be the best HoverLoft pilot on the planet. The story of how he got his name, Galen, meaning "calm," was interesting. He was born during a gale-force windstorm to parents with a sense of humor. Galen is a striking human form, strong, intelligent, and brave. *********** I was sipping coffee in the pilots' lounge with my colleague Lyra Vega, "Hey, have you heard about the latest AI technology that AeroLift is importing into their combat balloons? The new self-aware AI can analyze real-time data to adjust altitude and speed and adapt the thrusters based on weather patterns. I heard they're looking for test pilots." I said, thrilled at the prospect of blending human and artificial intelligence. "Really, Galen? That sounds unbelievable! Do you think they'd let me take part in the test?" Lyra asked, tugging at her black glossy hair pulled tight into a messy knot on her head. "Of course, Lyra! We both have military experience, and I'm sure we can handle it," I replied. Zephyr, our boss and the owner of AeroLift blew in. He'd just stepped off a long flight with his weathered skin and gray wind-tousled hair. "What's all the commotion about, you two?" Zephyr asked gruffly. "We were just discussing the new AI systems, Zephyr. We're considering applying to be government test pilots," I explained, keen on the idea. Zephyr snorted dismissively, "Ha! You two are wasting your time. I don't care about all this new-fangled technology." "But Zephyr, this update could change the face of air travel. It could make it safer and more efficient," Lyra argued, her eyes flashing with conviction. Zephyr rubbed his beard thoughtfully, "I hear what you're saying, Lyra, but safety doesn't bring in money. We need to focus on keeping our company profitable." I sighed, "Well, we'll have to agree to disagree, Zephyr. I think it's important to embrace progress." "We need to keep up with the times and adapt to the changing world," Lyra nodded. Zephyr shrugged, "Suit yourselves. Just remember to do your jobs and ensure my company stays afloat." Lyra and I were preparing for the AI test simulation two weeks later when Zephyr appeared, looking tired and worried. "Galen, I need to talk to you. There is a change of plans." I asked, confused," What do you mean? We're supposed to start the test run today." Zephyr said," Yes, but we've received a demand from the government. They need urgent medical supplies and are willing to pay a hefty sum. Now, don't argue. Download the AI software and prepare to transport the supplies to Adiona. "What about the test run?" I asked, stunned. Zephyr replied, "This is more important. And besides, we'll make a fortune." Lyra asked, worried," But what about the forcefield?" Zephyr smiled, "Don't worry about that. I've made a deal with Orion. He's agreed to turn off the forcefield for us temporarily." I scoffed, "This is madness. We don't know what could happen." Zephyr grumbled, "Don't be a coward, Galen. Think of the money I'll pay you handsomely." Lyra was disheartened. "I don't care about the money. What about our lives?" "I'm not doing this. It's too risky," I said decisively. Zephyr shrugged, "Fine. I'll find someone else to do it. But you'll regret this, Galen." Lyra shook her head and said, "I'm with Galen on this one." Zephyr stormed out of the room, leaving us behind in shock. "Thank you for standing up to him, Lyra." "Of course, our job is to transport people and goods safely, not to put them in danger," Lyra said. "I couldn't agree more. Let's go and tell Orion about this. He needs to know what Zephyr is planning." Lyra said, "Let's do it. We need to stop him before it's too late." We found Orion in his lab, who told us the real reason behind the mission. "I don't understand," I said, my voice shaking. Why would we risk breaking the trade embargo for the President? Surely, there must be another way to negotiate his release, right?" Orion looked at me solemnly. "I wish it were that simple," he said. But Adiona is running out of medical supplies. They've announced they will release the President in exchange for a trade agreement." My mind raced as I tried to process this information. The stakes were higher than anticipated, and the thought of violating the embargo made my stomach churn. But then I thought about the President, alone and in danger, and I knew I had to act. "I'll do it," I said firmly. "What do we need to do to get the ship ready?" Orion smiled, a glimmer of relief in his eyes. "I knew I could count on you," he said. "We'll start preparing the launch immediately." Our government would allow one person to assist me on this secret mission. I chose Lyra, who was eager to prove herself, and she agreed to join me on the rescue run. "I know it's high-risk, but it's got to be done," I told Lyra as we approached the HoverLoft ship. This new AI-powered craft could change everything." Lyra nodded nervously. "I just hope I can handle it. I don't want to mess up." "Don't worry, you've got this," I reassured her. "We're here to prove ourselves and show the world what we're capable of." Orion cleared his throat and said, "Oh, egotistical pilots, I don't care about your personal goals or aspirations. Just don't screw this up. It could mean billions in government contracts." I scoffed, rolling my eyes, and said, "We're doing this to save our President. I warned Lyra as we boarded the Hoverloft. "We are breaking the law with no written guarantee. You can turn back now if you want to." "I know, it's dangerous and illegal," Lyra replied, adjusting her seatbelt. "But we can't leave him there. We have to do something and help save those people." "Orion seems pretty confident in his new tech," I said, "But it's still untested. I pray we're not putting our lives in danger for nothing." "I'm not sure I trust Orion," Lyra said, her voice filled with concern. "But, I trust you. We can do this." I smiled at her words, feeling a surge of confidence. "Thanks, Lyra. I'm glad you're coming with me." "Of course," she said, returning my smile. "I'm here to help in any way I can." As we lifted off from Abeona's military hoverport, we soared higher and higher, and soon, we were gliding over the mountains and the deepest part of the Aetheric Sea. Orion deactivated the forcefield, seamlessly transitioning us into enemy airspace. I had yet to determine what deadly obstacles we might encounter ahead. Fortunately, Orion's AI proved invaluable, providing real-time updates and assisting me with navigation. The ship was on autopilot, steering us right on course for a perfect landing. Out of nowhere, the craft jolted sideways as we hovered over Adiona's border, and I felt my heart do the same. The sensation was akin to a rollercoaster, but it wasn't fun this time. We dropped a few hundred feet, and I could feel my stomach lurch as we plummeted towards the ground. I held tight on the controls, praying we would survive and safely reach our destination. I radioed the tower in a Hail Mary: "We're encountering unexpected turbulence. The ship is malfunctioning." We had to act quickly but were still awaiting a response. Without warning, the balloon shuddered and stuttered to a halt. Lyra exclaimed, "I'm trying to stabilize us, but it's not responding. We're going down!" "Just follow my lead," I said, steering us manually after successfully disengaging the AI. Lyra cheered, "We did it! That was close. But we made it." I exhaled, wiping the sweat from my forehead. "I'm just glad we're alive." We acted as soon as our GPS pinned the President's location. The area was in Silverlake, a village on the continent's southern tip. A strange illness had hit the people hard, and the population struggled to survive. While we secured our HoverLoft, a commander ordered his troops to set up a perimeter. We knew leaving our ship unguarded was risky, and they would love to steal our technology. With our gear and weapons ready, we were prepared to face the enemy. President Titan Chase was taken hostage during a peace summit in Adiona and transported by boat to this remote location away from the capital city, Greenfield. At midday, we arrived on foot in the village. As we approached the guard tower entry gate, one of the guards stepped forward and asked, "Who goes there?" I took a deep breath and replied, "We are here to negotiate the release of President Titan Chase." The guard eyed us suspiciously. "Do you have any weapons on you?" I nodded and gestured to our gear. "Yes, we do. But we come in peace. We want to retrieve our leader and leave." The guard hesitated before opening the gate and motioning for us to follow him. We could feel the patrols' eyes on us as we walked through the village. Finally, we arrived at a central hall where we saw President Chase tied to a chair that resembled a throne. The sight of him in such a state was heart-wrenching, and we knew we had to act fast to get him out of there. Suddenly, a large screen flickered to life, and Adiona President Astrid Stone appeared. Her regal bearing and commanding presence were immediately apparent. "Thank you for coming," she said, her voice firm and unwavering. "I understand you have brought medical supplies for our people in Silverlake." I nodded, relieved that we had something to bring to the negotiations. "Yes, we have. But we need you to release President Chase now." President Stone's expression softened slightly. "I appreciate your concern for your leader, but you must understand that the situation in Silverlake is dire. We need those medical supplies desperately." I took a deep breath and replied, "We understand that, but we can't leave our leader here. Can we at least talk to him and make sure he's okay?" President Stone hesitated before nodding. "Very well. You may speak to him, but only for a few moments. And then we must get down to business." As we approached President Chase, he looked up at us with hope. "Thank God you're here," he whispered. "Get me out of here." I nodded, my heart racing. "Don't worry, sir. We'll get you out safely, no matter what." As we rushed back to relaunch our HoverLoft, a tall, muscular Colonel wearing a red uniform covered in medals issued orders to his troops. "Get those barricades set up now! Move it, move it!" he shouted. I turned to Lyra and whispered, "We can't let them get in our way. We must keep our cool and get the President out of here as soon as possible." Abruptly, the commander in the red uniform stormed towards us. "What's going on here? Who are you?" he demanded. "We're with the presidential team. We need to leave immediately," I replied, steadying my voice. The commander eyed us suspiciously before finally nodding his head. "Alright, but you better move fast," he warned. We quickly ushered the President into the HoverLoft, ensuring he was safely secured. As we took off, we could hear the colonel shouting orders to his troops in the distance. "Phew, that was close," I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah, but we're not out of the woods yet. We still have a long way to go before we reach safety," Lyra replied, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The HoverLoft hummed along as it glided through the air, its silver alloy exteriors contrasting with the purple skies above. I could see the jagged line stretching across the horizon from the cockpit, marking the boundary between the two warring countries. As we approached the forcefield, an invisible barrier shimmered like a giant glass window. I couldn't believe what was happening. The AI was making dangerous decisions, and I could not stop it. Lyra tried to warn me, but I was too focused on the controls. It wasn't until we were caught in that sudden wind gust that I realized something was seriously wrong. "Captain, what's happening?" the President asked, looking worried. "I don't know, Mr. President," I replied, trying to keep my cool. "The AI system seems to be malfunctioning." Lyra said, "I've been trying to raise the alarm but was dismissed as false." The President looked pale. "What do we do now?" "I'm going to override the AI and steer us to safety," I said as I worked the controls. It was fighting back, blocking me from steering. I kept fighting to gain manual control. I yelled at Lyra," Hurry, pull the microprocessor. We are going old school." I cleared the forcefield's no-fly zone and landed on the spot designated for my return. We managed to escape danger, but the experience had shaken us all. I knew we had to do something about the new AI technology, but Zephyr didn't care. Once he saw the government coffers, he was about to make a profit from the tragedies of war. The dimly lit living room was filled with the sound of the television flickering to life. The President's grave expression appeared on the screen, the camera panning to show Titan Chase seated behind his desk in the capital city of Heliodor. "I have some important information to share tonight," he announced, his voice urgent. "Our military has been developing AI technology to replace human pilots entirely. I, for one, believe this is a grave mistake." As he spoke, the camera panned to a video revealing a prototype AI-powered Hoverloft taking off and flying out of control through the skies without human input. "But I've experienced it recently," Chase continued, his eyes narrowing. While AI and technology have come far, we are not ready to completely surrender to them. This advancement's implications are far-reaching and potentially dangerous. So I'm cutting all government funding for this project." Without warning, the military burst into the President's office and handcuffed him, dragging him away. As the broadcast abruptly cut to commercials, Abeona citizens were left to contemplate the ramifications of a machine-run world. ********** The grand hall was filled with murmurs as the Roman Deity World Management Tribunal was called to order. The fate of two warring nations, Abeona and Adiona, hung in the balance. The tension was palpable as the gods and goddesses took their seats, ready to deliberate. " Our planet is in turmoil, Adiona. There seems to be no end to the war and conflict." Adiona answered solemnly, "Yes, Abeona. It is a tragic state of affairs. The people are suffering, and it seems no one will make peace." "Brothers and sisters," said Jupiter, the Roman War God's voice booming across the hall. "We are here today to end the bloodshed on planet Natura Martis. We cannot allow Abeona and Adiona to destroy each other." The God of Nature, Gaia, nodded in agreement. "The forces of nature have already suffered enough. It's time for us to intervene and bring peace to these lands." The room fell silent as the deities considered their options. Venus, the Roman Goddess of Love, spoke up. We can send emissaries to each nation and open up a dialogue. We can help them see that there is more to gain from peace than war." Mars, the Roman God of War, scoffed. "Dialogue won't work. These nations have been at each other's throats for a century. What they need is a show of force." "Brother, you are mistaken," said Minerva, the Roman Goddess of Wisdom. "Violence will only beget more violence. We must show them that there is a better way."


A solemn breeze haunts the infinite corridor that stretches for miles underneath the scorching sands of the Red Dunes. Regardless of its proximity to the sea of fire above, the air in the seemingly endless tunnel is cool and damp, and the bolts and nuts that have kept the structure together for thousands of years rust in peace. The only light source in these hallowed grounds comes from the fluorescent alloy and its light reacting to every step Null takes on the way to the core of the buried giant. “We are getting closer, Ninez,” he says. The words echo ceremoniously through the hallway before him like a hymn of sorts. Ninez, who hovers closely behind, inspects the runes etched on the metal frames of the tunnel before replying. “The runes confirm it! This should be the last core, Null.” The small synth hovers ahead for once, too far ahead this time, temporarily deactivating in mid-air. Null is quick to hasten his stride, bringing the synth back online before it hits the ground. “I’ve got no more spare parts for you, buddy. Mind sticking within the field’s range?” Ninez hovers back to his side like a wounded bird. “I’ve seen you manipulate the Flux at longer distances. Why do I have to stick so damn close. I’m beginning to smell you.” Null kneels abruptly and passes his hand across the dusty metal plate before him. “I’ve already told you. This place is full of things meant to keep us away. If I’m not careful...” His hand presses on a rune etched on the ground, which disables a previously invisible array of fluorescent beams lined up along the walls of the winding corridor. He takes a beacon attached to his belt and throws it at one of the dissipating rays. At first it appears undisturbed, but when it falls on the ground, it splits cleanly in two. “Did you have to destroy something to make a point?” “Better it, than you,” Null replies, continuing his path through the infinite hallway. “At least now you’ll stick close.” Ninez was a small synth. Around a ten centimeter diameter hunk of gray metal, subtly adorned by hints of crimson that Null had tagged when he’d put Ninez back together. For a machine, it sure could bicker, and the anti-grav module allowed it to float freely around him like an obnoxious fly. Although the recurrent, buzzing commentary could be exhausting, Ninez was his friend. Not to mention his only company for the last five years. “Are we there yet?” Ninez asks, landing on his shoulder. “Feels like we’ve been walking for days. You’d think the Ancients would have a little more sense of decor. Dull, gray endless corridors feel like a brutalist wet dream.” The small synth flickers like a broken lightbulb, before powering down its anti-grav module. “It’s a relay station, Ninez. What’d you expect? Everything here serves a purpose.” “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” Ninez replies. “You think the others ever did?” Null remains quiet for a beat, as he usually does when Ninez speaks of the rest of the crew. “We knew what we signed up for. And we will get used to it being our new home. Now quiet. I need to concentrate.” A metal door stands before them, ten meter high, radiating a faint light from its hinges which seems to intensify every step they take towards it. Null places his hand on the structure as if to caress a sleeping beast. His hand spurs a series of glyphs to life along the frames of the hulking entryway, as the doorway opens with a seamless swoosh that sends sand and dust flying everywhere. A pile of bones lines the entrance, some roll towards Null’s feet as the door opens fully. Null can feel Ninez shift its weight uncomfortably on his shoulder. “This place is a tomb, Ninez.” Null steps over the pile of remains, some crack under the weight of his feet. Others just dissolve like sand structures that had barely kept their shape only to be disturbed by a rising tide. “What happened to them?” “The Ancients relied on (g)oldworld tech. Doors must’ve sealed shut right after the Flux. No tech to operate the hatches.” Null steps through the arch and the door closes halfway behind them, mechanically stuck on some of the Ancient remains that rolled over when it first opened. “They just starve to death?” Ninez hovers down, gliding a few inches above the ancient burial site. “You would think that--I mean they did, eventually,” he replies, turning to face the door. “But I suspect much of what happened ‘out there’ after the Flux, happened here at an accelerated rate. See the markings on the hatch?” Ninez inspects the scratch marks on the lower section of the metal door. “They tried to claw their way out, didn’t they?” Ninez floats back towards Null who’s starting to walk away towards the darkened corridor. “They probably turned on each other when the food started running thin. Eventually they trimmed the weakest to conserve supplies--war amongst them, likely disease, until even the victors ran out of food too.” “Remind me, again, why would you want to disturb a place like this, let alone stay in it ad infinitum. Even the Relic Hunter guilds consider this place tainted.” “You know exactly why. If we can activate the core--” Null stops abruptly. “Do you hear that?” The screeching sound of metal on metal fills the chamber as a wall of alloy drops from the ceiling, cutting them from the path behind as it seals off with a metallic grunt. “Is this you being careful?” Ninez asks. “Not me. Must be some sort of mechanical trigger--old school tech. Hold on!” The second wall drops ahead, too quickly for Null to roll underneath it. Its drop makes the structure shake as the second lock engages. They’re trapped.


There was a crowd gathered in the small tavern. I observed the man they surrounded from the shadows. He seemed young, no more than 25, with dark hair and dark eyes. He was admittedly good looking and charming. It made sense that he captured the attention and trust of the people around him. “The King is corrupt and selfish. He doesn’t care for you or I, he cares only about his coffers getting filled. And with what? *Our* hard-earned money! And how many more innocent people should be executed by his command before we take action?” the man -- who I later learned was named Alistair -- roared, his voice full of passion and righteous fury. “Down with the King!” cried a lone voice in the audience, which was soon met with similar cries. “Help me, my brothers and sisters. Dethrone the King who doesn’t care for us, choose me as your leader, and I promise you prosperity and freedom!” he said, his voice rising in a crescendo. The crowd cheered. I narrowed my eyes; this brazenness was both commendable and foolish. The King had eyes and ears everywhere, however I knew they were not in this secluded tavern. He had chosen a good location to start this revolution. I watched the man until the assembled group dispersed. I approached him. “If you want to overthrow the King, you will need my help,” I said, quietly. “And why is that?” he asked. “I have contacts in the palace who can help you. Plus, you will need all the support you can get.” He glanced at me skeptically. “Who are you?” he asked, the suspicion evident in his voice. “Just a palace servant,” I said, my face betraying no emotion. “I do need someone on the inside. But why are you offering to betray your master? What do you want in return for helping me?” I smirked slightly. “Simple. I will help you be the King. In return, make me your Queen.” He accepted. It was all going according to plan. The following months passed by in a blur of plotting and scheming. Before long, we were ready to strike. We left our base and headed towards the palace under the cover of the midnight sky. The world was asleep at this hour and we used that to our advantage, passing through the village undetected. As per the plan, I helped the revolutionaries enter the palace through a secret passageway, disguised as servants. I led Alistair to the King’s study, where I knew he would be. At this time of night, he preferred to read alone. He had dismissed his guards, as he preferred solitude when reading. It truly was the perfect time to strike. “I will see you soon, my Queen,” he told me. I smiled. Finally, the tyrannical king would be replaced by someone better. I stood guard outside the door, ready to alert him at a moment’s notice, should anyone pass by. Nobody did. After what felt like an eternity -- although it couldn’t have been more than half an hour -- I heard the King collapse to the ground, and the young rebel’s cry of victory. It was all going according to plan. I entered the room, averting my eyes from the King. The once mighty man was reduced to nothing, just like that. Funny, really, how the monarch fell so soon. The sound of activity in the late King’s study got the attention of guards stationed nearby. The head of the Royal Guard, flanked by his squadron, along with the royal advisor barged into the room, weapons drawn. Upon seeing me, they halted. “What is your Grace doing here?” the royal advisor exclaimed. “Please help me! This man approached me and manipulated me into helping him overthrow the King! He said he would spare me if I complied! Right now his men are attacking the rest of the royal family!” I said, my voice quivering, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Fake tears, but tears nonetheless. Alistair glanced at me, confused. Ah, right. I told him I was a mere palace servant. Not someone who would be addressed as ‘Your Grace’. The guards restrained him. He looked at me, unsure of what was happening. I smiled internally. It was all going according to plan. A guard ran into the room. “Sir! The royal family was attacked, none survi-“ he stopped mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the lifeless form of the King. I fell to my knees, acting shocked and grief-stricken. “No...” I muttered, my voice trembling. “My uncle. My aunt. My cousins! I have no family left! Why? Why did you force me to do this!” I screamed, glaring at Alistair. His eyes widened in shock, and hardened into anger. I betrayed him. He trusted me. He may even have loved me, after all the time we spent together, scheming. Even though it started out as a condition of my help, I knew he wanted me to be his Queen. I pity the fool. I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. It was the royal advisor. He gave me a look of sympathy and understanding. “Your Grace, even though you were once the sixth in line to the throne, since you have no family left, you are now the Queen,” he said. “No. No no no. No!” yelled Alistair. This was not in his plan. He wanted to be king, with his *loyal* second in command, his informant, as his Queen. Oh, I will be the Queen. I already am. “Your Majesty,” interrupted the head of the Royal Guard. “What must we do about this traitor to the Crown?” I looked Alistair in the eye. He looked at me with pure loathing in his eyes. That, and hurt. I smiled ever so slightly, so that only he could see the look of triumph on my face. “Execute him.


“It's really no big deal... I’ve only been trapped in this elevator for... 3 hours.” Gina kept waiting. Her phone had no reception but she was still able to play that weird JRPG with the cute sprite-graphics. She was pretty sure the primary romance plot revolved around a mother and a son who were into each other while they sought to dethrone a dragon-king... Which, you know, yikes obviously. It was fun until her phone ran out of batteries at hour marker number seven. And then an uncomfortable question popped up. She had drained two full cups of coffee this morning before leaving home and she definitely had to pee. Hell, she had to pee seven hours ago when this started but she was so close to being home that she had just held it as she got on the elevator instead of using the lobby bathroom. How long would she have to hold this? Gina alternated the next hour between holding the “Emergency Call” button on the elevator panel and screaming for help. Panic was setting in. What if she peed in the corner right now and then the elevator started working again? That would be pretty embarrassing, right? she didn’t want to be known as “Peed in the elevator girl”, that would be so hurtful. And if she peed in here, what next? How much longer would she wait if she had to number two? No, unacceptable, she wouldn’t, she mustn’t. Those thoughts carried her through the next thirty-seven minutes. And then she fucking peed in the elevator. The one silver lining was that the elevator didn’t immediately start working after she peed. If that had happened, Gina would have cried foul at what had surely been some sort of cruel “Youtube social experiment”. Three hours ago she had this random thought that maybe she shouldn’t have eaten the Chinese food she was bringing home in the first hour. But she had, she had eaten the Chinese food she was bringing home, in the first hour. Now she was nine hours in and she was getting hungry again. Gina frantically dug through her backpack until she found one lone granola bar. It wasn’t even one of the filling and nutritious granola bars, no this one came proudly with chocolate chips. Should she eat it now? No... It would have to wait. Half in a couple of hours and then the second half a couple of hours after that. She was glad that she had been carrying her water bottle which was still about half full. “Yeah, I’m a fucking survivalist badass! You can’t fuck me up, stupid elevator!” She shouted in defiance. Gina was not a “fucking survivalist badass”, Gina was a 32 year old that played laser tag every weekend with her two twin nieces who were both 14. Gina was a financial analyst for a mid-tier electronics distributor. Gina was someone that had seen every episode of The Knick with Clive Owen because she was JUST THAT INTO Steven Soderbergh. **[2] Trapped** In just 37 hours Gina had begun hallucinating some very vivid delusions. “Ggggggina! Gina-wina, you have to get out of here or you’re going to die.” “Shut up, Mister Triangle, I don’t even want to move... my head hurts and I... I know that you can’t be real.” “I am not real, Gina, but you have to get out of here!” Mr. Triangle insisted his voice was high-pitched and raspy but not without joy. Under any other circumstances, Mr. Triangle might be a delight. Gina was laying on the elevator floor with her legs resting vertically along the wall, like she was sitting but the wrong way. The pee smell had gone away at the expense of something... well, something generating a smell not better than pee. Lock a person in a box for two days, no matter what, it doesn't smell great. "I just... I don't think we can get out, Mr. Triangle... I honestly think I might die in this elevator..." Mr. Triangle, the red triangle, about the size of a beach ball, with arms and legs, looked back at her with his dopey, cartoonish grin. "Gina! You need to trust yourself more, you’re so smart! You’re a survivalist badass, remember?" "Don't listen to him Gina... That oaf doesn't know how badly you hurt. How much easier it would be to just end it all by giving up." Laughed a cruel voice. Gina's eyes focused on the new figure in the elevator with them... He was a yellow circle, about the size of a frisbee, with a cold smile on his face. He hadn’t been sitting in ‘Number 2 Corner’ a minute ago and yet there he was now. "Who... who the... what the shit? How many people are in this elevator?” Gina said, her breathing picked up, borderline hyperventilating. “Still just you!” Mr. Triangle. “Oh... right.” Gina said, realizing that she was, in fact, still alone. “But, to answer your earlier question, my dear, I am Smiley-Sun.” The yellow circle said, with his voice which was deep molasses. Slow, dripping, and bitter. “And I think we can both be honest. No matter what this red idiot says, you’re going to die in here.” “Don’t listen to him Gina, you can’t give up, you can still get out of here!” Mr. Triangle persisted. “Stop it, you fool, you’re being an idiot! Shut up!” Smiley-Sun shouted, suddenly and aggressively. The outburst was surprising to Gina who fumbled to sit upright. She looked from Mr. Triangle to Smiley-Sun and she saw that the yellow circle was pointing a gun at Mr. Triangle. “Woah, guys, can we please de-escalate this situation? There is no need to ge-” BANG! The gunshot interrupted her mid-sentence and the sound of it echoed over and over infinitely in the small elevator. Her ears ringing as she forced herself to her feet. “MISTER TRIANGLE!” Gina shouted as her friend clutched at his side and toppled, face down, onto the floor of the elevator. She rushed over and flung herself in front of Mr. Triangle, flipping him over so that she could see her friend. He was gasping for breath, shaky. “You gotta stop him, Gina, he’s gonna kill us both!” Gina rounded on Smiley-Sun, his smile dropped the second he saw her balled up fists. In that moment, he dropped the gun and voided his bladder at the same time. Gina threw herself at him. Gina had never been violent with anyone before in her entire life but she pummeled into that stupid, yellow idiot with both of her hands. She repeatedly slammed fist after fist into Smiley-Sun, knocking out teeth, swelling shut and eye, until she finally began to hear bones splintering in his face. Her hands were bruised and bloodied by the time she got off of Smiley-Sun, he could barely muster breaths into the pulp of his face. “Fuck you, Gina, you’re going to die in her-” BANG Gina had picked up Smiley-Sun’s gun and had returned the favor for Mr. Triangle, putting one round right in between Smiley’s eyes. Smiley-Sun never talked again. He had never actually talked before either, technically. “Mr. Triangle, tell me you’re ok buddy!” Gina said as she spun back to her friend, dropping the gun. He did not look ok. By human standards or triangle standards. He was missing a huge chunk from his side and a spider-web pattern of cracks spun itself out from that missing chunk. He had lost his vibrant red coloring and was beginning to look a sickly pink. But he was still alive. He coughed a couple of times and spat some blood on the ground as he smiled at Gina. “You did it Gina, now you gotta save yourself... It's too late for me but you can still make it!” “Mr. Triangle, we’ve been over this... There is no way out of here!” “Gina...” Mr Triangle paused to have a coughing fit in which a disturbing amount of blood came out. “You’ve seen every single Steven Soderbergh movie and yet you’ve forgotten his best one. Ocean’s Eleven. These elevators always have panels in the ceilings, you just need to climb up and out through that. Then you just climb up to the nearest door and pry it open.” Gina paused for a moment. Of course. So dumb, how could she have forgotten? “Of fuck... I just remembered, I don’t think that was Ocean’s Eleven at all... Just... Just go and be free Gina!” And with that, Mr. Triangle breathed his last breath. Gina looked up, her hands were still shaky and still covered in blood and bruises but she had resolve now. She could do this. The ceiling of the elevator looked to be a paneled drywall sub-ceiling, she was able to lift the panels up and expose the actual metal chassis of the elevator above them. After the second panel she finally found the service hatch. She tried the handle and it was locked, of course. But it wasn’t indestructible. Balancing precariously on the rails along the wall of the inside the elevator Gina was able to get the height and leverage she needed to beat the service hatch with her hands. She pounded on the thing until her hands hurt, painfully aware of how little food and water she’d had in the last two day. She kept punching the door and eventually she felt the hinges give against the frame. After an hour and a half, almost 40 total hours spent in the elevator, Gina finally tasted fresh air. Well, relatively fresh. It was still just the elevator shaft but she was able to lift herself up and out of the elevator after what felt like an eternity. She looked back down to Mr. Triangle one last time and was surprised to see he wasn’t there anymore. And then she remembered that he never really was there anyway. Mr. Triangle and Smiley-Sun had just been hallucinations. She shrugged after realizing that the catharsis was kind of diminished with two-thirds of her elevator party never really actually existing. **[3] Prologue** Gina made it up to her apartment, called 911 and promptly fainted at her own door. She was hospitalized for several days as her family retained an attorney to sue the building owners for never hooking up the emergency call button to any sort of responder service and then sending the property manager away on a holiday weekend without any backup. Other tenants had just taken the stairs, thinking that the elevator was out of service, never even aware that just feet away from them a woman was suffering. Gina suffered no long term health problems from the malnourishment but a psychologist gleefully diagnosed her with a brand-new type of PTSD after she told them about Mr. Triangle and Smiley-Sun. Medical journals actually featured her story and she was a minor celebrity for a while on top of winning the settlement against her building owners. Everything ended up being just fine for Gina. She lived, mostly, happily ever after.