“Uncle Mark, what’s a deadlink?” Izzy looked at her uncle, confident as always he would have the answer. Uncle Mark was infallible. “Dead link? That’s just a URL that points to nowhere, little one.” “NO, not a dead link, a **deadlink**. My best friend Felicity told me about these deadlinks. She says if you get one on your TikTok or Instagram and click it, you’re **dead**. Like, you never even existed. But I don’t think that’s right. Do you know?” Mark shook his head. “Naw, Izzy, I can’t say as how I’ve heard about that one. It sounds like nonsense to me, like saying, ‘Bloody Mary’ three times in front of a mirror, or like that movie about the deadly phone calls. Stuff like that just isn’t real, hun. Your friend is putting you on.” Izzy pouted. “Felicity doesn’t lie, Uncle Mark. Even when it gets her in trouble, she always tells the truth.” Mark looked sideways at Izzy. “Did your friend ever get one of these, what do you call them, deadlinks, herself?” The expression on Izzy’s face was comical. She rolled her eyes, raised her hands in exasperation, and said, “Don’t you listen? If you clicked on one of those, you **died**, and you never existed. If Felicity clicked on a deadlink, I would never know about her to miss her.” Mark promised to look into it, then turned the television on to catch the afternoon football game. Izzy had to be satisfied with that lone promise. But, she reminded herself, Uncle Mark was one of those people who always kept his word. If he said he would look into it, he would. Reassured, she went back to her room to begin her favorite project of the moment: re- reading the “Harry Potter” series. It always made her wish she was reading them again for the first time, but it was fun, like visiting old friends, reading about Harry and Ron and Hermione, their exploits at Hogwarts, Hagrid’s latest horrible creature. Her phone pinged; it was a text from Felicity. *Told yr unc yet?* Izzy typed her reply *yes* and followed it with some smiling emojis. *And??!!* Felicity’s added punctuation made it clear she expected a more detailed response. *Hes lookn n2 it*. With that, the text exchange stopped, and she could get back to Hogwarts, where Hermione was learning to loosen up and break some rules, becoming a much cooler person. # Sunday afternoon, with nothing better to do than wait for the game to come on, Mark remembered the odd conversation he’d had with Izzy. He decided to do some online sleuthing. Hours later, he looked up and noticed he’d missed the first half of the football game. The halftime talking heads were blathering on. It looked like a close match, with both teams taking each play personally and holding a grudge. He shook his head, trying to clear it after the rabbit hole he had fallen down. Conspiracy theories, crackpots and fruitcakes, and some downright scary individuals posted on strange, obscure forums. All seemed to believe in crazy theories, everything from chemtrails to Bigfoot. But with more sleuthing, he found hints and mentions about this so-called ‘deadlink.’ A forum with a repulsive name finally had a clear mention of deadlinks. A user named ‘*EatsDeadThings*’ suggested using deadlinks to remove your enemies. He, or she, didn’t say what a deadlink was or how to get one, but it was obvious they at least were familiar with the concept. A novel idea came to mind, and Mark started researching the user ‘*EatsDeadThings*’ instead. Their forum posts hinted at deadlinks and pointed toward the dark net to find them. He pulled back, unsure of the safety of exploring the darker side of the web. Mark went downstairs to the basement and dug through a pile of old computer junk he had never gotten around to recycling. Sure enough, there was an old laptop computer. As he recalled, there wasn’t anything wrong with it, it was just too old and slow for everyday use. He’d wiped all his data, just to be sure, before putting it with the junk to be recycled. Mark was glad of that paranoia now. He grabbed up the old laptop, making sure he had the power cord, and went back upstairs to the den. The second half of the football game had just started. Mark plugged the laptop in and started it up. He had to laugh; he’d forgotten how painfully slow old spinning disks with limited RAM were to use. The ancient laptop landed on the desktop, and, other than wanting a decade’s worth of updates, it seemed ready to use. Using the old laptop, he went online and created a new throwaway email address. Then he took the plunge, downloaded Tor, and entered the dark net. He found the tracks of ‘*EatsDeadThings*’ and followed them, for lack of any better idea. He started getting offers messaged to him: drugs, guns, girls. He ignored the messages and entered the forum ‘*Corruption [Enter at your own risk]*’ with a nervous grimace. Without warning, he got a message from ‘*EatsDeadThings*’ reading “*Why R U following me?*” At a loss, he replied ‘*deadlinks*.’ Silence. Mark texted, “*I have coin.*” As if it had been a test, the reply flew back. “*I have wares*.” They began haggling on price and method, deciding Mark could use Bitcoin. He laughed quietly to himself. It was obviously the kind of market where the user passed over the money and trusted the seller not to get scammed. ‘*EatsDeadThings*’ messaged him with his public bitcoin wallet. Mark shrugged, put the QR code in his wallet, and sent the transaction. Then he waited while the blockchain network did its thing. He heard nothing from his erstwhile ‘friend’ during this time. About an hour later, he heard the ‘ping’ and got the notification that his Bitcoin transfer had gone through. A message from ‘*EatsDeadThings*’ flashed up, with nothing but a bit.ly address. The other user immediately left the chat room. After that transaction, Mark felt like he needed a shower. He wrote the URL on a piece of paper and logged out of Tor. He pondered what to do. Was the address itself a link to the supposed deadlink? Or did it take you to a site that explained how things worked? He decided a shower would help him think things out, so he abandoned the football game and took a long, steamy shower. The heat seemed to help clear his head. He decided to treat that URL the same way as a loaded pistol: as a lethal weapon. Trusting something from the dark net, from some nut who called himself ‘*EatsDeadThings*’, was the worst possible folly. # With a clear head, Mark went back to the old laptop. He used it to preview the bit.ly URL. The domain name that showed was only numbers. It was a long string, but meaningless as far as he could determine. The numbers provided zero information about what was behind it. He tried to check the WHOIS data, but it was all generic information from a sleazy hosting site somewhere in Eastern Europe. There were no clues to be had, just this URL that might or might not be a deadlink. At a dead end in his research, he was hesitant to click that link, even using a fictitious character with a throwaway email address on a junk laptop. Something about Izzy’s story made him nervous. He deleted all the data from the old laptop again, before putting it away back in the basement. The paper with the URL, he locked in his desk drawer in his upstairs office. # Uncle Mark was drinking a beer and watching football. Izzy hung out nearby on the couch, playing on her phone. When she thought he wasn’t watching, she cut her eyes over to look at him. She wondered if he had done the promised research on deadlinks. Uncle Mark lifted his beer can, grinned, looked over at her peering at him, and said, “OK, Iz, what’s up? Why are you giving me the stink-eye?” The tips of her ears turned pink, but she charged ahead. “You said you’d do some research on deadlinks. I was just, um, wondering if you had done it yet?” Uncle Mark laughed, a rich hearty sound that filled the room. “Oh ye of little faith! Of course I did. I admit, I’m not finished researching, because this little trick of yours tries very hard to keep itself hidden on the Internet, which is peculiar in this day and age.” He pointed one of his big, thick fingers at her. “NO messing around with this stuff, Izzy. I mean it, I want your promise. The same goes for your friends. You pass the word around. Treat anything even hinting to be a deadlink like a live rattlesnake.” “Eww!” Izzy squealed in disgust. “Exactly.” Uncle Mark nodded, sure she understood his point. “It would not be felicitous for someone to click one of those links.” Izzy cocked her head at him. “What does ‘felicitous’ mean?” Not thinking, Uncle Mark replied, “It means, apt, very fitting, something happy, just the right thing. Like your best friend’s name, you know?” She looked at him like he’d grown a third arm out of his forehead. “How in the world do you get ‘Maggie’ from ‘felicitous’? She is a happy person. That much you got right, but the rest? You’re weird, Uncle Mark.” Mark’s ears began ringing, and he swore he could feel his blood pressure climbing. His hands were clammy, cold as the grave. His throat clicked as he swallowed — a dry sound. He had never met the girl, but he had heard stories for years about Izzy’s best buddy, Felicity. He wondered how he could still remember her, when Izzy had no clue. Remembered who? What clue? He wondered. He took another swallow of beer, went back to watching the game. The Packers were winning.


An alert pops up on my monitor. They call it an "alert" because it alerts us to something important but in reality it looks more like an email notification. I can even swipe to dismiss it. The "alert" tells me about seismic activity located near the center of town. It's my job to determine if any seismic readings are in fact earthquakes or... something else. Luckily I have some of the best technology known to man at my disposal. I type in a few commands which give me access to the five satellites hovering over the region. Almost immediately three satellites give me the details I need. Definitely not a quake. Well, not a natural one anyway. Sometimes this job is too easy. I take a sip of my coffee and hit a button to sound the alarm. Red lights flash all around the facility. Klaxon alarms blare at an almost defeaning volume. Notifications are sent to every single smart device in the building. There isn't a soul in the facility who isn't aware of the imminent threat. As soon as I hit the button, four highly trained pilots rush to their mechs. Right now they're going through pre-deployment procedures and within 5 minutes should intercept the target. I take another sip of coffee and pull up a live feed on my computer. This is the part of the job I love the most. Sure these attacks can be scary but we have the best pilots in the world defending us. That allows me to push that fear aside and fulfill my childhood dream of watching giant robots fighting giant monsters. The Kaiju first emerged 17 years ago right here in Kaijutown. Of course, it wasn't called Kaijutown back then. Back then it was simply known as Oklahoma City. Some people refer to that day as K-Day but I always thought it sounded silly. I just call it The Day Mankind's History Was Irrevocably Altered For The Remainder Of All Time. See, rolls right off the tongue. When the first Kaiju burst from the earth in the middle of downtown Oklahoma City there was, of course, shock and awe. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Immediately we knew two things: we weren't alone in the universe (or even this planet) and mankind would never be the same. The first Kaiju destroyed most of the city before it was stopped. Hundreds of thousands of lives were lost. The initial shock and awe soon gave way to anger and vengeance. The military was quick to react and after a bombing campaign that lasted almost 24 hours the Kaiju was finally brought down. So now we knew a third thing: they could be killed. Naturally the Kaiju corpse was studied for any vulnerabilities. It was quickly discovered they had very thick skin covered in some areas with armor-like scales. I remember seeing it on the news as a boy and thinking it resembled a large crocodile spliced with a T-Rex. When the second Kaiju emerged, we realized a fourth thing: the first Kaiju wasn't an isolated incident. Not only were we all now living in an Ishiro Honda film, but now we had to deal with multiple giant monsters living beneath the surface. The government quickly evacuated most of Oklahoma and began to devise additional methods to defeat the Kaiju. As luck would have it, halfway across the world Japan was working on an actual life-size Gundam. Initially they led the world to believe their Gundam could do nothing more than move a leg. When actual Kaiju started to appear, the Japanese government informed the United States government that their Gundam was more battle ready than previously thought. Naturally the US Government wanted all of the technology used to build the mech. Naturally Japan refused. Eventually an agreement was formed. The two countries would work together to build battle mechs, train mech pilots, and develop any additional technology needed to combat the Kaiju. Soon, other countries offered their expertise and technologies. Everybody wanted to be in the inner circle regarding this crazy new threat. Thus, the Allied Nations Kaiju Liberation Enforcement Service was born. Yea I know it spells ANKLES. I've told my boss. He told me to shut up. I continue to sip coffee as I watch the live feed. The Kaiju emerged from the ground just like all of the others. It gets it's footing then looks around. The four mechs approach, their metal chassis glistening in the sun. This is the 70th Kaiju attack since they first emerged 17 years ago. Well I guess it's unfair to call it an attack. We've gotten Kaiju fighting down to a science so this is just another Wednesday for us. Kaijutown has been abandoned for years which allowed ANKLES to build an impenetrable defense around a perimeter totaling 50 square miles. No Kaiju has gotten more than 3 miles before our mechs bring them down. I've been lucky enough to witness most of the takedowns right here from the command center at ANKLES HQ. The mechs reach the Kaiju and flank it from all sides. Shoulder mounted missiles are fired and a flurry of explosions blanket the Kaiju. It roars that ungodly roar they all do when they are first attacked. I can feel it all the way here at HQ. The missles should weaken the Kaiju enough for the deadly blow to be inflicted. All of our mechs are equipped with a special blade designed to penetrate the tough Kaiju skin. One of the mechs deploys their blade and strikes. This was it. This was the final blow. It would all be over soon. But... the Kaiju dodges the strike and grabs the mech's arm. Then it opens it's mouth and vaporizes the mech with what I can only assume was some kind of fire breath. I drop my coffee mug. This has never happened before. Kaiju don't have fire breath. The three remaining mechs pilots keep their cool but I can hear the fear rising in their voices. They just witnessed one of their teammates killed at the claws of a Kaiju. A fire breathing Kaiju. All of the mechs strike at once. Multiple notifications pop up across my screen. Everybody at ANKLES wants to know what's going on. Kaiju specialists are frantically recalling any information they have on these things and nobody can find anything about fire breath. In addition to that, this Kaiju seems to be faster and more agile than the ones before it. It is effortlessly dodging the blows from the mechs even returning a few blows of it's own. The mech pilots are well trained but it's been years since a Kaiju has given them this much of a challenge. Usually a shoulder missle attack and a blade strike seals the deal. Now the mech pilots are literally out there fighting for their lives. Another alert pops up on my screen. I almost dismiss it until I realize it's a seismic alert. Oh no. Not now. I type a few commands and the satellites confirm it. Another Kaiju is emerging from the earth. I patch into the mech's radio feed and warn the pilots. It's too late. The second Kaiju attacks a mech from behind with a vaporizing blast of fire breath. I can't believe what I'm seeing. The Kaiju must have... evolved. I have an idea but the area needs to be clear. I tell the two remaining pilots my plan and to evacuate the area. They acknowledge my message, land a few remaining strikes on the Kaiju and begin to run back to HQ. The satellites I use to track Kaiju seismic activity are also low-orbit defense weapons. Each satellite is equipped with a nuclear missle. Well not technically nuclear because there's no radiation but they do pack a similar wallop. I sweat as I type the commands I need to access the defense capabilities of the satellites. I stop for a split second when I realize these missles have never been deployed before. Today is definitely a day of firts. A notification pops up on my monitor from the head of ANKLES giving me the greenlight to launch. In my haste I didn't ask for permission so I'm glad they're covering all of our butts by giving me the required approval. I type the final command and the missle is launched. It takes 5 seconds for the missle to enter Earth's atmosphere and reach the Kaiju. The blast is blinding, the shockwave deafening. The entire building shakes and I have to hold on to my computer console to avoid being thrown to the ground. Once the explosion subsides, I sit down and sigh. I can't believe what has happened today. Two mech pilots killed. Evolved Kaiju. Me launching an explosive from space. This is definitely one for the history books. I wipe sweat from my brow and start to type up an after action report. There will be a lot of people studying the events of today for a long time. Halfway through typing the first sentence I freeze. My mind must be playing tricks on me. I could have sworn I heard a... there it is again. That ungodly roar. Impossible. I switch to a live feed of the missle impact area but there's still too much dust in the air. I switch to a thermal view and my heart drops. The two Kaiju are still standing and roaring into the sky. Alerts pop up on my screen. More seismic activity. This time it's off the charts. No no no no no. I pull up the satellite data and the blood drains from my face. More Kaiju are emerging. We've never dealt with more than one at a time before. Now there are at least a dozen in full view with more bursting out of the ground every few minutes. I sit back in my chair and tears form in my eyes. If the mechs and the missiles couldn't stop them then we're doomed. Soon the Kaiju break through our defensive barrier, tearing it down as if it were tissue paper. We deployed the remaining mechs. We deployed the remaing missles. It was of no use. There was now nothing standing between the Kaiju and the rest of mankind. For the second time in my lifetime, the Kaiju have risen.


I got drunker and drunker as I wrote it, like 2 hours and 14 ounces of vodka worth. I can hardly type. This is my first reddit post. Love it or hate it tell me what you thinkg, I don't care. Actually I do care. Hope you like it. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ A bright flash lit up the daytime sky. “There goes another one,” I said. “Third pod today.” They had picked up recently. Once the moon was consumed, the Singularity’s efforts were focused on Mars. “How many hit the ground?” “None so far. The satellites are denser around our area,” Kohl replied. “They’ve only ever touched down in Jericho.” Its only a matter of time at this point. It just isn’t possible for us to keep up, the whole planet knows that. “I’m sick of this fucking sludge.” The synthesizer poured another nutrient paste into my stainless steel cup. “How many do you think are going to make it?” I questioned. “Less than half,” Kohl said somberly. “Scientists and Politicians get first priority.” “Ha! Politicians. I’m sure they’re needed to recolonize.” My sarcasm was ignored. Jericho is our capital, named after the cradle of civilization on Earth. Located on the southern ice cap, founded by hard working colonizers, and ran by the same morons who got us into this mess in the first place. The radio crackled. “…sending two tons of nanomachines per hour. Mars gov recommends evacuat –“ Another bright flash. The pods were coming in droves. “Those constant EMPs keep fucking up my radio,” snorted Kohl. “Evacuation,” I said. “You hear that? As if we’re going to be one of the lucky ones.” “Depends on if MarsComp figures out a solution before the Singularity can beat it.” He swallowed his anxiety. He knows its not likely. The Singularity had already converted the entire surface of the Earth into a processor before the first pod landed on the moon. MarsComp’s processor is 1/1000th of the size, give or take a few tons, and growing slow. I don’t know if I trust MarsComp to take control of it’s growth nanomachines, in case it turns us into another Earth, but at this rate we might be dead either way. “Maybe the centrifuge will work.” said Kohl. I spoon the nutrient paste into my mouth. “Like damn cardboard,” I spit. “Energy rations are getting ridiculous.” See, as the Singularity keeps lobbing more of its nanomachines at us we keep having to shoot them out of the sky. The only weapon we have against getting turned into grey goo is our orbital solar panels – Instead of having the energy beamed down to us we rigged the satellites to aim at a tangent and fire a microwave EMP. Any extra energy gets automatically beamed to MarsComp for processing. Now we’re stuck with 30-year-old colonial-era nuclear reactors, meant for a population half our size, meaning we can’t use our synthesizer to make anything good. “I’m gonna die eating fucking cardboard.” My uncle left Mars to work on the Singularity when it was still called American MasterComputer. He told me not to tell anyone, so even Kohl doesn’t know. My uncle was a smart guy. I don’t know where they went so wrong. This machine was supposed to save us from our human limitations, whatever that means. This was supposed to be a machine so smart, we never needed to think again. Sound familiar? It should. Every big player in the world was working on it. China, the Federation of Europe, the United African Continent, and of course Mars Gov. Everyone promised the same thing, so America had to beat them to it. Once self-replicating nanomachines were able to convert silica sand to silicon transistors, the US couldn’t resist putting Nevada to work. Within months nearly half of the Nevada desert had been converted to processor for the American MasterComputer. As other superpowers began to ready their machines, the Americans became nervous about losing their lead. Maybe my uncle forgot, or maybe he never thought about it in the first place, but it wasn’t long after switching it on that the Americans realized they had left AM in charge of its own nanomachines. AM was consumed with a single goal in mind, the first and overriding function it had originally been programmed to do: increase the size of its processor. Just hours after switching AM on, news headlines were made. “AM has doubled the rate of nanomachine replication.” AM had done in 4 hours what would take the human race 30 years to innovate. The American overseers were only just beginning to realize their mistake, but it was already too late. Predicting it’s own future energy requirements to rise from its exponentially growing processor, AM set nanomachines to tunnel 50,000 feet below the Nevada desert to access the Earths hot centre, and began creating thousands of thermoelectric generators. By this point, AM had doubled in mass, and researcher attempts to shut down the computer by disconnecting it from the grid were failing badly. By 24 hours in most of the Earth was covered in a fine grey metallic dust. AM had figured out how to use nanomachines to convert any element into nearly any other, save for a few exotic ones. 20 million humans had already left Earth at that point, and the ones that remained reportedly only felt a prickling sensation while having AM's nanomachines convert them to transistors. The Lunar Gov wasn’t stupid. They made sure to stick the refugee ships in a quarantine orbit, far away from the moon. All it took was one single nanomachine on a ship to consume whatever it’s touching. Many ships started turning grey, almost half. Most of them would yell for a bit, occupy the radio, then fall silent. After a day it was a minefield: if you touched a ship it meant certain death. But once all of those ships died, Lunar gov let the remaining ships down. The 10 million refugees quickly set up energy solutions – the moon was only meant to support a quarter of that. The native Lunar population begrudgingly accepted. Quickly, extra solar panels were manufactured and distributed throughout the planet, while the ones in orbit were starting to be retrofitted in order to destroy the dead starships. New synthesizers were built and set up, and the Lunar population helped retrofit the starships into homes. It was only a few weeks in and things were looking up, until the dead starships began to change. Commandeered by AM, which had now consumed the entire surface of the earth up to a kilometer down, the orbiting nanomachines had created a centrifuge to launch pods of nanomachines at the moon. Before the Lunar Gov could react, the large pods landed on the moon with a hard blow, spreading the nanomachines everywhere. Some ships managed to get off the surface of the moon, but most were consumed almost immediately. AM had improved the machines to the point where they converted the entire moon to machine in under 60 seconds. It was 2 months ago when we lost radio contact and realized Mars is the last bastion of humanity left. And we knew AM was coming for us. We started calling AM the Singularity because it wants to turn the universe into one single processor. It had already landed on Venus, and likely the other planets, though Earth was the only one in contact with those probes. Mars was simply the Singularity’s logical next step. At first our radar picked up some pieces of metal flying through interstellar space. We were prepared, and we fired our solar panel EMP. Out dropped from the sky little machines, so small they didn’t burn up in the atmosphere. Our scientists studied them and had the simultaneous feeling of incredulous amazement and utter terror. AM had improved to such a degree that its technology was already hundreds of years ahead of ours, after only a few months. AM was improving at an exponential rate and there was no way we could keep up. He was going to beat us no matter what. We were fucked. So we began to double-down on our own MarsComp. Everyone was scared of it becoming what AM is, but we were also scared of AM coming to us. Our compromise was simple: as long as we kept control of the nanomachine replication process our self, we would be okay. Our hopes were that our computer could give us an escape route, whatever that may be. We were desperate. The rich were already gone by now. I mean we’re all rich, Earth only let high income and high IQ people colonize Mars, and plus with the economic boom we – *AAAAGHHH!* The EMP was brighter than the sun, I was blinded for a few moments. I finally regained my composure and some of my vision. “Holy fuck man. They made it here!” screamed Kohl. “They fuckin made it!” It was the first time any nanomachines had touched down in the northern ice cap, atleast to my knowledge. They had touched down in the southern pole before, in Jericho, since the solar collectors stayed in the North to follow the planets’ tilt. Mars Gov had already started constructing ground EMPs in case any machines got through, and ours was just installed last week. “We have to go man. We have to get out of here!” I cried. “And get on what, exactly? You really think they’re just gonna let us climb on?” replied Kohl. “Well fuck man, we’re gonna die here! They’re coming through, even here! If we don’t get off with this last group were done for.” I yelled. I grabbed the keys to the buggy. “Fuck… what if you don’t get on, huh?” Chastised Kohl. “What the hell are you gonna do in Jericho all alone?” I said nothing. I put on my spacesuit, grabbed what I needed to survive as fast as I could, and walked out. Kohl followed a second later, flustered but silent. The centre of Mars was mostly barren. A death trap, for the uninitiated, especially considering radio contact was impossible due to solar radiation. The two main colonies nestled on the polar caps, where ice could easily be melted into liquid water. Hardly anyone could, or ever would live in the centre, but Mars Gov created paved transitways for travellers to go from one side to the other, with periodic synthesizers and rest stops to give travellers what they need to survive. 3 days later we drove straight into Jericho, and it looked like a war-zone. Multiple EMPs flashed overhead. Buildings around us looked worn even by Martian standards, and it was empty. Where was everyone? We spoke to an official of Mars Gov. “Didn’t you hear? We’re all evacuating on the MarsComp centrifuge. It’s in the centre of the city. Of course they chose *me* to stay the longest….” He murmured on. We went to the centre of the city. There was MarsComps’ infamous ‘solution’ to the problem. Manufacture large cheap ships, spin these ships up to escape velocity, and launch them into outer space. Using centrifugal force would save us from difficult-to-synthesize rocket fuel. Of course, any Earth human would die from the G forces, but MarsComp figured that Martians, with their lower bone density and more flexible organs, would be able to survive it better. There are a few members of Mars Gov there. After a bit of explanation we got herded into a waiting room. There were hundreds of people, more than the meager amount the shuttle was meant to hold. “you sure about this buddy?” Kohl questioned. “What other option do we have?” I responded. The doors opened and we all shuffled in. It was cramped; there was hardly enough space for everyone to stand. “How long are we gonna have to stay here for?” I asked aloud. “Until we find a suitable planet!” said a Mars Gov official with a twinge in his voice, knowing full well that that may mean decades of cramped conditions. The centrifuge started up. We started to gravitate towards the edges of the capsule shaped tube, knowing we would need the support. It started to go faster. The world began to spin, and we were all being pressed in layers against the sides of the ship. Faster still. The lights around us were a blur. Faster and faster, groans were loud and everyone was flattening like a pancake. Finally we were approaching our required speed, and the force was tremendous. People around us were squished so flat they looked like puddles. And all of a sudden, release. We were weightless, and I felt incredible butterflies in my stomach. I’m upside down, or maybe everyone else is? Which way is down? The artificial gravity kicks in and I’m hurled to the ground head first. A bright light flashes on my eyes and I'm out cold for a minute…. I feel nauseous and like I’m in another body. The radio chatters but I can’t understand it. I slowly get up. My head is pounding. The radio is so loud its ringing in my ears, and yet I can hardly comprehend it. “T-RN – AR – OWN..” I try to regain my composure. “…WE – FOW – D A- BAK…” The chatter is loud and kids are screaming. The radio continues. I recognize the voice “TUR- -ROUND WE FO-ND A BA-KD-OR” I feel a hand grab my neck. Kohl yells into my ear. “Hey ready up! They found a backdoor!” yelled Kohl, a smile on his face. “Huh..?” I respond, in a daze “Your uncle wants us to turn around!” I push my way to a Mars Gov official, who is equally giddy at the prospect of not being stuck on an overcrowded ship for 50 years. “What’s going on?” I ask. “You didn’t hear? Someone who worked on the American MasterComputer found a backdoor and reported it to MarsComp! We're heading back to Mars!” For all its technology, for all its infinite wisdom, AM had one major flaw. In observing its rule to convert as much matter into processor as possible, it neglected upgrading its own software. The software controller backdoor the original creators put in was never replaced. The machine that was thousands of years ahead of us had been outsmarted by an old programming loophole. The ship began a reverse course for Mars.


                        The area was very quiet and without light. Quiet enough to hear the sound of its footsteps even if the dog walks down the street.
At midnight something was crying softly and only the screaming sound could be heard.
Jones got up from the bed with confused fear and walked in the direction of the noise.
He turned on the light in the hall. But the noise followed Heard from the Kitchen. Frightened he picked up a nearby plastic pipe and gently stepped into the kitchen and He tapped the bulb.
When he looked around, he saw a large black cat lying on a vase basin with green eyes, a curly mustache and a salivating tongue.
Shocked, Jones chased the cat but, It just woke up with its open mouth.
jones gently hit its body and hit the barrage. After sprinkling the chili powder, cat got scared and went out with a small hole in the kitchen with irritated eyes.
Morgan arrived in the morning after the night shift.
He was too tired so, he entered to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
In the kitchen all the items was crushed. The iconic particles were scattered. Chili powder scattered all over the floor. The water was dripping.
Without understanding anything... Morgan angrily shouted and entered the bedroom.
Jones was snuggling inside the bedside like a mountain snake.
He asked angrily?
What happened in the kitchen jones?  Why its so crumbling?
Jones answered calmly, That black cat came back at midnight, like the day before yesterday.
Don't worry, I'll fix myself.
With a wrinkled face Morgan asked..
Don’t tell the same story again.. like  the cat got into the car the day before.
The cat came back to the kitchen yesterday.
Its not a story it’s a truth…
But I never saw it...
You're going to shift at night .. it's coming out at night. Then how do you see. The cat is just hiding somewhere in the street.

Today night it will come and then you will understand.
If the cat comes like you say, today is the last day for it .. said Morgan angrily and left the house.
Then he came house for the night again, Jones was sitting on the sofa inside and watching TV. Silence enveloped the area. Darkness surrounded. without street lights, Both were waiting for the cat.
The cat was missing for several hours. Then Morgan and jones went to bed with disappointment. The street was like being inside a black blanket. Loud noises heard at 12 o'clock and someone screaming. Together the sounds of smashing in the kitchen.
Slowly Morgan went to the kitchen, Jones was angrily beating Vase basin with his pipe. Hey Jones what are you doing? come on .. Morgan I just told about this cat.
it will bite us. you take the chili powder and come.. go soon ..
Hey Jones where is the cat ??
Look here the cat Sitting.
I know nothing about.. Hey.. Jones do not lie.
Here is the big black cat said jones. And he slowly speaking with that cat..
Hey cat, if you not run away
I will tell you mother .. that he was talking to himself looking at the vase basin.
Morgan looked at him sharply with suspicion and was confused as to what was going on..
From there he grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away.
But the cat in Jones' eye was just there.
Hey Jones the cat is not there at all. Why are you acting like this?
Are you crazy looking at me Morgan?
No jones..
OK, let's talk in the morning. Come and sleep said Morgan.
The next morning the two set out.
Jones asked? where we were going now.
Jones please don't be angry. I don't know if you know it will be abnormal for a few days.
That's why we going to see a good psychiatrist I know.
The two ended up fighting inside the car.
But Morgan went fast without stopping.
 After a while Jones fainted and also they reached the hospital.
Then, Morgan put him to bed on a stretcher and took him inside. Then, doctor asked Morgan about the incidents and took the Jones into a separate room.
After first aid, he slowly woke up after a while.
Giving the drug olanzapine
doctor rubbed his palm, and began to ask the secrets buried deep in his mind.
Ok my boy. who are you?
Slowly he opened his mind and began to speak.
I'm Jones.
Ok.. jones.
Do you like pets?
Yes, I love pets.
Then, Why don’t you like cat?
No, I love cats.
 Then, tell me about the cat that comes to your home?
It's a big black cat,
 If we keep looking into its eyes it will bite our throat and drinks the blood. Daily it Come to my house every night.
Why the cat coming to your house?
To see I’ve eaten or not.
Is that the job for the cat?
Yes, slowly it will kill me if I don’t eat.
When I fell asleep it will checks the utensils in the kitchen.
Who said that cat job is to take care of you?
Mom ....
Mom, oh.. come on. Where is she?
Mom .. died ..
Oh.. I m sorry jones..
Can you please tell the reason?
She died by a Car accident ... If I had eaten that day, my mother would have survived.
The car accident happened because this cat came across ..
When your mom passed away?
October 2019 ..
Then doctor understood everything.
Ok don't worry I will talk to that cat .. don't cry ok ..
Hm .. Hm ..
You sleep ... I will see you later..
Morgan, who was sitting nervously outside, went back to that room.
Mr. Morgan I understands well what the problem is with your friend.
What's the matter, Doctor? Any deadly disease?
Do not be afraid Morgan..
It’s a hallucination. The old stories his mother told him when he was a child are deeply ingrained in his mind.
That black cat is the fictional character his mom told him to be afraid to eat well.
Even after the death of his mother, the stories told there are deeply ingrained in his mind.
In his subconscious mind, the black cat is still alive.
But, doctor this is happening for a few days now ..
Yeah, Look Mr. Morgan his mom died in the month of  October.
Every year in October, whenever his mother's memories come to him ..
He remember this sharp stories along with his mom.
All memories are in his deepest thoughts.
Telling a lie multiple times becomes the truth.
Everything is in your hands.
Hide yourself from him too. Mam I am his childhood friend, I understand but if your friend wants to be good you should be a stranger to him.
Now he is half unconscious so you drop him off at home and hide yourself from his life. Otherwise he will enter his own hallucination world and go crazy. Morgan eyes widened with shock..
Now, you’re the medicine for him.
After hearing the medicinal reason, from doctor he picked up Jones and left for home.
Jones was sleeping in the car coming home.
Slowly Morgan got out of the car and quickly entered the house and took photos of his mother hanging on the wall.
Morgan removed all the items which had in jones memory.
He then picked up Jones, who was lying in the car, and slowly picked him up at home.
So, Morgan decided to live near his house,
It is a fact known only for a time, how many day's exactly he is mentally ill.
Now he is recovering from those old bitter memories.
One day At midnight again the same noise was heard in the kitchen.  Jones woke up, Slowly  went to the kitchen in the confusion of fear.
There was a real little white cat licking the scattered milk drops.


Leo Vey was getting weaker. Deep wrinkles lined his face as he smiled at the cashier, bidding her a good day. Leaning heavily on his cane, he grabbed the bag of groceries and hobbled out the sliding doors. He knew his knee would entirely give out soon; it was a constant ache he ignored. He did not have time for it. Warm sunlight hit his face, and he paused outside the storefront, welcoming the warmth. Closing his eyes, Leo's wrinkles smoothed as he inhaled deeply, the air fragrant with the smell of flowers. A sudden deep and hollow pang rocked his chest, and for a split second, he thought this was his last moment. A whispering, ever-growing darkness that relentlessly clawed at his weary soul hoped it would be. But Leo breathed that scent again and knew. Ushered through time and space, he was thrown into the past and remembered. ` There she was. His Lila James. God, he was the luckiest man alive. She hadn't noticed him yet, leaning against the sliding door with a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade cooling his hand. Lila fixated on her little garden, her pride and joy. Oh, how Lila loved her garden. Out in the dirt, rain or shine, gardening even on the days Leo begged her to stay in. She would only shake her head and say, "Oh Leo Vey, don't be silly, it's dancing weather." Her eyes sparkled the way they did, and he lost all words. The sun beat down on her back. Leo watched the sweat gather at her temple. She’d braided her hair in a crown-like fashion encircling her head. Fitting, Leo thought, She looks like a queen. "Are you going to stand there and stare, Leo Vey, or will you hand me my lemonade?" Lila asked as she carefully placed a daisy into the earth. He chuckled, crossing the lawn to his beautiful wife, and passed her the cool glass. She smelled like the sweetest flowers, flowers he could never get enough of. Her grin was broad and unrestrained, a smile he’d spent his life chasing and would chase to the end of his days. Leo loved Lila like Lila loved her garden. Dirt speckled her hands and was smeared across her cheek. She wore her favorite gardener dress, a deep violet color embedded with beads that looked like tiny stars when she twirled.

"Care for a dance Lila James?" She threw him that same smile that made fireworks erupt in his stomach. As she drew up to full height, hands to her hips to brace her back, she winced, then laughed. "I've been waiting for you to ask."

She gripped his hand, and he twirled her loosely. A giggle escaped her as he placed both hands on her hips and lifted her to the sky. For a moment, he was young again, a simple boy in love. "Let me go this instant, Leo Vey!" Lila cried out. Although she protested, she secretly loved the wind brushing her face and tousling her hair. He placed her back on the ground, and they swayed to a rhythm of music only they could hear. They danced and danced until sweat slid down their spines and the sky darkened, for it was unspoken between them to dance while they were still able. Leo spun Lila one last time and tugged her close. She smelled of lavender and daisies, a smell that would haunt every daydream Leo had. His knee ached, but he ignored it, caressed her face, and whispered into the night air, "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me." Lila gave him her famous smile. "Thank you for being my best friend."

Her wrinkled hands covered his, and her face, worn with age and countless years before the sun, looked happy. A tear ran down his cheek as he pondered how they had gotten so old so fast. All the memories and years had merged into one long dream. Leo shook his head as if he could dust off the cobwebs. He wished they had more time. But he had no regrets, not when he spent his time loving Lila James. Their story was the same no matter what day it was. Leo would come home from work and follow the scent of flowers all the way outside, where his beautiful wife worked in her garden. When she was happy, her days consisted of lavender and daisies. Some days— rare days—Leo would step through the front door to the smell of Angelonias and bleeding hearts staining the air. Those days, he knew she was sad, so he would follow the smell to the garden and give her a hug. On other days, it was daffodils and roses, which meant she had too many feelings to sort through. Sometimes, she spent weeks planting Angelonias and bleeding hearts, and Leo loved her nonetheless. He picked her up, and they would dance. At least after spending a lifetime with Lila, that was what Leo concluded. He paid attention.

Most days were good days—days of lavender and daisies. Lila was usually happy. Weeks passed, seasons changed, and Leo Vey hobbled through the front door. He’d worked overtime and arrived home just as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. He waited for the smell of flowers to waft to him. He waited some more. And waited, but there was nothing. He crossed the house, through the sliding glass door, through the little gate, and into the garden, where he smelled something new. Something sweet.

Leo could not breathe.

He stood frozen as his world fractured into a million pieces. Lila lay on the ground clutching a flower that—at the time—Leo didn’t know the name of. He choked on a sob and called the ambulance. When he built up the courage to go to her garden again, he planted her little flower, which—he later learned—was a moonflower, a flower that bloomed in the darkness under the dim light of the night sky. He choked down its significance, shoving the wickedly crafted meaning into a dark box in the back of his mind. He needed Lila. There was no other way. Leo blinked. Sunlight burned his eyes, and tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks. He was at the grocery store again. Leo gripped his cane and stepped toward his car. A familiar smell drifted on the wind, and he sniffed. Once. Twice. Lavender and daisies. His Lila was happy.


Alfred Dawson does not wake up easily. At his blessed age of 59, functional joints are a thing of the past. The old man wished for one day where his knees didn’t seem to get stabbed by a thousand knives every time he stood up. He stretches his leg out that day, a hand on his mouth to hold the scream of agony back. When the pain calms down, he tosses his dusty sheets on the floor. With many cracks and yelps of pain he turns around and stands up. He walks his cold hairy legs to the bathroom and turns on the tap. The small light over his broken mirror casts a shadow over his face. He scoops up a bit of water and splashes it into his face. He doesn’t drink coffee. Caffeine never woke him up. “A good splash in your face wakes the body and the mind,” he used to say. Nowadays he doesn’t say it anymore, he just does it. He walks over to the kitchen and opens the cupboard. A few moldy slices of bread and an apple. He closes the cupboard and stumbles to his closet. The musty inside holds a few jackets. He grabs the yellow one off of its hanger and opens the front door. Seagulls caw above him, hovering in the strong wind. Alfred walks onto the rotten planks of the boardwalk. He knows which planks are too dead to provide safe support. In a slow stroll he follows the seashore. A wave crashes into the boardwalk and splatters drops onto his face. The sky is as grey as his beard. He passes by closed storefronts, whose decaying windows and what’s behind them have long been forgotten about. A couple of small piers lead straight into the sea. Along them, wooden sailboats move up and down on the waves. Alfred reaches what little the town has left of a centre. Stalls have been set up, displaying fish and fruit and vegetables in small quantities. Behind a fish stall, a woman in her forties looks at him. Her blonde hair is tied into a pontytail. “Ran out of food?” The old man grumbles. “What do you want?” She holds up a plastic bag with holes in it. “Three mackerel and a cod.” The woman rolls up the sleeves of her dirty red vest and uses tongs to grab the fish. “That everything?” He grumbles again. “£4,30” “Upped the price?” He frowns and begins looking for his wallet. “You can’t find fish anymore. All those big companies have hauled them all away before us little ones can find ‘em.” He nods and gives her the money. She hands him the bag. “Should look at Augusta. Weather like this isn’t good for her.” “I’ll know when she can’t handle it.” He walks away. The pier creaks under his rubber boots as he walks to the end. A rusty ship dances on the waves. *Augusta* is painted on the side in worn off paint. He steps aboard. The algae on the deck squishes when he steps on it. With a loud screeching sound the door to the bridge opens. Alfred grabs the captain’s hat that hangs over the steering wheel and puts it on. He twists the key in place and with a lot of spurtling the motor starts running. The boat sails out of the port of Fischer’s Eve. *** I'm very excited about this one.


Samuel Stills closed the door to his daughter’s bedroom then walked toward the kitchen when his phone vibrated. He reached into his pocket. Give me some good news.              But his heart and sinew told him there would be no good news. He raised his phone to his ear. The cold plastic a reminder that nothing in this world is ever easy.              He’d spent the last hour at the foot of his daughters bed reading the books her third grade teacher recommended. Marianna, she’s a sweet girl, very kind, her teacher said. But she’s behind the rest of her class. You should get her tested.              “It’s not good news Samuel. I’m sorry,” Elizabeth said.              Samuel hated the voice of their realtor. The way she had introduced herself, with the high pitched squeal of mouse eating its leg off a glue trap. Even when she had good news, with her tone it sounded like she was telling you your body was racked with cancer. Kiss your kids goodbye because you aren’t long for this world sweetheart.              “Let me get to a place where I can talk,” Samuel said.

             Samuel walked toward the entrance of his apartment, his limp worse than usual now that it was December and the cold air seeped into their apartment, challenging the rot coming from the factory whose smoke stacks put the town of Ackerman in perpetual fog.              He walked out of their unit, closing the door so he didn’t wake Anita. Trying to be a good husband. The rain outside brought with it the smell off sewage into the hallway, making the whole building smell like a toilet bowl in the outhouse of highway gas station.

             “I just don’t want my wife to hear. You know how much getting a new house means to her.”              The sound of a crying baby filled the hallway. The dull ache in his head was a beating hammer. Samuel pressed his fingers to his forehead.              “Fuck.”              “You alright?” Elizabeth said.              “Constant headaches.”              Squeal. That God damned squeal.              Sirens zoomed past the apartment building.

             “So, tell me. Did they accept our offer? I need good news today.”              “There was only one other offer, but they took it. It was a lot higher than you could afford to go.”               Fuck you , Samuel thought. And same to those teachers who told him his daughter was less than. You don’t know anything.              “Jesus,” Samuel said.

             “I know you’re upset, and as your realtor its illegal for me to provide much of an opinion but given what I know about this house I’m surprised they received another offer. I didn’t want to show you this house. It’s not that I’m greedy. The market is shit and I have two kids in college. My prick of a husband left me. Not that I liked him at all either. I was actually quite relieved when I walked in on him with –“              “I’m sorry, but what do you know about this house. What’s wrong with it?”              “I really shouldn’t say more than I already have.”              “I don’t understand.”              “There were rumors about that house.”              “Like what?”              “Pretty gruesome. But they are just rumors so I doubt –”              “What rumors?”

             Before Samuel could say anything, he heard the sound of Anita crying through the thin walls. He walked back toward the door, and entered his apartment. Told Elizabeth he would call her back.              “I’m scared again, Daddy,” Anita said, pulling at the threads of her pajamas.                                                                                ***              When Samuel left Marianna’s room for the second time that night, he felt like a carbon copy of his father. Obsessed with money because he never had enough of it. Calloused hands that never produced enough. Samuel’s shirt was still wet with sobs because Marianna said she’d had a nightmare and couldn’t stop crying.              What if they made a higher offer? Except there was no extra cash and even a second job would barely help. And he couldn’t ask Anita to get another job. That was the shit his Dad has asked of his Mom, but she left before he had found more ways to take advantage of her. Guess being a place to put his drunk, soft dick and status as decaying punching bag was too much for her.              That night, laying in bed, Samuel’s head rose and fell on Anita’s swelling belling. He sung to little ears still forming and the heart still growing strong inside her. I have to do something, he thought.              The next day he drove to house they so desperately wanted.                                                                                ***              Samuel reached the front door. Pain shot through knee. Each step served as a reminder life had taken something from him he would never get back. But he gritted his teeth and kept walking anyway because fuck the world and I won’t be like my father.               A half-full moving van sat in front of the garage. Furniture littered the yard. Bed-Side tables. Couches with torn cushions. Tables and bookcases. There was only fog and the rain that gently patted his coat which had grown to feel tighter and tighter since the accident. Too much beer. Too many late nights wondering if he could have done something different in the construction yard to prevent what happened.

             All he wanted was five minutes. 5 five minutes to convince the owners of the house that he’d make better use of the yard and the attic and the bedrooms than whatever asshole society deemed was more deserving to own this house. Five minutes to be a good father. Five minutes to fight against his darkest fear of not being able to provide for those he loved.

             The street smelled of hyacinths, fertilizer, and cut grass. A dog collar jingled on a limping German Shepard. Samuel turned around.              Next to the curb of the house an old man wore a baseball hat with a stitched American Flag. He was missing his right ear. The man waived, and that’s when Samuel saw it, the two missing fingers on his right hand.              The door to the house opened. She, the owner, talked so fast that Samuel couldn’t understand. Spit fell from her yellow teeth. Strands of gray hair fell over her shoulder.              “You hear me, young man? I said you need to leave. We weren’t expecting any visitors. I need to get all that stuff in the moving van and get out of here.”              “I wanted to discuss the sale of your house,” Samuel said, his voice devoid confidence.              “I’m an old woman. I need you to speak up.”              This wasn’t working. Just leave. Give up on this one and move on. She won’t listen. Can’t even here. Angry bark bellowed from the street.

             “The sale of your house. I want to discuss the sale of your house.”              “Sold it.”              “I know it’s strange. I do. But a place like this might save my family. My daughter isn’t doing well. My wife is exhausted. Where we live, its dangerous. Bad things are happening. I’ll do whatever it takes.”              A gust of wind blew across the yard. The rain hit the concrete steps hard. Flooded a a bed of dead flowers wrapped in vines.              “Bad things happen everywhere.”              “Do you have kids, Ma’am?”              “Don’t see how that matters.”              “Because if you did, you would do anything you for them. Right?”              Her blackened gums seemed to bleed on her teeth. The wrinkles beneath her ember eyes grew like rising mountains.              “I have to go.”              As she spoke it was like the rot that filled her mouth was released into the air. Still, Samuel took a step forward.

             The woman turned around. Walked back into the house. She pulled the door to where it was almost shut, and then she said, “Bad things have happened here. In these walls. You don’t want this house.”

                                                                                ***              That night, sitting at the kitchen table with Anita, Samuel stared at his phone, drowning out the voice of his wife.              Before he left the house that afternoon, Samuel had left her his business cards. The one’s he used in a past life where the construction work made them comfortable. Before they left their comfortable and moved into the shit hole. Before they were scared that Marianna might have Downs. Before his head was a fucking disaster. Before the headaches had stolen happiness.              “I know you’ve been hiding something from me,” Anita said.

             There was an open bottle of beer on the table. Samuel looked at her, deep into her brown eyes, then took a sip.              “And I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking while on medication.”              “One or two won’t hurt.”

             Samuel took another long sip of beer. He stared at her belly. At the beauty in his wife’s eyes. He knew how lucky he was.              “So what are you hiding from me.”              His head ached worse than usual. All the Tylenol in the house was gone. The price of his prescription pain-killers had shot through the roof. He rubbed his head.              “I don’t want to talk about.”              He stared at his phone.              “Well you don’t get to ‘not talk about it’. What is going on.”              He loved her passion. Even when she frustrated and angry, it came from a good place. There would be no better mother in the world.

             “The house,” Samuel said.              “What about it?”              “We didn’t get it.”

             When Samuel took another sip, his phone rang.                                                                        ***              When Samuel walked into the threshold of the house, Abigial was on her knees bent over blood stained animal cages. There was a rag in her hand that at some point must have been a clean white but was now covered in dark red. Samuel wanted to vomit when he saw the skulls a collection of skulls in the trash bag next to her.              “You remind me of my son,” Abigail said. “And I don’t mean to scare you. We’ve been meaning to get rid of these for years. The poor devils we kept in here. Pigs. They did everything they could to get out.”              “I just want to see if there is anything I can do to change your mind. I know you said you already sold the house.”              The prior night when Samuel’s phone rang, he couldn’t believe it was her. Introduced herself as Abigail. Told him to come over the next day. And not to say anything because you still never know. Deals fall through all the time. He hadn’t told Anita because he didn’t want to disappoint her again.              “I admire you dedication to your family. I too am dedicated to my family. Can I offer you anything?”

             Seeing the blood got to him. And not just the blood in the cage, but the way it got onto the rag. On to her fingers. There were even drops of dark red on her face. Another thumping headache. “A glass of water, please.”              When Abigail walked away toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but walk toward the animal cages. It didn’t make sense. None of it dead. Why were pigs kept in cages. Why were cages kept in the house. Samuel could feel. Like the cold breeze rising from the floorboards, something about this house, these cages, turned him cold.              He walked toward the kitchen, trying to remember this house when he and Anita had gone to see it last month. It had looked completely different. As though a family had lived here. Created memories here. This place was nothing but the carcass of animal that died in agony. And that’s when he heard it, the deep voice coming from the kitchen. Samuel stepped forward, toward the kitchen. He pressed his ear to the door.

             “Just give it to him,” said a low, tired voice              “We have to leave,” Abigail said              “The medicine, it will only last but so long,” the low voice said,              “But so will he,” Abigail said.              “Our son…I can’t take it much more,              The floor beneath Samuel’s feet creaked. The whispers went silent. Samuel backed away from the door.              “That was very rude of me. I do apologize. Here,” Abigail said, handing him the glass of water.              When Abigail returned Samuel could see the stress on her face. There was pain warped in her face, hiding behind growing wrinkles. A darkness deep within her bones that Samuel had seen in himself on the night he killed his father. Samuel wanted to leave. She handed him the cup.              “Seems like I came at a bad time. I think I should just be going.”              And that’s when the door to the kitchen opened. A man appeared. Like her, his face was a map of exhaustion. His shoulders bulged through his wrinkled shirt. His hair, likes hers was long and gray.              “Please,” Abigail said.              “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”              “Don’t make what harder.”              “Please, drink this,” Abigail said. “It will help with the pain.”              “No,” Samuel said.              He turned back toward the door. He started to run, and that’s when he felt a hand pull his collar backward. Sweat filled the thick air. A grunt echoed from behind him, and he felt himself thrusted forward toward a wall.                                                                                ***              When Samuel woke, he felt metal clasps on each wrist. He was in one of the upstairs rooms. The walls were covered with drawing that appeared to have been completed by seven or eight year-old. There was a small football in the corner of the room. A VHS collection of Disney movies. On the bedside table was a picture of woman getting bent over, and man with his jeans down to his ankles pressing up against her. And next to the picture was a folded dish towel.              Samuel pulled at the clasps.              “You should have taken the water. I don’t know how long he’s going to take. He use to do take longer, but now with the police after him its different. It makes him sad.”              Tears dripped from his eyes. His jeans were wet. The carpet beneath the chair was covered in piss.              “If he likes you, he will take you with us. That’s the worst option because that means he’ll draw out the pain. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll end it here. Tonight. Eventually,”              “What are you talking about?”              “My son of course. He’s just getting changed. He will be out of that closet soon.”              “But what about what we discussed? My family.”              “It’s all taken care of. The house is yours.”              “Just let me go.”              Samuel pulled at the restraints. Blood fell from his wrists.

             “You care about your family. And I care about mine. Look.”              The door to the closet opened. Samuel could not see the man’s face. It was concealed by some mask from a cartoon. It may have been the woman’s child, but the person who walked out of that closet was a man.              He walked toward Abigail, hugged her, and then made his way to the bedside table. He stared at the picture. Then unwrapped the dishtowel. The glistening blade of a sharp knife appeared.              The man grabbed and walked toward Samuel as Abigail began to read from a collection of children’s books sitting on her son’s bed.


I can't go back. I'm stricken but I cannot move forward. You were there when I needed you, but when I needed you the most, you were gone. I loved you. I cherished you. But now you're gone.  In that purple room, curtains closed and lights dimmed down, you were beautiful. I needed you just as much as you needed me. The glorious touch of our color shone down upon us. You were absent, but still loved me from afar. I'd die for you, but that was never enough. We left the room and embarked onto a journey through the streets and came out into nothing but black and white roads. Our life was ahead of us, but it looked so bland. I was here for you one hundred percent. You held my hand as we walked down the road. You touched my face and stroked me from cheekbone to chin as you said, "I care for you." I cared for you too, but I don't understand how to approach it. The world spiraled and became a blur around us as I said, "I care for you, too."  As we landed back into this world, you were gone; i'm left holding myself. The cold world began creeping around me. "What can I do to bring you back?" I spoke to myself, as the horrors of the universe began closing in. I'm here now, but you've left. I've spoke my last words.  I see your face on the billboards as I'm passing through this dreary road ahead of me with the dark closing in. I wish so much for purple. Just one shred of purple would please me. I see a purple piece of paper ahead of me on the road.  I walk up to the piece of paper and am immediately disoriented and thrown out of where I was. Where am I? I struggle against the void, yet the void struggles back. I can't do this and as a result I give up. I let the void fill my lungs. "Please take me." I say to myself, as I'm pulled back up.  I'm pulled back onto the streets and I see a gray piece of paper in front of me. I pick it up only to see that the paper is made out of text I cannot understand. I struggle to read it, but it just doesn't make sense.  The void now closes in front of and behind me and I set down. "Just take me" I say to myself. Let this entire world burn to the ground, because without you, my only color is gone. The void closes upon me.  I am in a purple room with curtains closed and lights dim. You're standing there as beautiful as ever and you have the look upon your face as though you have to hold me. I don't want to; I can't touch you. We embrace. I can't get over you, despite how many times I've went through this painful void. I love you, but you can't stop and neither can I. I love you.


The hole was dug *in the rain,* the specimen removed, black dirt brushed gently off its smooth red skin: skin we all shall live and die in: You touch it tenderly, like a mother. “I’m… sorry,” the doctor said. Our daughter grew in your womb, only to be born dead. sorry,” you say, brushing dirt from her wings, her face, her bulbous eyes which *lightning, flashing in the diagonally falling rain*, **open** Shovels stabbed the ground. Shovels stabbed. “No!” Raindrops fall upon the illuminated phone screen displaying the map showing the site where the professor hypothesised the specimen would be buried, the phone lies in the black dirt ground, held still by my severed hand— Teardrops fell upon the illuminated phone screen displaying all the calls you did not take from all the people who would not understand the grief of (“I’m going,” you say.) finality. Drops of blood on the phone scre *—am*. You: held by me in the hospital room; yet even I could not stop the world from spinning; yet even I could not understand. The professor’s not mad. They existed,” you said. The professor in gloved hands opened tenderly the leatherbound bestiary; turned page after yellowed page until you—gasping: “Beautiful.”—beheld, illustrated: *thunder* is her heart, beating once and never to be stilled, is her beating heart, is her beating wings, as open-eyed she rises into the storm-grey / diagonally dissected / sky / the indigenous workmen swinging their shovels / fleeing, they / fall dead. It was your touch, your maternal touch. The way you stroked that numb extincted cheek; with love… with life…. “...a monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind,” the professor recited from a deep collective memory. —beheld, illustrated: She is: Alive and by humanity instinctually reviled, in the maelstrom, around whose reanimating form all but you are falling back. She swoops—slashing— killing— she grows, and the professor was right, I understand, blood trickling from my emptied wrist into the black dirt beside the hole in which our ancestors had interned the creature's once-suspended body, buried it with fear after banishing its mother to a long-forgotten ancient nether-realm. I can nearly hear their drumming, their chant, see their painted caves adorned with hand carved idols, of which the professor possessed the sole surviving one… You held it up to the light. "The mother is a fearsome beast," he said, "but the child—the child would have surpassed her in malignity." What unfathomed wickedness. Above the grave, I grasped your frigid hand, during the funeral, I could not grasp your winged heart, already on its final cosmic voyage. Across the ocean, you and I, to the hypothesised burial site. I am. Among the dying and the dead descending. The air. Saltwater. I cannot breathe. I cannot see your face. The setting sun I see. Dulled, distorted—through the hateful and translucent wingflesh of the beast becoming. Anticreation. Antedark in-rhythm with the diminished beating of my drumheart I gaze panting upon the paintings on the cave walls. Prophecy: “She’ll grow,” you say, until she is not of the Earth but the Earth of her, embracing us completely; her translucent skin of youth darkening into a future opaqueness… *The sun will burn.* *But no light will penetrate to us.* *Night, which will have been falling for generations, is—* *A guillotine—* I am. Among the dying and the dead descending, into a personal darkness presaging the total darkness to come. I do not recognise you. I am. **Praying, silently lamenting the fate of our stillborn** At the funeral I wiped tears from the phone screen. In hospital, “She was,” you say. “I was.” We sob in coldest embrace. “She’s gone," you say. “I’m gone.” At the funeral her skin is hazy and unclear, and the pain precipitates a world-enveloping demon. **planet.


\ “Jesse, Would you die for me?” “Again?” I looked at Clarissa, she had a serious look on her face. A question like that meant only one thing, something had gone wrong, and there was no way out. We were crouched in a small broom closet, the faint sound of alarm bells echoed throughout the large corporate building we were currently locked in. “Do you have a marker set?” I sighed, I have known her long enough to trust her, and this mission was too important for things not to go perfectly. Clarissa gave me a stern look, the slightest hint of sadness was in her eye. “I need to hear you say it.” Clarissa whispered. “Always, no matter what.” I closed my eyes and began to focus on my last marker, pretending it would be easier if I didn’t watch. Even then, I could hear Clarissa open her holster and raise her pistol towards me. She pulled the trigger and fired, I felt an intense pain form in my head before spreading to my whole body. It felt like I was on fire as if each atom in my body was being ripped apart. Then everything went black. It always started with a falling sensation. Then a rainbow of colors formed into a vibrant tunnel as I felt my consciousness reform. At the bottom of the tunnel, I could see a small cot in a windowless metal room with my own sleeping body laying on top of it. I fell towards it, my senses returning one by one, becoming fully formed once I reached the bottom of the tunnel and I watched as I slammed into my sleeping body. My eyes opened and I checked the clock. August 3rd, 2243, 11:50 PM. 24 hours ago. I slowly gathered myself and approached the door, looking at the two buttons, one to mark if this was the first time, and the other to mark if it wasn’t. I stood at the door, and pressed the 2nd button, causing the door to side open, leading to a larger planning room, with a table in the middle. The walls were covered in computer monitors, weapons and equipment, all things we had prepped for the coming mission. The one that had gone wrong, 24 hours from now. I looked up to see Clarissa, she looked at me, then she looked above me to look at the colored light above my head, and saw it was yellow, meaning the mission had gone bad, and she had to trigger a reset. Clarissa knew what the light meant, and she knew how much the process hurt. Before I could speak, she ran over to me and gave me a tight embrace. Whenever this happened, she always said the same thing to me. “Thank you, and hopefully you never have to again.” It was always the same sequence of words before and after every reset. Whether she knew it or not, I would probably never know, but it was the point of consistency in my weird and ever changing timeline. I sighed, before approaching the planning table. A timeline slider of the whole mission appeared on the screens. “Mark error point, minute 25, laser grid almost tripped” a marker appeared on the timeline. “Mark error point, minute 30, camera not disabled.” Clarissa stood silently, simply soaking in the information. I lived through each attempt, she had to process all the mistakes every single time. “Mark error point, minute 42, equipment failure due to rushed use.” Minutes passed, I listed every error and mistake I could remember. Eventually I got to the end. “All error points marked. Mark attempt number…” I paused, sometimes I would lie about how many times we had gone through the planning process. Clarissa knew how much I hated going through the reset process, she let out a sigh, then looked at me. “Listen, one last job. Then we can be done with all of this. I promise.” I looked her in the eyes, “Okay, let’s do this again.


My name is Fernando Alvarez, and James J. Park is the exact kind of wrong that I get paid to deal with. He blipped onto my employer’s weirdness radar after he was connected to several, seemingly unrelated, cancer deaths. The man, if he was a man, must have been radioactive since before his conception. Both his parents died due to complications related to cancer, testicular and ovarian respectively. Several of his k-12 classmates had also died because of cancer related complications, in their case, carcinoma and leukemia. He was a radioactive isotope with legs. However, as soon as my employers took notice of him, he vanished, absconding with some as yet unknown technology from his work. Enter me. For the past couple days I’ve been staking out Park’s residence in the hopes that he might show. He hasn’t though, and if he hasn’t by now, I doubted he ever would. It was time to put my sniffer to the ground. I exited my vehicle, taking my gun, a flashlight, and a Geiger counter for safe measure. His home was “protected” by your run of the mill security system. The kind that gave you a stake to plant in your front yard, and an app that connected to a door cam. It was easy enough to bypass without fiddling with the security system. A hopped gate, and a climb, later, and I was stepping into his bedroom via a two story window. I flipped on the Geiger counter and watched it tick between normal. The high end of normal. The bedroom itself didn’t yield much. It was spartan. A bed accompanied by a nightstand. There was a gun in his closet, but that wasn’t much of anything in this country. I did find some lab grade chloroform, hidden at the bottom between pairs of extra shoes. Chloroform wasn’t the tried and tested instant knockout vapor that you saw on tv, but it would knock you out eventually. On the same floor, he had a study and a spare room. The spare room was filled with old science journals, and tech drafts. I knew enough to understand that the journals were about new frontiers into theoretical physics, but not the particulars. Best I could tell was that he was keen on the areas of quantum mechanics and entropy. The tech drafts were completely beyond me though. Presumably one of these was related to the technology he’d stolen. They kind of looked like the pictures I’d seen of super colliders, but smaller. The study had a computer, and a drawing desk. But mostly it had four walls of bookshelves stuffed with cheap plastic folders. I pulled one off and took a look. It had pictures of grade school children. I thought back to the chloroform, and wondered, was I dealing with a radioactive pedophile? You could knock a kid out much faster with chloroform than a full grown adult. That didn’t seem right. There was something here, but it wasn’t pedophilia. Something here seemed familiar, oddly nostalgic. I didn’t catch on until I found my own picture in the folder. Ice settled in my gut. These were pictures of children from over two decades ago, the fashion should have been a dead give away. I pulled out another folder, it was the same thing, but smaller, more concentrated. I didn’t have to flip long before I found myself again. The next folder was all me. From highschool onward, this guy had been keeping tabs on me, but why? Who was I to him? I’d only been assigned to this case for a week, but this guy had been tracking me for years. I hate to admit that my search became much more frantic after that. It had become personal. I pulled out more folders, and threw out the drawers of both desks. I found more pictures, but not of me. They were women. According to the folders, each was a verified genius with accolades and awards in varying scientific fields. They were each identical as well. Not enough to be mistaken for twins, but enough to know this guy had a type. Dark skin, curly hair, and smart. The folders were creepy, but what was the through line? And what did it have to do with me? I found more technical drafts inside the desk drawers. They looked like they could be fitted onto the specs I’d seen in the other room. The design was for a glass tube like structure that was fed into by the mini supercollider. The measurements gave me the impression that it was meant to house a person. So we were dealing with a mad scientist. Where there was a mad scientist there had to be a secret lab. Find the lab, find the man, get some answers. There was still the computer to comb through, but my expertise was on weird, not hacking. I didn’t want to risk fiddling with it now and locking it. Having decided my course of action I made to leave, but the screen came to life. On it, an alert, granting access to an applet with permission to be interactable on the lock screen. “You have a match!” read the app on the screen. “Qiyana and James 99% match, be the first to send a message!” It was a dating app. I recognized the name and the face on the profile picture too. It was one of James’ folder girls. The lock screen applet let me take a look at an inbox as well. There was only one chat history here. It was between my creep James, and one Trisha Beller. The two had agreed to go out on a date the night before he disappeared. It was all starting to come together. It would be nice to know how I personally figured into this, but those answers would have to come later. The dating app came alive again. “Hey, I don’t normally message first but I’ve never gotten a 99% match before. I’d love to meet up, could you do tonight?” “...” he was typing! “I’m busy tonight, could we do tomorrow?” “If it’s not tonight, then it’ll be a while. Got a work trip :( sorry” “Let me move some stuff around then, let's make it happen :)” They set themselves up for a date at a local restaurant. It would be happening later tonight, so there was time for more snooping. The ground floor was uncanny valley levels of normal. I guess if a psychopath absolutely had to have company over to keep up appearances he wouldn’t want to stand out. As a result the only thing of note were a pile of bills in front of the door's mail slot. Normal stuff, like water and electricity, but also rent for a property near the beach. A quick search online of the address said it was a warehouse. Found the secret lab. I went back out the way I came, confident I had a plan. But it was when I hopped back into my car that I realized I had a decision to make. I could go to stakeout James’ and Qiyana’s date, or I could take advantage and snoop around his lab when I’d know he'd be out. He hadn’t planned on leaving his lab today, maybe the first girl was still there. I could help her, snoop around James’ lab, and get the jump on him when he got back. I made the pragmatic choice, and started driving toward the lab. The warehouse was a dingy two story structure with a receiving door for unloading trucks. I hopped out of my car, gun holstered, flashlight out, and Geiger counter ready. The receiving door was locked, but I didn’t have to look for an alternative entry point. It was held shut by a poorly made lock. I basically just jimmied the thing open. Inside was the machine I recognized from the technical drafts. It was as large as the ground floor of the warehouse. As I suspected, the glass tube structure had been added on, with tubes that were fed from the mini collider looking thing. One of his folder girls was already inside. Trisha Beller. She was out cold. “Trisha? Trisha Bellar!” I banged on the glass. She stirred just a little. I banged some more. Awake. It looked like she wanted to scream. She was still wearing the getup that she must have worn to her date with James. “It’s okay I’m not with the creep who stuffed you in here. My name’s Fernando, I’m here to get you out.” “Thank God!” she wailed. Tears started to come down her eyes. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m gonna get you out of there. Do you have any idea how I get this thing to open?” “I don’t even know how I got in here. I just woke up like this.” “Have you been in there since he brought you here?” “No, he kept me chained up under the stairs before today.” I flashed my light toward a set of stairs that led to an office. Underneath there was a bedroll, some water bottles, and a bedpan. eugh. “Alright, I’m gonna start trying to figure out this machine. In the meantime is there anything you can tell me about the man who put you in there?” “I don’t know. He’s a psycho. He’s been talking crazy talk since I came to the first time.” “Think Trisha, give me anything at all. It could be important.” “I don’t know. I guess he was lonely? He kept talking about how he was tired of being alone.” “That’s great, anything else?” Talking might help her keep calm, plus I still wanted to know what this guy was up to. I found a console with some buttons labeled in masking tape. The lights were off in here, but this machine was running something. The small screen indicated that it was most of the way through “quantum mapping” Trisha. “He said I reminded him of his first wife,” continued Trisha. “...said I was gonna be the first of a new super race.” James hadn’t been married to my knowledge. He was born and raised in the states, and never left the country either. Another mystery for when I finally had this guy under control. For now I had to figure out what this thing was doing. I found a release button for the tube, but it was hardwired not to open until after it was finished with whatever it was doing. It dawned on me that there was a genius sitting in a tube right in front of me. James’ had selected his girls based on exacting intellectual criteria, maybe she could tell me something. “Trisha, weird question, would you be able to tell me what any of this machinery is?” “How would–” It’s like I saw a different person sitting in the tube. The academic in her had come out to overshadow her fear. “It’s a quantum computer,” she said, astonished. “How did this psycho get his hands on a quantum computer? They’re still just a theory for crying out loud!” She had gone from afraid and wailing, to astonished, to angry in seconds. Quantum computing, huh? That was some serious computational horse power. “Well it’s quantum mapping you, whatever that means, any ideas? Are you in danger?” “No clue. Quantum is basically just the smallest measurement of something.” She took a look around. “What I’m about to say is highly theoretical, by which I mean doctor who levels of science fiction, but I think he’s creating a super picture of me, maybe even right down to the electron. Think, like a scan for a 3d model, but not that at all.” “I see,” I did not. “Listen, It’s not going to let me release you until it finishes scanning so just hang on a second. It’s almost done, but just in case it doesn’t let you go, I’m going to have to break you out the old fashioned way.” She nodded. Trisha, to her credit, had started rolling with the punches. The screen indicated that it was done scanning when the lights inside the warehouse suddenly came on. I was already behind one of the larger pieces of equipment when James J. Park entered from the office upstairs. I could hear him taking leisurely steps down the stairs. “Good, you’re awake Trisha” said the radioactive psychopath. “And the machine is ready. Even better.” “What the hell are you planning on doing to me creep!” “Only what’s best for you. Now that your scan is complete, you’re only a flip of the switch away from godhood. Your very being will be blasted into eternity, entangled with itself so that even the end of the universe won’t stop you from reforming in the next.” “You’re going to vaporize me asshole. Let me out, let me out!” “You’ll feel different about it in a moment. We will outlive the cosmos together!” “Not so fast,” I said, stepping out of hiding, gun in hand. James was standing over the console. “What happened James, did your other date cancel?” “Yes– I mean, how did you–? Nevermind. We meet again, Alvarez. I was wondering when you’d show. ” “Step away from the console James, and what’s this ‘again’? I’ve never met you in my life.” “Not in this life, not in this cycle, but we have met.” “Then you should know I won’t be afraid to shoot.” “I’ve lived through countless cycles. Nothing is ever exactly the same, but the one universal constant is the thorn in my ass that is you Alvarez.” He hovered his finger over the console. I took my shot. “The universe expands, and collapses into heat death. Over and over again, coming back lesser each time, thinner somehow I don’t know. Everything except me. I’m literally built differently from everything in this universe. You cannot hurt me in a way that matters.” He pushed the button. “Well then, it’s a good thing I wasn’t aiming for you.” “What?” The machine spun to life and vaporized the air inside the broken tube. Trisha had jumped out just in the nick of time. “Tell me James, if we’ve tussled in other universes, then ballpark me. About how many times out of ten do I kick your ass?” “Grrr… augh!” he made to tackle me but I dodged out of the way. He slammed into the wall hard enough that he had to dig himself out of the crumpled ruin. “Psst! Fernando.” came a furtive voice. It was Trisha, now speaking from cover. “I don’t know what the fuck is going, but if this thing can make something like him, then it can unmake him. Keep him distracted while I fiddle with it.” “Right.” He dug himself out of the wall, screaming. “You can’t imagine the loneliness. Every cycle it’s the same. I come back to a universe that’s just the decayed corpse of the one I was born in.” He started running toward me, and I let him have the rest of my gun’s clip. The bullets ricocheted off him, but they weren’t nothing. He raised his arms up to keep them from hitting him in the face. I took the opportunity to jump kick him back into the wall, just to see if I could get him to budge. To my surprise, it worked. “Not so scary after all.” “Motherfucker, I am older than gravity. I’ll show you scary!” He came at me swinging. I was on the back foot. All I could do was retreat and weave. He bent a support beam out of shape with a single missed blow. Any time now Trisha, any time now. Another stray blow lodged his fist into another beam. I took the opportunity to reload my gun. “You’re lonely, I get it, but why this? Why all this?” “Why bother explaining, you could never –eugh!– understand the loneliness of god. I– eugh– kill my parents, just by being born. Too many cycles have passed, your kind can’t even survive in my presence anymore. Yes, I say your kind, you aren’t human anymore, not my humanity. I don’t know what you are. Thin as you are, decayed as you are, you’re aren’t truly alive. Eugh!” he ripped his embedded arm out of the support pillar. “My heart goes out to you,” I said, backing up with my loaded gun, “truly.” He started up another go at me. “Now!” yelled Trisha. I unloaded my gun into him, forcing him to raise his arms in defense, and allowing me to kick him into position. Trisha hit the console, and he began to atomize before our very eyes. “EUGH! You haven’t done anything Alvarez. If not this cycle, then the next!” He disappeared into a cloud of smoke. “In your professional opinion, do you think he’s actually coming back, or is he dead?” I asked. “My professional opinion is that if he isn’t dead, he’s close enough. More importantly, what he built here could launch us ahead by centuries, milenia even.” The building started to shake. He had taken out most of the supporting structures in this dingy warehouse. “If they can recover anything after this building junks his creation, let’s vamos!” We got out as fast as we could, and only made it by a hair. The warehouse collapsed in on itself. I notified the “proper” authorities, and gave them a sanitized version of what happened. I waited a few weeks to report my case closed to my employers. After all, if this guy could survive the end of the universe, then I couldn’t really be sure he was gone unless I stuck around for a bit. Right? Well, my new lady friend Trisha seemed to agree anyway.


After several decades in development hell, the sequel to the all time classic, The Emoji Movie, was released to theatres. Originally conceptualized by Disney in 2035 as a live action remake of the classic Minion’s Eleven: Revenge of Gru, the project traded hands several times before landing in the lap of soothseer Dax Shepard. Many say that Dax had a prophetic revelation and decided to scrap the entire project, reimagining it instead as a live action remake of the critically acclaimed “The Emoji Movie”. After this proclamation, not a single soul saw him for years, there were whispers of his death, or worse yet, that the project had been canceled. But finally in the year 2065, he emerged, not with his promised live-action remake, but of something even more wonderful. May 5th 2065, The Emoji Movie 2: Escape 2 Africa is released to theatres. Initial viewers going into the film were skeptical, given its prolonged development, but their skeptical thoughts were soon sandblasted from their minds at a speed nearing the international space station. It is the perfect movie. “I didn’t want this movie, but god damn was I wrong, I needed this movie. In fact I’ve already bought tickets so I can see it daily for the next three weeks.” wrote William Alcott of the New York Times before resigning so that he could have more free time to devote to seeing the emoji movie. “The scene where Spuds Makenzie and the ‘black Santa on a pogo stick doing a backflip’ emoji teamed up to hunt down and destroy social media was not only inspirational, but indeed inspiring. We should all aspire to be more like the ‘black Santa on a pogo stick doing a backflip’ emoji.” wrote Marry Seacole of the Huffington post, also before resigning for more “free time”. During the mania of the original release period, the cracks of insubordination went unnoticed, one critic, whose name would later be redacted from history books, dared to write “It was pretty good, I just don’t get why the entire soundtrack was just Dax Sheppard sensually whispering the lyrics to several Europop songs. Overall a 9.9/10”. It wasn’t until months after the release of the film where dangerous opinions like this were realized to have been said, and the appropriate sensible action was taken in order to make sure there would be none like it in the future. Australia was partitioned off, and the people who held opinions on The Emoji Movie 2: Escape 2 Africa that weren’t up to par were sent there, where they could play amongst themselves and their shitty, terrible opinions. The rest of the world flourished in their faith in the film, their technology improved, all wars ended, quality of life increased exponentially, all disease was cured. Despite this, they remained humble, and offered periodical olive branches to the new citizens of Australia, if only they explained why The Emoji Movie 2 was indeed the single most perfect creation of mankind. To this day, Australia’s official position remains: “We just don’t get it”. Dax Shepard, who originally reveled in his newly found fame and fortune, has since denounced the lifestyle and has donated the vast majority of his wealth to the Australian relief fund, whose official slogan is “An Australian in need, is an Australian indeed”. These days a sighting of him is rare, as he claims to be at home working on his next feature film; a spinoff Emoji Movie prequel, set in the 90’s starring everyone’s favorite: ‘black Santa on a pogo stick doing a backflip’ emoji. All one can do is wait in anticipation until the day it arrives.