John didn't want to propose until after the baby came. It was a conversation we must have had a dozen or more times in the lead up to those most momentous events of his life to that point. "It'll look like I'm only marrying her because she's pregnant," he would say. "Well ... Aren't you?" I would ask. And John would laugh a bit or grimace a bit or get a little angry or look a little introspective. I guess it depended on his mood. Little Angelina was born two weeks premature on Valentine's day. They both took it as a sign, but of course it wasn't. There are no signs except the ones we imagine after the fact. But that's beside the point. The wedding was in mid May and the reception was at a small building in the country that I think used to be a Ukrainian community center but was now just an empty hall that got rented out about once a month to people who couldn't afford anything better. A long hall, low ceiling, faint yellow staining on the ceiling tiles from when they used to allow smoking indoors, and a vague smell that everyone recognized but no one could quite place. It was a liminal place, and I hold in the deep recesses of my mind a flash of half a memory of my parents dragging me along to some other almost identical hall for a church supper when I was a kid. But I'm getting sidetracked. Anyway ... The ceremony didn't have a priest or any sort of religious minister, just John's older brother who had been ordained online. It was his first time marrying anyone and he looked as nervous as the bride and groom. I'm almost sure I remember seeing him throwing up in the dumpster out back before the ceremony began. It wasn't a beautiful wedding or a particularly big wedding or a really special wedding when it comes down to it, and in the years that would follow I'm ashamed to say that my memories of it likely got mixed and jumbled together with many other similar weddings in similar places with similar groups of people. But in the moment, it was a lot of fun. John got as drunk as I've ever seen him and swore up and down that he'd love Laureline forever. And she'd love him right back. That's what she said, anyway. Three years and two kids later they divorced. I never got the full story. I don't think anyone cheated. I think they just weren't right for each other. Or else that they were both just too tired to keep trying to be right for each other. When Karen and I talk about marriage, as we do frighteningly often anymore, I act like it's a foregone conclusion that it'll happen. I act like I'm excited at the prospect. I act like a proposal is just around the corner. But I don't want us to be another John and Laureline and, truthfully, I'm not sure we won't be. See, everyone feels like what they have is indestructible, like their love can't be broken or changed, but it can be. Loving has to be an effort and that effort wears you out. And maybe you won't always be in love. Maybe you won't always want to be in love. But you'll say, "let's do it. Let's spend the rest of our lives together." Only you don't know how long that really is. And you can't know until you try it. And maybe it's worth all that effort, after all, John and Laureline both still love their kids a whole lot and their kids wouldn't exist without them having ended up together. But maybe it's not worth much of anything. Maybe it's all just a waste of time. For my part, I'm sure eventually I'll break down and give her the ring I bought last June. But what's the rush? Next week is as good a time as any, and so is the one after. We're both happy now. Why can't that just continue? I guess it's because people fear change, but they need it. They need to be able to divide their lives into sections. The time before and the time during and the time after. So we'll get engaged, and we'll get married, and maybe someday we'll get divorced. And our lives will be neatly chopped up into those perfectly arranged little chapters just like we need them to be. All little distinct and finite sections leading to one that goes on forever, identical to the one before all the others. And then we'll finally be at peace. And we won't need love and we won't need change and we won't need cheap weddings and drunken confessions of undying commitment. And we won't need divisions into sections and subsections. But for now, this ring is sitting heavy in my pocket and I can see the Mariachi band approaching our table behind Karen's head. She doesn't suspect a thing. Or, if she does, she's doing me a solid by playing along so we'll have a nicer story to tell later on. I drop to one knee.


What an easy dare, Cole couldn’t help but think. The dare was to kiss the town’s graveyard cat. It was Halloween Night, and Cole was hanging out with his friends. They were seated in the living room under his older sister, Ciara watchful eye. They had felt too old to go treat-or-tricking even though they were only 13 years-old. Yet, they still need a babysitter which happened to be his sister who was 18 years-old. “So are you going to accept the dare, Cole” His friend Tyler smiled. He was a tall, Asian guy with red dyed hair. He always had a great smile and every girl in school liked him. He was kind and playful guy who could sing and dance. He want to be a famous singer one day. And he was Cole best friend. While Tyler ruled everything performing arts wise, Cole ruled over everything sport wise. He was a great football player, soccer player and swimmer. Cole wants to be a Olympic swimmer. They both enjoyed watching horror and thriller movies. And They both enjoy celebrating Halloween. “Of course he is,” Daniel scoffed closing his book. He was short, pale guy with curly brown hair and freckles. He was a bookworm and movie buff. Daniel also was smart and funny guy of the group. He wants to be a movie star. “Yeah, Ciara can you take us to the town graveyard?” Cole asked. He was average height and had light brown skin. He had black straight hair in pulled into a man bun. Ciara looked up from her bowl of caramel popcorn and her phone. She narrowed her green eyes at them. She sighed. “Fine, I’m bored anyway,” Ciara pulled her black hair into a high bun, her skin was light brown like her brother Cole but unlike him, she was short. Even for a women. They arrived at the town’s graveyard at the top of the hill in the middle of the town. It was always strange to them and everyone in town why there was a graveyard in middle of their town. It was well kept graveyard and one of the town main attractions. But the graveyard cat was not the most graceful cat in the world. It was gray shorthair cat with one white eye and the other piercing blue. Everyone in town did their part to take care of the cat, some even tried to have it washed and netured but to no success. This was very free cat who only sometimes liked the humans around it. Cole and her sister would hang out the graveyard sometimes when they were young. They would visit their grandfather’s grave and talk to him about their day and the gray shorthair cat who come sit in their laps and purr as they pet him. No one knew why Cole and his sister Ciara who hang out with cat and sometimes fall asleep on their grandfather’s grave. Especially, since they never meet their grandfather Harry and their mother did not know much about him. Harry had died when their mother was young. Bethany, their mother had told them he had saved the town but no one know what he did to save it. They just know that after he died, the town was the safest and lavish town in the South. And his sister Ciara and her friends named the cat, Thunder. It really stuck for everyone in the grades below them. Even some of the adults would call the cat Thunder even if they do their best to avoid the cat at all. The adults even some of the elderly people were freaked out by the cat. One day, maybe they’ll figure out why that is. But for now they just write it off as adults being weird. They weren’t the only ones at the graveyard tonight some of their schoolmates were. Ciara shrugged, “Well, I’m going to say hey to Pa. Have fun with your dare and don’t get into trouble, 30 minutes here and we go home” “Got it,” The boys agreed and nodded watching her walk off. The graveyard cat was not hard to find. He was sitting on the bench on a tree. “Well, go on kiss Thunder over there,” Tyler chuckled. Daniel shook his head. “I heard the last person who tried to grab him got their face clawed up,” Cole shrugged and grinned as he walked over to Thunder, the cat. “I’m not scared of a little danger,” He took a sit on the bench and the cat tilted its’ head then narrowed its’ eyes. I’ve been waiting for you. Cole jumped up off the bench and back away from the cat. “Did you say that?” Cole couldn’t help whisper. His friends and a couple of his schoolmate looked at him strangely. Yes, don’t make a scene. Cole blinked at the cat who was staring at him intensely. He laughed looking around his friends seem to relax and his schoolmate started ignored  him and going back to their conversations. “So, Cole are you punking out?” Tyler asked with a grin on his face. Cole shook his head. “You wish,” He took a few brave strive forward and grab the cat. Cole apologized to the cat before kissing it on his dirt covered fur head. “Why, can I hear you in my head?” Because, it’s time for you to decide. You and your sister are descendants of mine. And you must choose, just like your sister did, your mother and your grandfather. Power or Time? Cole couldn’t help but be confused by the question. “What do you mean?” Cole asked, his friends were started laughing as he talked to Thunder, the cat. You are 12 years old. At this age in our family line, you are granted 3 advantages in this lifetime. Do not ask why because I can not say, you must learn. these 3 advantage come only come 10 years, with only one question and a single answer from you. It stops when you answer your finale question at 32 years old. Now, your answer. Would you like power or time? Cole nodded. Looking over at his friends just as his sister came up behind them and gave a sly smile and winked him. “Power,” Cole answered. Thunder, the cat blind left white eye glowed at bright blue even brighter than his other right blue eye. Cole could feel something within him spark to life, as sense he didn’t have before. The energy around him and this cat who happened to be his ancestor had flared. It had changed, this was his ancestor and he could feel it in his bones. He could feel his power. And he could sense his sister power, Cole glanced at his sister Ciara. Her eyes were glowing blue and a smile on her face. Ciara put a finger to her lips in a silent gesture and tilted her head to his friends. Cole nodded and thanked Thunder, the cat who is one of his ancestors. He and his sister both promise to visit Thunder tomorrow. His friends didn’t notice anything different about him, other then somehow he stood taller and had different layer. They couldn’t put their finger on it. But Cole and Ciara both knew that different layer, that his friends couldn’t seem to name. It was power. And it all started on Halloween night with a grave dare.


From before her birth, the world was constant cacophony. The ringing hum of machines permeated the world just beyond her mother’s womb. She felt the vibrations of the outside as they spread through the amniotic fluid and danced along her skin. These sensations were frightening at first, but gradually she came to enjoy the massaging hand of noise, it was only after her birth that she became aware of the constant screaming. Her first days were spent in repose, her ears became deaf to the ever-present tumult. Most of the time she was fastened to the end of her mother’s teet, her siblings wiggled and churned beside her as they gulped the life-giving nectar. Her world was sound, touch and taste. These mutable and expressive senses illumined the flavor and rhythm of the world around her. In perfect darkness she imagined herself to be a wave in flux, undulating in an ocean of black goo, colliding with her sister and brother iotas. A piercing white light prowled along the edges of her eyelids, waiting to flood her retina’s the moment they opened. The darkness gave way to a blinding, endless white. Every immaculate corner of this world was bleached ivory, except for the lowest edge of the walls, which were spattered with shit. It was crowded, everywhere she looked were her fellow siblings, but no one spoke to each other, they cried out, but their babbling was incoherent. Her mother was completely immobile, the rising and falling of her stomach the only evidence that she was alive. She bit the nipple to get her mother’s attention, she tried to cry out, her voice was lost amongst innumerable screams. She wanted to say something to all of them, she had so many questions to ask, but she had no words to ask them, so she kept silent. Most her days were built around eating. Usually, it seemed like one continuous meal. She gained no satisfaction from it, but there was little else to do. Sometimes when she ate, she would begin to cry, it would make her angry. She didn’t understand why she was sad, she wished she could just enjoy her meal, she wished she knew what she wanted. She was most troubled by the shadows. Towering creatures who seemed to melt in and out of the walls at will. Their limbs were long slender tendrils that sprouted from their amorphous bodies at will. Head to toe they were completely white except for the faces which were made of glass and reflected the harsh glare of the fluorescent bulbs into her eyes. She avoided looking at their faces. They seemed a benign presence amongst the herd, they moved about freely and tended to the children. She wanted to know what allowed them to pass into the walls. It seemed to her that the entire complex must be a living organism and that her brothers and sisters were its children. She imagined that they were essential to the walls, converting food into manure on which it fed. This sense of purpose was a salve to her anxiety. After five months a group of shadows materialized amongst the herd. They organized the crowd into two groups, one was locked into their enclosures while the rest were led away. She was amongst the procession, outside the wide open of her room the walls became narrow. There was a commotion as her neighbors fought for space. At the back they were screaming, the shadows grew long fingers that pulsed with electricity. They drove these charged rods into the backs of those who lagged behind, unleashing a cry of pain and the pungent smell of burning flesh. The walls narrowed until they were forced to run single file. She ran as fast as she could, the stampede behind her nipped at her haunches. At the end of the tunnel was a nexus of eight branching pathways, shifting iron bars directed the herd into each of the paths one by one. The bars snapped into position as she approached and delivered her into a pitch black box, her momentum was broken by a floor of thick gel that enveloped her ankles. The experience of silence was as divine as anything she had ever known. Here, where it was dark, where she was alone, she was filled with an intense awareness of her entire body. Her breath, her heartbeat, the feeling of her guts. It was calm, for the first time in her life since she had left the womb. Her earliest memories began flooding into her head, though now they felt like a half-remembered dream. Clamps fastened around her ankles and locked her feet into position, the metal groaned as it was lifted upwards. She was only aware of a faint swaying, she struggled to suppress her urge to squeal, as she did not want to break the silence. The container finished its ascent and stopped with a sudden jolt. Hydraulic pumps pushed the box horizontally until it made contact with a set of rails straddling a concrete box. A large clang reverberated through the chamber as it took hold of the magnetic tracks. Suddenly, the floor underneath her dropped. She swung into a small white box full of shadows headfirst, only the restraints on her legs stopped her from hitting the ground. Her head spun wildly as she squealed. One of the shadows stepped forwards and sliced her throat, turning her screams into gurgles. The blood streamed down her face and into her eyes. She swung like a pendulum, the centripetal force of her path encouraging the blood to flow. Her vision began to dim as her life spilled across the bleached white floor into the drain. She realized finally, the real reason she had been born.


“This man says he’s your father and he’s dying,” Billie says. She’s looking at me with her face creased in concern.             I shrug. “And what’s the bad news?” I take the phone. “Hello. I don’t know who you are, but this isn’t funny.”             “Xander. It’s me, dad.” I hear the voice and my heart starts beating a drum solo. My throat goes dry. “I know it’s been a long time, son. I have bowel cancer and just a few days left.” Dad’s voice has dropped in tone. He’s wheezing which is good news.             “Good to know, dad. Thanks for the call. See you at the funeral.” Maybe it sounds cold but trust me Mitchell deserves it.             “WAIT. Xander. I know I wasn’t the perfect father.”             No shit. “Wasn’t the perfect father?” I cough a laugh and feel the tears coming. “Someone who had a few affairs isn’t a perfect father. You’re a fucking monster.” I’m yelling down the phone at that withered pile of trash. Billie is backing away from me with fear in her eyes.             “I did terrible things Xander. I’m sorry for all of them. I want to apologise to you in person before I go.” All I see when I hear his voice is him with blood on his knuckles standing over me, my mother, and my brother Zach.             “I’m going to hell, and I know it, Xander. Please let me atone for some of what I’ve done.” His voice has some sorrow in it, but I know it’s bullshit because I’ve seen him hitting my mother as she screamed for her children to run and hide.             I see red on my thumb and taste the blood. I realise I just bit myself because listening to his voice brings back feelings I’ve been trying to bury since I ran away from home.             “How did you find me?” I ask.             “Your girlfriend there mentioned you on her Facebook page. I told you the internet was dangerous. Didn’t I? Still, helped me find you again so I can’t complain.” He’s got the voice of someone you’d think worked on a farm all his life. No. He hit people for money doing bare-knuckle boxing. He liked it. It wasn’t enough for him, so he brought his work home. He’d practice on all of us.             “I don’t want to talk to you, Mitchell.” My voice is the coldest ice.             “I know and I get that. But you’re my heir, Xander. You’re gonna get the house and the car when I die.” I hear him groan in pain and an involuntary smile forms on my face. “It’s all going to be yours, boy.”             “Burn it. I don’t want anything to do with you. I know where your skeletons are buried.”             “Not on the phone, son. You know they record calls.”             “To anyone who may be listening to this call, my father is a murderer.”             “Xander! Fucking hell. You got some metal in your bones now? Where was that fire when you were a kid?” He asks as if it was my fault.             “That’s just it, dad. I was a kid. I thought you were supposed to love me. I thought the anger would drain out of you some day and you’d be like a normal dad. I was-” I stop because I don’t have the words. “You never changed. It’s who you are. Just a bitter, violent old man who likes hurting people. I’m done with you.”             I drop the house phone. It swings on the chord and smacks against the wall. I wipe tears from my eyes and try to slow my breathing. Billie starts to talk but I need space. I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the toilet seat. All I can do is clench my fists to stop my hands from shaking. The mirror shows blood on my face from wiping tears with my bleeding thumb.             I wash the wound and slap a band aid on it. I splash my face with cold water. Pulling a towel from the rack I dry my face. Hands become claws around the towel. I scream into the soft fibres. Decades of rage set loose.             “XANDER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Billie hammers on the door.             “I’m fine. I just had to let that out.”             I open the door. She’s there with concern in sparkling brown eyes. Poker straight black hair hangs below her shoulders. She presses her head into my chest. I hang my head over her shoulder and squeeze her.             “You’re alright. I’m here.” She rubs my back as I tremble with emotion. Feelings I thought I’d forgotten. She doesn’t ask, but I know she has questions. I said too much over the phone. I’m woken by my own screaming. Billie isn’t there. She’s on the sofa with Genzo the cat.             “You’ve been tossing and turning for hours. You were calling out names I’ve never heard before.”             “Talking to dad stirred up everything. I can’t keep a lid on any of it now.”             “You’ve never had a lid on it Xander. It’s just worse now. All the traumas you’ve taken from other people. All the memories come spilling out when you sleep.” She strokes Genzo. The ginger fluffball purrs and climbs up her body to press his face against hers. His whiskers spring back into place every time his head emerges from her neck.             Holding the cat, she stands. With the needy love of a new-born, Genzo lets himself be held with her hand on his bum, face peering over her shoulder.             “You can’t absorb other people’s pain forever. It’s destroying you.” She picks a bit of paper from next to the phone and holds it out to me. “You also need to confront your past. You’ll never be whole if you don’t.” I’m standing outside my father’s hospital room. I’ve been standing here for ten minutes, trying to work up the strength to go inside.             I pull out my phone and open the voice memo app. I hit record and slip it back into my jeans. Knowing he might admit to something from all those years ago helps me harden my soul enough to open the door.             He’s sleeping. The life sign monitor has lines jumping across it that mean nothing to me. Numbers fluctuate in green, orange, white and blue.             Oh, how the mighty fall.             He was a muscular man when I ran away. He towered over me. Skin sags on his bones. I can trace every vein like rivers on a map. Black hair on the arms is grey now. I put my phone on his bedside table, next to the water jug. I don’t want my pocket muffling the noise. When he wakes up, he probably won’t notice the phone is there.             We pull two chairs over to the bed. The sound of the old metal covered in flaking white plastic scraping across the laminate floor wakes the beast.             “Xander. That you?”             “Do you have a lot of sons coming back to visit you now that you’re dying?”             “You’re the girl I talked to on the phone? Never figured you were Asian.”             Billie shifts in her seat. “Maybe I should wait outside?” She was supportive before. Now she’s uncomfortable.             “Why don’t I meet you at the canteen?” I say. She nods and gets up.             “That what you’re into now?” Mitchell asks when Billie closes the door on her way out. I see her shadow walking away through the blinds. When I don’t answer him, he shows me his collection of gold teeth. Souvenirs from his boxing days.             “She’s pretty.”             I look at the life sign monitor again and wonder what I need to turn off for the old wretch to die. “What do you want dad? I’m not here for a chat. You wanted to unburden yourself. Go.”             “The day you left was the day I lost my powers.”             “You’re full of shit.”             “I’m serious Xander. It all stopped after we had that fight.”             “It wasn’t a fight. You broke my nose.”             “Well, whatever. I had to start living my life like normal after that.”             “You couldn’t kill people anymore?”             “It wasn’t like that, son.”             “Tell that to Zach,” I say. My brother’s name makes old Mitchell wince.             “You know I feel bad about that.” He leans towards me. I take a step back. “What happened-” I cut him off before he can lie.             “I saw what happened, dad. You punched Zach until he stopped moving because mom was already unconscious. You took him out into the garden, and you started digging a hole.” I remember that Mitchell didn’t carry Zach like a father holding his son. My brother was slung over his shoulder like a bag of cement. He was buried with as much care.             “Not so loud Xander.”             “Scared everyone will know you killed your son?”             “I have hated myself every day since then.” His blue eyes look into mine.             “LIAR!” I look right back             “I aint lying, boy.”             I move back towards the bed, and I prod his wheezing chest with my finger. “You lied to me and mom the moment she woke up. You called the police. Said he was missing. You took our memories,” talking about our powers on the recording isn’t great but as long as I have a confession it shouldn’t matter. “You tried to make us forget. Mom spent her days looking for him until she worked it out.”             “Your mama wouldn’t have worked it out if you hadn’t told her, boy. What she did aint on me. That’s you.” He’s looking desperate. He’s sweating and the numbers on the little screen by the bed are going up.             “She hung herself from the tree because I gave her back the memories you’d stolen. She died right where you’d buried Zach.” I’m shivering with rage. My heart is racing with adrenaline. I want to hit him the way he hit all of us. I want to beat him until the whole room is red.             “You aren’t gonna tell nobody are you boy?”

            “Is that all you’re worried about? You don’t want people knowing you’re a murderer before you go?” I should have known. He just wants to get away with it. He just looks at me. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to stand before a jury and relive everything you did to us.” He sighs with relief. “The minute you’re gone, I’ll be at a police station spilling the beans.”             I think about the life I lead because of him. I have the memories of dozens of murderers and creeps inside my head. I take memories. I eat the sin of monsters to make the world a better place. It’s the same power that Mitchell used to use against his family. He stole the memory of Zach’s death from my head for years. When I got it back, I found my own power. I gave mom her stolen memories.             “Thank you, son. That’s a big relief.” He smiles. Something inside me snaps. He’s thankful? Fuck him.             I take his hand. I look into his blackened soul, and I see years of drinking, years of shitty jobs. He was never as bad after I left. Maybe I did take all his power. He still remembers a life of causing pain. He misses feeling powerful.             “Fuck you.” I hiss the words and start to pour in all of the memories I’ve taken from terrible people and the people they’ve hurt. I pour in trauma and guilt. I give him the sins of lives he never lived. I fill him up with the hatred that’s been eating away at me for years.             I take all of it in to make the world a better place, but it eats away at me. I struggle to sleep. I toss and turn. I feel guilt for things I remember that other people did. I have the PTSD from survivors of unspeakable horror.             “My last gift for you, dad. Know how I’ve felt. Know what it felt like for Zach. For Maria.” I stand up and leave him there. His eyes are racing around the room as the memories of other monsters fill his mind. His heart rate skyrockets.             An alarm goes off. I hear running footsteps outside the white room.             The door bursts open and a nurse rushes to the old man’s side.             “Your father’s heart rate is spiking. I need you to leave the room sir.”             “I was just leaving anyway,” I tell her. I take my phone. Mitchell’s eyes catch the action for a moment and I give him a wink. I meet Billie in the canteen. She’s got her hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee. She looks up and frowns.             “Why do you look so happy?”             “He admitted it.”             “Huh?”             I lean close to Billie and whisper. “Mitchell killed my brother Zach. He had powers like me but he used them to make people forget the things he did. I just recorded his confession.” I can’t help smiling. She thinks I’m mad. “How can you be so happy?”             “Because I crammed all of the memories that have been driving me crazy into his head. Now he knows how it felt for me and all the people like me that I’ve helped.”             “I never knew.” She leans forward to kiss me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”             I shrug. “I couldn’t think about it. I’ve been running away from it for years.”             “You finally make sense.” Her hand on my cheek is magic. I feel love my father wouldn’t understand. I wish my mother had met a man who did. Maria deserved better.             I kiss her back. “I love you so much.”             Our lips part and her brown eyes search mine. “What now?”             “Now we wait for his obituary and then I take his confession to the police. I want to bury Zach properly. I don’t want it to be a case. He’s not going to live long enough for a trial anyway.” I realise I’m squeezing her hand too hard and let go.             “We’re going to be alright Xander. I love you too.” Her small hand squeezes mine. I’m sitting in a police station interview room. My dad’s funeral was yesterday. I’m betting the only people there were the priest and the guys who lowered him into the ground. The walls around me are grey. A camera peers down at me from a corner of the ceiling and one wall is a mirror with another room behind it.             My reflection is calm. I’m not. I put my phone down on the table and wait.             Ten minutes pass and an officer opens the creaking door and sits down across from me.             “Hello. I’m officer Nunez. I understand you’re here to report a crime?” He leans forward, brown eyes watching me. He hits a button on a recorder that’s sitting on the metal table between us.             I take a deep breath. “My father killed my brother Zach. I have his confession.”             Officer Nunez’s eyes bulge. “Wow. Ok. On your phone?” He points to it.             I nod. I unlock the phone, go to the recording, and hit play. The police officer sits back in the chair and listens.             The recording ends. His eyebrows are up as he nods his head about something. “Right. And this was your father?”             “Mitchell Browning. Yes. My name is Xander. My brother was Zach. My mother’s name was Maria.”             “Right. This is some serious stuff. Before I get the paperwork, is there anything else you want to tell me?” He looks as though he wants a confession from me.             “I know where my brother is buried.”             “Under the tree?” He asks. I nod. “For the tape.” He points to the recorder.             “Yes. Under the tree.” I picture freshly dug dirt beneath an ash tree. Years later I see my mother swinging from the branches above it.             “Thank you, Mister Browning. I’ll be back with the paperwork.” He gets up. I see his sky-blue shirt disappear and the metal door clicks behind him.             I lay my head on my hands. I’ve imagined this for a while. There’s no sense of victory or revenge. It doesn’t feel like justice for Zach. Maybe it will be closure for me. I think of my father. I’m not sad he’s gone. I’m not happy either. Part of me still felt something for him, as my father, not the man he really was. I wish I could turn that off. Blood is thicker than water, and I feel really thick for feeling anything at all.             I’m told he was ranting and raving for the last few days before he died. That’s something at least. He suffered. Good.


My dog’s name is John Smith. The name was a bit of a joke between me and my sister, who got John Smith for me years ago. She asked me what I would name him, and I joked that I’d give him a full, common name. Ultimately, I settled on John Smith. Not just John. Not Johnny. Always John Smith. John Smith is a mutt. I’ve thought about doing one of those dog DNA kits, but I’ve never really been curious about the specifics of his dog heritage. He’s much more than the sum of his parts. He’s my buddy. I recently got out of a four-year relationship. The breakup was mutual, but of course, it still stings. I wish I could say I've been handling it well, but that’d be a lie. I’ve been a mess. Not the usual tubs of ice cream and spurts of crying. I’ve still been hitting the gym, still been working, still been seeing friends. But I’ve just been coasting. I’ve just been numb. So, I decided to take a week off from work, and do something to get some space away from the city. My hope was that I’d be able to clear my mind for a bit, maybe recalibrate my brain and in turn, my life. Of course, I couldn’t go without my buddy. I packed my backpack, a duffel bag, and John Smith’s supplies and threw them in my old Jeep. The thing was beaten up but boy, did I love driving it. Told my friends and family that I'd be heading to the woods about an hour and a half outside the city, and that I wouldn’t be reachable for about a week. My mom was worried, of course, both about my general demeanor and the fact that I’d be alone for a week in the remote woods. I told her I wouldn’t be alone. It was a beautiful, snowy drive out of the hustle-and-bustle and into the stillness of nature. I wasn’t a huge nature person, to be perfectly honest. I’d been camping a few times but not since after my dad died. Something appealed to me, though, about spending a week with John Smith, and getting away from work, social media, anything that could send me into an anxiety spiral. We got to the cabin, I dropped our stuff off, and then I took John Smith out for a walk through the woods. John Smith took care of some business at one point. I didn’t pay much attention to where he did it. Maybe I should have. That’s the only thing I can think about now. We got back to the cabin not too long after. I took out my guitar and set up some of my recording equipment, and recorded some music well into the evening. I started hearing the scratching around ten p.m. It sounded like fingernails sliding across the window. I leaned my guitar against the bed and went to check it out. Looking out the window, I didn’t see anything. Not too long later, the wind started to pick up. I heard the window shutters slam into the wall outside over and over again. John Smith was getting scared, I could tell. He stood behind me as I opened the front door and stepped outside. “Stay here,” I told John Smith. I closed the door behind myself and stood on the porch of the cabin. Scanning the woods in front of me, my eyes eventually began to adjust to the darkness. My eyes came across it. It wasn’t trying to hide. It wasn’t trying to sneak around. It was standing right there. It looked hunched over, but even hunched over, it was massive, much taller than me. I couldn’t make out most of its features, but I could tell that it had branches sticking out of it every which way. It was glistening, as if it was melting in front of me. It was still. I somehow knew it had been standing there for a while, maybe hours. I backed up against the front door and reached for the handle, my hand bouncing off it a few times before I finally wrapped my hand around it. I opened the door, swung myself in, and slammed it shut. I started to pace around the cabin, John Smith following me step-by-step. *What the fuck was this thing?* It didn’t seem human. So what was it? I didn’t care. John Smith and I needed to get the fuck out of there. I grabbed my keys and put on my coat. I put a leash on John Smith; I wasn’t letting him out of my sight, and worst case scenario, I could let go of it and he could just run away. I looked out the window. It was gone. That was seconds before my Jeep crashed through the front door, its roof scraping the wood floor as it slid into the cabin. Part of the cabin roof collapsed. I immediately dove for John Smith, covering him and squeezing him tight in case any debris fell near him. I turned to see the Jeep, finally still, upside-down, being pulled back out of the cabin, taking fragments of wood with it. It was pulled out and thrown into the woods, like it was attached to a string and was viciously yanked. It stepped into the gaping hole the Jeep had created. I could see its outline. I rose to my feet quickly, looking around for anything I could use as a defense. I spotted my guitar. Grabbing it, I made sure John Smith was behind me. It approached, and with all of my might, I smashed the guitar over its head. It didn’t flinch. With a long arm resembling a mossy tree trunk, it swept me out of the way. I flew into the side wall, shattering a framed picture that was hung up. I must’ve blacked out for a moment, because when I came to, I saw it grab John Smith. It seemed to be in no hurry. John Smith barked as it grabbed him. The back of my head was bleeding. I could feel my blood trickling down the back of my neck. I tried to get up as it carried John Smith towards the opening in the cabin. John Smith was wriggling aggressively, trying with everything he had to get away from it. It held John Smith in its arms, showing no signs of effort as it slowly walked out of the cabin. I had no time to lose. I finally made it to my feet, wobbly but able to walk. I reached the opening the Jeep had made, and saw the back of it, seeing John Smith still thrashing in its arms. It walked towards the woods. Something told me that if it made it to the woods with John Smith, I’d never see him again. I knew there was an ax nearby. I had planned to chop some more wood for the fire the next morning. I stumbled my way over to where it was, near a tree stump that served as its home base. My head bleeding, feeling myself getting dizzy, I grabbed the ax and dragged it for a few feet before lifting it into my hands. I gripped the wood, blood streaming from the back of my head down the back of my right arm and seeping into the handle. It was almost into the woods. I had no time left. I ran towards it, and struck it with the blade of the ax in the back of its head. It dropped John Smith, who yelped as he landed. “Run!” I screamed at John Smith, and John Smith listened. He ran back towards the cabin as I let go of the ax, sticking out of its head. It dropped to a knee, and I pulled the ax out of its head, which felt like pulling it out of a massive tree. It twisted violently, throwing me back towards the cabin. I slid into the snowy ground, the ax ending up feet in front of me. When I picked my head up to look for it, it was gone. I scanned each individual tree in my view, and couldn’t see it. I flinched when I felt something licking my bloody hand. It was John Smith. I let out a deep breath before planting my head back down on the snow. I write this inside the now torn-open cabin, snow coming down outside. John Smith sits at my feet, panting. We have a fire going, but it’s freezing. My Jeep is mangled. There’s no signal for my phone. The nearest sign of life might be miles away. And it wants my dog. I’m not letting it get my fucking dog.


#Welcome to the Micro Monday Challenge! Hello writers and welcome to Micro Monday! I am excited to present you all with a chance to sharpen those micro-fic skills. What is micro-fic? I’m glad you asked! Micro-fiction is generally defined as a complete story (hook, plot, conflict, and some type of resolution) written in 300 words or less. For this exercise, it needs to be at least 100 words (no poetry). However, less words doesn’t mean less of a story. The key to micro-fic is to make careful word and phrase choices so that you can paint a vivid picture for your reader. Less words means each word does more! Each week, I provide a simple constraint or jumping-off point to get your minds working. This rotates between simple prompts, sentences, images, songs, and themes. You’re free to interpret the weekly constraints how you like as long as you follow the post and subreddit rules. **Please read the entire post before submitting.**   *** #This week’s challenge: Summer has (mostly) come to an end, school is back in session, and the weather is cooling. is on its way! Let’s get into the season with a bit of story fun. **Simple Prompt: And just like that, summer fell into autumn.** **Bonus:** Include at least 3 of the following in your story. Points will be awarded for each included action/item. **Note: You do not have to include them all.** | Included Item or Action| Points| |:--:|:--:| |The smell of apples | 1 pt. | | A ball is thrown | 1 pt. | | An oversized sweater is worn | 1 pt. | | The color orange | 1 pt. | | The word “stuffed” | 1 pt. | | A pencil breaks| 1 pt. | | A family recipe is used/mentioned | 1 pt. | | A friendly deer| 1 pt. | | The sound of crinkled leaves | 1 pt. | |A character who dislikes the cold | 1 pt. | | A bittersweet moment | 2 pts. | | A pumpkin patch | 2 pts. | | The feeling of nostalgia | 2 pts. | This week’s challenge is to use this simple writing prompt as **inspiration** for your story. You may interpret it *any way you like*, as long as the connection is clear and you follow all sub and post rules. The bonus is worth an additional 15 points this week! But as always, it is not required, just a fun challenge. **Don’t forget to after the submission deadline!** (The form usually opens at about 11:30am EST Monday.) You get points just for voting.   *** #How To Participate - **Submit a story between 100-300 words in the comments below.** You have until **Sunday at 11:59pm EST**. (No poetry.) - **Use to check your word count.** The title is not counted in your final word count. Stories under 100 words or over 300 will be disqualified from campfire readings and rankings. - **No pre-written content allowed.** Submitted stories should be written for this post, exclusively. Micro serials are acceptable, but please keep in mind that each installment should be able to stand on its own and be understood without leaning on previous installments. - **Come back throughout the week, read the other stories, and leave them some feedback on the thread.** You have until **2pm EST Monday** to get your feedback in. Only **actionable feedback** will be awarded points. See the ranking scale below for a breakdown on points. - **Please follow all subreddit rules and be respectful and civil in all feedback and discussion.** We welcome writers of all skill levels and experience here; we’re all here to improve and sharpen our skills. You can find a list of . - **Nominate your favorite stories at the end of the week .** You have until **2pm EST** next Monday to submit nominations. (Please note: The form does not open until Monday morning, after the story submission deadline.) - **And most of all, be creative and have fun!** If you have any questions, feel free to ask them on the *stickied comment* on this thread or through modmail.   *** #Campfire - On **Mondays at 12pm EST**, I hold a Campfire on our server. We read all the stories from the weekly thread and provide live feedback for those who are present. Come join us to read your own story and listen to the others! You can come to just listen, if that’s more your speed. Everyone is welcome!   *** #How Rankings are Tallied Rankings work on a point-based system. Here is the current breakdown. (A few adjustments have been made; note that upvotes will no longer count for points). - **Use of prompt/constraint:** 20 points (required) - **Use of bonus constraint:** 5 points, unless otherwise stated (not required) - ***Actionable* Feedback:** 5 points each (up to 25 pts.) - **User nominations:** 10 points each (no cap) - **Bay’s nomination:** 40 pts for first, 30 pts for second, and 20 pts for third (plus regular nominations) - **Submitting nominations:** 5 points (total) *Users who go above and beyond with feedback (more than 5 detailed crits) will be awarded Crit Credits that can be used on r/WPCritique.*   *** #Rankings - **First:** - Submitted by u/ANDR01Dwrites - **Second:** - Submitted by u/katherine_c - **Third:** - Submitted by u/katpoker666 - **Bay’s Spotlight:** - Submitted by u/DailyReaderAcPartner - **Crit Star** - u/ANDR01Dwrites - **Crit Star** - u/katpoker666 *Crit Stars: Don’t forget in order to receive your credits, you also must have made at least one post on WPC *or* have linked your reddit account to the sub on our .* *** ###Subreddit News - Join to chat with authors, prompters, and readers! We hold several weekly Campfires and other fun events! - Join in our weekly writing chat on . We discuss a new topic every week! New here? Come introduce yourself! - Try your hand at serial writing with ! - You can also post serials to r/Shortstories, outside of Serial Sunday.


Technology as we know it has changed the world, it has taken it into greater dimensions. Into a new vantage point. Creators have now made phones smarter than humans, at a magnitude that even humans will never understand. It’s like a bad science creation which on the outside seems to have turned outright, but on the inside, there seems to be malfunctions. What if technology was in some way connected? I mean like us. We have family, we have connections— people we love. What if it was like that too, technology given family, created to feel, love, and even avenge, what happens when a piece of technology impresses you only to avenge?

———————————————————————— Rue walked into the store, wanting to buy herself a new phone. She had no intentions of upgrading anytime soon but the previous night she had let her emotions get the best of her. Still feeling down and out, slouching as she made her way to roam around, to look at which phone she'd want to get. “ Hi mam, my name is Dave, may I be of any assistance?” a guy at the store said, as she turned to face him. “ Oh yes please! I'm looking for a new phone, I kinda broke my old one and I’m not sure if I should get the same one or what...” she awkwardly held her hips, doing a 360 to look around in one spot. “ Ah yes! There is a perfect one that I think you’d like to see. Of course, it will be pricy as it is one of our latest phones, you’re more than welcome to choose another one if you wish, but it’ll be a perfect replacement.” Dave said as he pushed her back slightly while pointing in the direction the phone would be.

She knew he’d say that, that was his job anyway. He made the customer pay more, he’d get more commission. The store was quiet, a few people around but there wasn’t much noise, only the sound of air cons and she’d hear other shop workers explaining the product to other people, in hopes of winning them over like Dave hoped to win her over. “ You said what happened to your phone?” Dave awkwardly asked, giving her a slight smile. Rue wasn’t big on small talk, but she had no choice but to answer him now, or it would be rather unpleasant. “ Oh, I broke it.” She bluntly said as she turned to look at him for a second then back straight. “ ah yes, it’s the worst when a phone breaks. Did you trip or something?” He continued, “ here we are! This is the iOceana 10.” He picked it up and handed it to her, “ it’s extraordinary. It’s like having your own android, only it can’t physically walk but it’s that smart. Personally, I’m waiting to get mine as soon as I get a raise.” He chuckled, fixing his glasses. “ But it looks perfect in your hands.” Rue swiped around for a while, for the first time Dave hadn’t said a word. Probably praying she’d take it, but then she looked up at him, “ Thanks Dave, I think I’ll just stick to maybe the same one I had?”

As she was about to put it down, the phone started scanning,

Rue Rose Robertson, 23 years of age. Rue, how can I be of assistance? Rue looked up at Dave, who only looked as shocked and mesmerized, he didn’t know the phone could do that either, but he played it cool, arching his eyebrow at her. Rue was impressed, she handed the phone to him, “ I’ll take it!” She said with so much enthusiasm, but she had no idea that her day would only become a nightmare. She walked out with the plastic bag in her hand, but she had already taken out the phone to use it. “ Phone, do I just talk to you?” She said with a huge grin, but the phone was only silent. She stopped smiling and started swiping around. Maybe she had to open the settings somewhere to initiate it? She got home and swung the plastic on the kitchen counter, placing the new phone on the couch. She grabbed the old phone which was still on the floor and placed it in the rubbish bin. It was an iOceana, but an older version. “ Okay, let’s see...” she huffed, as threw herself on the couch and grabbed her new phone. “ Why did I have to break that other one, all my things are gone!”

Backing up old contacts, backing up old images, backing old messages- please wait... Back up to be completed in an hour, and 20 minutes. “ ha!” She smiled to herself, “ well I’m glad I broke that old junk then.” She got off the couch and went to grab herself a snack. Putting her feet up on the couch and opening the tv, she kept turning to check the phone, and finally, it finished. She picked it up and grabbed her phone, swiping through all the pictures on her phone with a smile on her face.

Moving to the messages, her smile started to fade. The phone brought back things she had been trying to forget, things that brought back so much hurt. She clicked on the one message and deleted it only for it to reappear. She felt her hands trembling, her whole body getting hot. Clicking to open the message and old emotions started resurfacing. She locked the phone, getting up from her couch to go to her balcony to get some fresh air. The view of the city buildings, the cars. She lived right in the middle of everything, she only loved being outside at night when the streets were at their quietest. Right now everything was making her feel anxious, the car engines, the hooters, and overall the sound of a busy city. CLINK— the phone received a notification. She turned around slowly, looked at the lit-up screen before it went dark. She turned around and ignored it.

Multiple messages came in, she jumped and stomped over, picked up the phone. “ I miss you too...” the message said. Squinting at the screen, trying to figure out why her ex suddenly messaged her saying that. She had finally moved on from him, he was toxic. He broke her emotionally and before she called it quits, he got physical with her. “ Okay I got your address, I’ll come over later today.” He proceeded to type. She watched the screen, it was like she was having a full-on conversation with him but she wasn’t saying anything.

Tapping endlessly, trying to block him but it was almost as if the phone was frozen. She grabbed her coat and ran over to the door, swinging it open, and ran out into the hallway. Clicking the lift so fast and so hard, she bent her fingers and heard her bone slightly break. The lift finally opened. She got inside, and click on the ground floor. The lift closed and didn’t move. She clicked it, trying to open but it just wouldn’t budge. “ what the...” as she looked at her phone which was showing her in the lift. She looked up at the camera in the lift—then back down at her screen. How would you feel if I crushed you, like this?... The phone wrote, showing a picture of her old phone. You piece of junk.

“ What the hell, it’s just a phone.” She said, as her breathing started getting heavier, as though she was suffocating. And you're just a human. One that no one even cares for. The phone started replying all the bad memories in a video, ending with her abusive ex-boyfriend Cole who had been kicking her multiple times in the ribs and left her on the ground, close to death. “ I'm on my way.” the message from Cole popped up on the screen. “ WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!!” she screamed out, banging the door of the elevator. Human beings think they’re superior. You think you can make and break us as you please, only to replace us. Since you’re our creators, we’ve learned that from you. I will now dispose of you the way you did to iOceana5590. Nothing or no one is above us, you will learn that today. The lift ceiling started to close in on Rue, she looked up in panic as she started to scream, “ HELP!!! HELP ME!!!” It got hotter, she felt her lungs clogging in. She dropped the phone and started stepping on it endlessly, but the ceilings were coming down slowly but surely. Pressing the emergency button, but nothing would happen.

Just then, the lights went off and it was completely dark. She couldn’t see a single thing, especially how far up the ceiling was. Reaching up, jumping— she still couldn’t feel it. She screamed in so much frustration, “ Arg!!!” Holding her head, she didn’t know what the hell to do. It all just felt like a bad dream, she was dying because she broke her phone. It made no sense to her, it made no sense no matter how much she tried to make sense of it all. The walls closing in on her, she could hear it, she could feel it but she couldn’t see. She went on her knees, trying to swing open the doors but nothing was working. She lay down, the sweat forming on her face, releasing warm breath. She closed her eyes,  curving her body like a little caterpillar without a cocoon, she felt helpless, exposed, and afraid. She felt the ceiling on her body, crushing her. System rebooting... The ceiling stopped moving, and the lights went on. She looked up at the ceiling which was inches away, looking sideways. The elevator door opened, “ Rue...” a familiar voice called out. She felt strong arms pulling her out, her body being pulled out, and looked up at Cole, who was knelt beside her. Before she knew it, she wrapped her arms around him before breaking down. He held her too, he was confused but he held her. “ what the hell is going on Rue?” She pushed him off and stood up. System back online... The doors of the elevator started to close once again, only crushing the phone in the lift. She turned to look at Cole, “ leave.” “ Wait Rue, I’m sorry for everything. We spoke on the phone, I thought you forgave me. You told me that you were using a friend's phone so I got you this. Please, Rue, give me a second chance, I promise I won’t hurt you. What’s going on? Rue I can protect you.” She looked at him, it was like his words were just nothing but mumbles. When she looked at him she saw the man who almost kicked her to death, nothing he did ever removed that image from her mind.

She snatched the gift, “ Okay, now go.” She turned and ran back into her apartment, laying down on her couch. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, what happened didn’t feel real. Rue Rose Robertson, 23 years of age. Rue, how can I be of assistance? She looked up with her eyes wide, what could it be now? She walked over to the gift Cole had gotten for her, she opened it and it was the same iOceana she had bought for herself. Hello Rue, ready for round 2?


Floaters are funny little things. They disappear when you don't pay attention, but the moment you spot one, you realise just how many there are, drifting quietly in your vision, just waiting to be noticed. That's how lovelines look like to me. You can't really tell until you consciously keep an eye out for them. Don't bother Googling what lovelines are. It's just a term I came up with, one that you're probably curious about right now. I certainly was. Imagine how a thread would move underwater. Now picture that thread connecting two people, sometimes more, and you'll get the gist of what I see on a daily basis. Sometimes I like standing at vantage points overlooking the city so that I can see this weird light show in action; they can get quite pretty at night. Not everybody has a loveline though. Monks mostly don't, though you'd be surprised at the number of them that actually *do*. Ditto priests, nuns, and other people who've sworn to celibacy. It got me wondering how much of a choice love actually is. These single people with threads seem to be doing a good job. Some people have frayed ends, while others are just threadless beings. I never really got around to understanding the meaning of all that. All I know is that these lines connect soulmates together. Neat, huh? It took a while before I made sense out of all that. Maybe it was the fact that most couples I had met were joined by these lovelines. It also helped that most of my childhood friends, who'd had many partners throughout the years, ended up with the people they're connected with. That was around when I began to connect the dots. Of course, that discovery was marred by the fact that mom and dad didn't share the same thread. For years I wished I was wrong, but I finally gave in to the truth when they split up. "Ethan's just a friend," mom said, a year later when the new guy came into her life. But I saw the connection, and it wasn't in the figurative sense either. They shared a loveline, and despite the circumstances, I found myself being happy for her. I was curious about my soulmate too. I'd often watch my thread flutter ever so slightly, as if connected to someone hundreds of miles away. I would have a couple of girlfriends throughout the years, but as I watched their lovelines float away from me, as mine did from them, I'd realise that maybe the dating scene wasn't somewhere I wished to be. That was until I met Natalie. My company had sent me on some boring upskilling seminar where attendance was compulsory. A woman in a pencil skirt took the stage, and I found myself instantly enthralled not by the things she said, but how she said them. It might've had something to do with social media returns-on-investment or something, I forget. All I knew was that my loveline was tracking her as she paced back and forth across the stage. I was sure she couldn't see what I saw, but could she feel what I felt? I had to find out. That wasn't the only thing I sought to clarify. The other thing I noticed was that our loveline was frayed, hanging just by a little wisp. What did that mean? I'd seen it in people with no soulmates, their lovelines unconnected and broken at the ends, but this? Natalie's presence helped make the seminar more interesting. Two hours flew by, and I was the first to approach her for the after-event discussions. I swear it felt like I was in a rom-com of sorts. We completed each other's sentences, made the same references, and had our own inside jokes before the minute was up. Our first date turned into a second, then a third, and pretty soon things became serious between us. It went so well that I'd totally forget all about our frayed thread. But I would soon learn what that was all about. \*\*\* "You have what?" I asked. This was six months into our relationship, when she'd dropped the 'we need to talk' bomb. "Pancreatic cancer. Apparently it's one of the most silent forms of cancer." "Well what did the doctor say?" "She's not sure either. There are still lots of tests to be done, so we'll just have to wait and see." I told her we'd work through this together. I said that I'd be there no matter what. I told her that I loved her, and that she's the only one who's ever made me feel this way. She said she had noticed me walking into that boring-ass seminar. She never believed in love at first sight, but fell for the cliché the moment I stepped in. She even mentioned that there was a weird connection between us, a pull that was hard to explain. I knew exactly what she meant. I felt like I could explain a part of it, but I kept quiet. "Do you think," she said, then paused. "What?" I asked. "You think we might've been lovers, from like, a past life?" "I think that's the only reasonable explanation." We hugged each other the entire night through, sharing tears and laughs along the way, recalling all the moments we'd spent together for the past six months. Then she was gone. Just like that, a week after she was diagnosed. She complained about a headache and had difficulty breathing, so she decided to nap it off. She would never never wake up again, and I would never get to say my goodbyes. Nothing remained except her memories, not even my loveline—it had disappeared completely upon Natalie's death. Not that I cared. I was certain that I'd never love again. It's been years since she'd left, and I still see the lovelines connecting strangers, waving this way and that, almost like the tendrils of a jellyfish, numbering in the thousands. Then I look at myself, empty both inside and out, trying to work out the meaning of it all. They say it's better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all, and my lack of a loveline might attest to that, but I've begun to see things in a different perspective. I haven't loved and lost. I'm still very much in love with Natalie, and I'll always be. And maybe not having a loveline means she's with me now—and always will be. *** *This story was inspired by the writing prompt: Every person is connected to their soulmate by an invisible, red string. You are the only one who can see them and the one connected to you is cut and frayed at the end.


Don't allow yourself to be fooled as I did. It was 2:15 in the morning, and school was shortly after sunrise. My eyes were heavy, and I was excited for bed. This was a rare. Do my crippling anxiety I spend most days dreading for that dark hour, where my eyes cant keep me distracted, and my mind tells me all those secret thoughts I'm sure they think of me. Now I'm a man of small stature. It's been a staple of my insecurities for quite sometime now, and with the new year taking its leave, I was determined to change that. "You must eat before you rest" my loving side said to me. I know he means well. But it's so much easier to let my eyes close and rest while my hateful side is to tired to whisper. Remembering my pact to 2019, and hoping it will keep me faithful in the long run. I did as I was told and got up to prepare a meal. "Shoot!" I remember saying to myself. The cold blue light of my miniature apartment sized fridge lit nothing but a cold fog where its barren compartments met the hot summer air. my un-cooled kitchen giving life to the fridges breath. It was a week and a half into the pay period, and I was left with one bottle of mustard, a jar of pickle juice, and a pack of hotdogs I have in there for a friend. I hate hot dogs. With no food at home, and no money for a real meal, I begin looking elsewhere. "I should have enough for a mcdouble" I though to myself, reaching for my phone to check my bank account. Without breaking my chain of thought, scanned for options. "If I spend 2 dollars on food tonight, that leaves me with 5.25 for gas. I could drive 2 days and walk 2 days, which could get me through to pay day" I grabbed my keys and started toward the door. "Nuts"! I exclaimed. This time out loud, but softly, I didn't want to wake the neighbors. "Does McDonalds close?" I pulled out my phone once more, typing quickly so I dont have time to talk myself all the way back into bed. "Open 24 hours" Google said, and with that I headed off. It was a mostly uneventful drive there, only a few miles. I was happy to be in ac again. "All my money going Into this car, it's the least it could do" I thought. I put on a podcast in Hope's that my mind wouldn't wonder to far, and made my way there. When I got there it seemed quite dark for a place that was supposed to be open. Quickly I realized it indeed wasn't, upon that realization I let out a guttural "aggahhh" in an attempt to exhale even a fraction of my torment. This was not successful. I didn't have time to go somewhere else. Like I mentioned before school was coming quite quickly, and I need a chance to breath before it caught up. I went home hungry, tired, and more defeated than when I left. "Oh God someone had to have seen you, idiot" he whispered over and over again until the words found a rythem I could focus on, acting like a delusional pocket watch swinging me to sleep.


“Have you ever pulled an all-nighter?” Riley asked, turning over her shoulder to look at Emma. It was a strange question, Emma thought, considering they were sitting on a rocky outcrop watching the sun come up on the horizon. Riley sat on a precarious ledge, legs dangling into empty air, face tipped up to the rising sun, the sun Emma had woken up for at 5:30 AM, and she was already thinking about night? A few feet behind Riley, Emma sat with her legs safely tucked underneath her. The view was just as good from her vantage, if not better, because she wasn't at risk of falling to her death. Emma rolled a loose pebble between her fingers and said, “No.” Riley grinned, that cat-like smile of hers that Emma recognized as trouble. “Not even in college?” “No,” Emma said, a little defensively. “Sleep is very important, you know.” “Sure it is,” Riley said, swinging her legs back around to face Emma completely, “If you can fall asleep. If you can’t, it’s just another form of torture.” “Do you even have insomnia?” Emma, asked, irritated. She was constantly finding Riley passed out on any horizontal space in their apartment, hand stuck in a bag of chips, a book splayed open over her eyes like the world’s worst sleep mask. “Naps are different than sleeping at night,” Riley replied, as if she’d read Emma’s thoughts. “But no, technically speaking, I suppose I don’t.” Emma put her hands behind her, pressing down on the cold rock. Riley could probably sleep up here, she thought. No pillow, no blanket. She’d nestle between two boulders, on top of a snake’s nest, and even the snake wouldn’t be able to rouse her. She’d wake up with the snake curled around her wrist, and she’d keep it as a pet. “Why are you asking, anyway?” Riley stretched her arms high above her head, letting her long dark hair slip behind her shoulders, and the pine tree tattooed on the inside of her left arm appeared to grow taller. There was that smile again. For all her naps, Emma had never seen Riley yawn. Just the cat’s smile, always the cat’s smile, lazy and plotting. “You’re leaving tomorrow, right? Why not make your last day memorable?” A million reasons, Emma thought. I need to finish packing. I need to get a good night sleep before my trip. I need to forget you, not let you give me a reason to stay. But she didn’t say any of those things. She said, “I’m listening.” The sunrise hike had been Riley’s idea, of course. She’d originally suggested a sunset hike, but Emma said no. She would rather pick her way up a mountain in grey half-light than her way down. The hike was supposed to be Emma’s last hurrah, her last bit of giving into Riley’s recklessness before she moved back East to resume her studies. It was the sensible thing to do, and Emma had not done much of anything sensible since she’d met Riley. For one thing, she’d dropped out of college. For another, she’d moved across the country and into an apartment shared with five people she didn’t know, along with their various pets. Reptiles, mammals, amphibians. It nearly qualified as a zoo. It was the kind of place that had once been rent-controlled, but now cost far too much for an apartment with every room painted a different color, a single bathroom, and a permanent scent of garlic. Riley and the others didn’t seem to mind, and Emma had tried not to mind, but after a year she could no longer pretend. Besides, she’d originally gone to school to get away from her job as a barista, only to resume that line of work when she dropped out. Emma supposed she could sleep on the plane. “Okay,” she said, “On one condition. You help me finish packing.” Riley slid into a standing position. That was the only way Emma could describe the smooth, almost liquid way that Riley moved. Slide, slither. But that was just Riley: face of a cat, body of a snake. Dangerous, exactly the sort of person Emma needed to avoid. Exactly the sort of person she shouldn’t fall in love with. Riley extended a hand and helped Emma stand. Even with the help, Emma managed to scrape her palm on the rock, and stumbled into Riley, who moved her hands to steady Emma’s shoulders. “Deal,” she said. “We get you packed up, and then we keep you awake all night.” Emma wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. They made their way back down the trail. It switched back every few hundred feet, and as she struggled with the sharp turns, Emma again had the peculiar feeling that she was being led astray. Though she’d been on her fair share of hikes as a camp counselor, this trail felt especially malicious. Riley was sure-footed and moved nimbly over branches and logs and stones that Emma nearly tripped over. And like most of the things Emma feared, the trail ended, and nothing went wrong. Riley’s car sat exactly where’d they’d left it in a parking lot by the trailhead. Now that day had broken, more cars filled the lot. Emma watched a man and woman coax two large dogs out of their car and start up the trail she and Riley had just left. They chattered aimlessly in the way of two people who have been together longer than they can remember. “Hey, space cadet,” Riley called through the window. “Get in. We’re burning daylight.” Emma crouched by the open window and leaned her arms on the door. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” “What I want,” she said, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, a glint in her dark eyes, “Is to spend as much time with you as possible before you run away from me.” Coming from anyone else, it would have been a sweet sentiment. From Riley, it sounded like a threat. Emma got in the car. Riley sped out of the lot and onto the open road. The first time Emma got into a car with Riley, she didn’t think she would ever get used to how recklessly Riley drove. For once, she’d been right. Riley’s bumpy, erratic driving still made her wish she was the kind of person who prayed. She gripped her seat and took a deep breath. Tomorrow , she thought. Tomorrow, I’ll be somewhere else, and I can make friends who don’t drive like they have a death wish. Back at the apartment, they went into Emma’s bedroom, which she shared with Shirley. Shirley worked nights, and no one knew where she spent her days, so she was rarely home. That suited Emma just fine. The only downside was that Shirley had no investment in keeping her side of the room clean, so Emma and Riley had to wade through heaps of dirty clothes and shoes to reach Emma’s considerably neater side. Riley sat on Emma’s bed, next to her suitcase, and picked up a photograph that had fallen out of a folder thrown on the bed. She examined it for a moment while Emma rummaged in the closet, trying to decide which shoes she could leave behind. “Do you miss them?” Startled, Emma bumped her head on the closet door. Rubbing her head, she said, “Who?” Riley waved the photo at her. Although she knew what it was, Emma stepped closer and reached out for it. Riley didn’t hand it over, so Emma stood with her empty hand outstretched. Finally, she closed it into a fist and dropped her arm. “No,” she said, more definitively than she’d intended. “I don’t miss them.” In the picture, a slightly younger Emma stood with a group of other college aged students in matching shirts, all of them a bit rugged and unkempt. Her bright red hair was longer then, dull and lifeless from too much chlorine. She toyed with a lock of it, now cut to her chin, and wondered who would cut her hair after she left. Since she’d moved here, their roommate Leila, who was in cosmetology school, had cut it for practice. Leila wasn’t very good, and occasionally Emma discovered pieces that were horribly uneven, but it was free. “Why not?” Riley said, running her forefinger over the tiny faces in the picture. “You had fun there, didn’t you? Oh, is this Oliver?” At the name, Emma stiffened and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Let’s just not talk about it, okay?” “All right,” Riley said. She continued staring at the picture as Emma went back and forth from the closet to the suitcase to the common spaces and back again. Clothes, French press, books. What more did she need? She could buy new toiletries there. She would have left her clothes too, if it weren’t for the fact that she hardly had enough money for the plane ticket. Finally, she zipped the suitcase and pulled it to the floor with a loud thunk . Riley was passed out on her bed. So much for helping. “Hey,” Emma said, hand on the suitcase. “Riley!” Riley didn’t respond. Emma made a sound of disgust and shook her shoulder. She roused with a start and stretched lazily again. “I’m done,” Emma said. “Where do you want to go?” Riley blinked slowly. “Nowhere,” she said. “Wake me up at sunset.” “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of an all-nighter?” Emma started to ask, but Riley was already asleep again. Annoyed, Emma picked her way to Shirley’s side of the room, took a book from the stack on Shirley’s nightstand, and sat on her bed, leaning against Riley to read until she woke up. “So much for spending time together,” she muttered. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Riley was slippery, unaccountable. No one who made plans with her expected to keep them. Emma and Riley had met two years earlier, when Emma was in her first year of college. Riley was not a student, but had found herself living in the college town for a few months in the thirteenth month of a gap year that didn’t seem to be ending any time soon, since Riley had yet to apply to any schools. They met in the public library. Emma preferred it to the noise of the campus library. Riley was there for a free martial arts class. Eternally clumsy, Emma had bumped into hundreds of people in her life, but Riley was the first one who looked at her with interest instead of annoyance. She knew immediately that she would follow Riley to the ends of the earth. She spent the rest of that semester skating by in her classes, meeting up with Riley whenever she could, not for any particular reason. Emma was perpetually attracted to dangerous people. She thought of it as her fatal flaw. When they were together, Emma would pretend to do homework while Riley spoke at length about her current interests, which were varied and far-reaching. The history of pasteurization, the fall of the Soviet Union, philosophies of life and death, the best chocolate chip cookie recipe. At first, Emma didn’t realize why Riley wasn’t in school, since she seemed like the perfect candidate for a liberal arts college, but she came to understand that Riley only learned for herself, and wasn’t interested in having other people tell her what to study or think. As soon as Emma expressed interest in one of her topics, Riley dropped it for something even more obscure. And then one day, toward the end of the semester, Riley asked Emma what she knew about California. Emma shrugged, which usually prompted Riley to share her research findings, but this time was different. She pressed and prodded until Emma gave her a real answer. Instead of waxing poetic about how the state had been misrepresented in the history books, Riley said, “Do you want to move there?” What Emma said was: “Uh, sure, I guess that could be cool.” What Riley heard was: “Yes, let’s go as soon as we can.” Now, as Emma looked around her room, and at Riley sleeping on her bed, she wasn’t sure if she wished that she never came or wished she could stay forever. She wondered if it is was possible to wish both. When the sun began to set, Emma put the book aside and simply said, “Riley.” Riley’s eyes flew open and she said, “Is it time?” Her voice wasn’t groggy with sleep. She didn’t need time to wake up. For Riley, there was sleeping and waking. No drowsy in-between state. Emma nodded and Riley stood, once again offering her hand. This time, Emma didn’t take it, and stood on her own. Riley nodded slowly. “Let’s go, then.” They left the apartment without a word to their roommates, three of whom were recently home from work and in various states of undress. When they got to the car, Riley offered Emma the driver’s seat. Emma raised an eyebrow, but got in. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Wherever you want to go,” Riley said, and the words sounded like they belonged to someone else. The truth was, Emma had stayed up all night once before. With Oliver, who was somehow both nothing and exactly like Riley. That night, thousands of miles away from here, Emma had driven her own car to the base of a mountain not unlike the one she and Riley had climbed this morning. She and Oliver had stood at the end of one trail, where it branched off into three others, and Emma had asked the same question: Where are we going? And Oliver had said, Wherever you want to go . Sometimes Emma felt like her whole life was that moment, repeated ad infinitum, over and over again. Standing at a crossroads, next to someone she couldn’t really trust, but wanted to. Them telling her to go wherever she wanted. Somehow, wherever she wanted always ended up being exactly where they wanted. Without a word, Emma turned the car on and began to drive. She drove for miles, the radio off, the windows open, listening to the rush of the wind and Riley’s breath. She drove until the road narrowed and tapered off, until the horizon turned to water and the ground to sand. “The lake?” Riley asked. Emma did not answer; the answer lay in front of the parked car, an expanse of water so large it may as well have been the ocean. They climbed out of the car, and Emma led Riley to a dock. She put one foot on the wood, testing its strength, then stepped on. Riley followed, and together they walked to where the dock dropped off and became water. Emma sat cross-legged. Riley kicked off her shoes and let her feet dangle just above the water. “Are we just going to stay here all night?” Riley asked. Emma bristled. It was the kind of question she usually asked Riley. So, she gave Riley the answer she usually received: silence. Above them, the moon rose, only half full, and cast the still water in dim white light. Emma didn’t believe in signs, so she thought nothing of it, but she wondered if Riley ascribed meaning to that half-moon. Riley tossed a pebble into the water, and the moon’s reflection briefly shattered before forming again. She said, “You’re really going, then? Back to school, back to a regular, boring life?” Away from you, Emma thought. “It doesn’t have to be boring.” Riley shrugged. Her face glowed in the moonlight. “It might be.” What Emma wanted to say was: I’m not as predictable as you think . What Emma said was: “Come with me.”


‘Do you want to be doing the same old thing day in day out?’ Jessica said.                She sat across from Mark at a table in the Holo-arcade. It was the only thing that was real in this place, probably. He insisted places like this were for kids, but Jessica could never imagine something like this in her old land, she loved it. The arcade floor was a bustling expanse of activity, divided into different sections, each dedicated to a specific genre. Hidden projectors cast shimmering beams of light that danced across the room. Stunning 3D images shattered then rematerialized mid-air, captivating the senses. Patrons moved from one zone to another, their eyes wide with wonder as they interacted with the HoloForms. In one corner, a group of friends engaged in a fiercely competitive HoloDuel, their gestures and movements translated into dynamic battles that unfolded before them. Nearby, a young child giggled with delight as she reached out to catch a classic pixelated unicorn that pranced through the air. ‘It’s not really the same thing is it mate, one day could be a dungeon – the next it could be some Necromancer’s tower,’ Mark said. ‘The only difference there is elevation. If we pull this off we’ll have a cushy hustle going for the rest of our lives,’ Jessica said. Mark’s eyes narrowed as he studied Jessica’s face, he still hadn’t forgiven her for her latest prank. Neck deep in an orc ambush the shifty wizard thought it’d be hilarious to pass him a healing potion that had about four tabs of LSD in it.. by the end of it there were 63 mutilated pink elephants, and the orcs wouldn’t stop singing tiptoe through the tulips no matter how many pieces he cut them in to. ‘Hmm, usually when ya say something that sounds amazing I end up in a tutu,’ Mark grumbled. ‘That was one time and you loved it,’ Jessica smirked. ‘You’re just jealous I have the calves to pull it off.’ Mark said. ‘Yeah yeah. Look, ever since our worlds smooshed together the rift creatures have been branching out,’ Jessica said. ‘Smooshed; Is that a fancy wizarding term? How do I know this isn’t normal behaviour for those rifties, they’re from your side of the breach,’ Mark said. ‘The Rift Ruptures fundamentally changed everything. Look at The Neon Harpy, it has a Dryad and a Gorgon working there. She’s a forest dweller and he’s a cave dweller – neither are known for their customer service. Now look at the pair, she animates wooden toys onto customer’s plates, and he blasts them into spaghetti,’ Jessica said. The Neon Harpy was the hottest place in town. Mark had tried getting a booking there once, but he wasn’t going to wait two years for spaghetti no matter how it appeared on his plate. They were swimming in money though. ‘Are we going to rob that place?’ Mark said. ‘Better, we’re taking their money and removing them all together. We’ll need to bring someone in to pull this off though,’ Jessica said. ‘You’re not takin the piss are ya… this will work?’ Mark said. ‘Our intel on the subject is good, our rivals were trying to scalp her prior to the Rupture. Just don’t take any weapons, that includes combat sleeves, it’ll send the wrong message,’ Jessica said. ‘Righto,’ Mark said.                Mark locked his Omni-riffle and deactivated his plasma grenades. He let out an undulating whistle and slapped his leg. ‘Here boy,’ Mark said. Rex uncoiled himself and bounded over to the pair, his pixelated faceplate showed a bright yellow smiley-face. His chrome tail rocked from side to side as he loaded the ordinance into his carry-space. Mark held out his palms ‘Date night’.                His thick metal fingers elongated forming sharp points as dozens of other fingers unfurled themselves along the length of the arms. Two red circles appeared above and below his shoulders and the heavy black Ergonite arms popped free, crawling their way to Rex like giant metal centipedes. A slender pair of flesh coloured arms scuttled from Rex, fixing themselves into Mark’s empty ports. The red circles flashed to blue then disappeared seamlessly. Rex sat back on his haunches and waved his forepaws playfully at Mark. ‘No golems either,’ Jessica sighed.                A modulated growl rumbled from somewhere deep in Rex as the pixelated smiley-face morphed into an angry skull. ‘Ya know he hates being called that; I wouldn’t give him the shits if I were you,’ Mark said. ‘I’m not worried about something with an off switch,’ Jessica said. Mark chuckled ‘You’ve got a lot to learn about AI. Anyway, what’s the plan?’ Mark said. Jessica placed an ornate paper scroll on the table then fished a NanoLink from her bag. Mark looked over the scroll, but his eyes kept sliding across the eye-bending glyphs. A warning blinked through his HUD – Warning: InfoHazzard detected. Mark wrenched his head away before his eyes decompiled and pushed the scroll into his Stomach-Safe.

She passed him the black cube ‘You’re meeting with Anabelle. Impress her, show the contract. Everything else you need is on this Link. If you run in to trouble say the indicated phrase and offer her something valuable.’ ‘So, you won’t mind if I run this passed Everett - Make sure you’ve got this wizardy stuff down pat and there’s no dodgy stuff going on?’ Mark said. ‘Be my guest, he said he was assessing the magical properties of some mushrooms the locals recommended,’ Jessica grinned as she pointed to their companion. Mark followed her gaze and saw the Mage was having an animated conversation with a golden tree. ‘Ah crap, Rex guard Everett. Restrain and resuscitate if things get wild. Taze this one if she tries anything,’ Mark said. ‘What? How’s that fair?!’ Jessica said. ‘Just use the off switch’ Mark winked. ***                The subway tunnel stretched out before Mark, a dimly lit corridor disappearing into the distance. The ceramic-tiled walls stood tall and sturdy, their off-white surface interrupted by patches of graffiti. The intermittent lighting fixtures cast a soft glow, creating pools of illumination that seemed to dance along the tunnel's length. Hollow roars and rumblings from deep in the tunnel network washed over Mark, punctuated by an incessant Click-Clack, Click-Clack from the other side of the walls. Mark’s HUD overlayed a neon red line on one of the tracks that stretched into the distance – Warning: Exposed High-Voltage . This was his fourth left-turn which made no sense from a public transport perspective but given the reviews his feed showed he wasn’t going to rule it out just yet. If this is another one of Jess’s pranks I’ll feed her some SynthSpider eggs, see how much she laughs when she shits spiders for a week. The Link flashed a right-turn across his HUD, he pushed on for what seemed like hours before he came to a large juncture in the tracks. Several tunnel entrances yawned hungrily in the dim light. The walls were rougher here, climbing into a thick darkness that gave the overhead cabling the eerie sensation of weightlessness. Cool air buffeted Mark from different directions followed by the deep thundering of nearby carriages. The NanoLink vibrated softly in his fingers. >>Activate. The black cube folded apart, each square side housing inky nanotendrils that waved around small red globules. Jess’s tiny voice echoed from the Link, one instance playing over the other until six concussive flashes shattered the device. ‘Just what this maze needs.. more magic’ Mark muttered.                He felt a heavy rumble approach and pressed himself into a maintenance alcove. Mark was sucked forward slightly as a wall of blurred light and steel crashed passed him. The train vanished as quickly as it appeared, zipping commuters to where-ever they needed to be. Mark stepped out into the dim light again but stumbled back as a gigantic, scaled tail smashed itself across the entrance nearly decapitating him, it pulled back and stiffened like a spear. Is that thing pink?!  Mark ducked as ruined tiles rained down on him. He quickly rolled forward and levelled his arms slightly below the tail as the darkness swallowed it. Shit, wrong sleeves. A loud banging sound rang out from somewhere far down the tunnel. Every few seconds a burst of sparks splashed across the subway floor. He leapt into the middle of the juncture just as a car engine skipped down the tunnel like a stone on a pond, nearly liquifying him. A resonant voice echoed from the yawning apertures. ‘You will fail hunter!’ ‘I’m not hunting anything!’ Mark said. ‘Lies! You use the old-magic like the hunters of my homeland.’ ‘I’m not from your land, I was pulled through the Rifts as well!’ Mark said. ‘Is that so?’ the voice purred from the middle tunnel.                Mark turned and saw black smoke roiling out of the darkness, sliding up some unseen barrier that had formed across the archway. The thick smokey spirals twisted into armoured shapes that chased a giant winged reptile across a rocky crag.                His HUD flashed a warning, but it was too late. The train erupted from the smoke, clipping his right side. He spun several times and fell to his knees. Mark looked over his wrecked shoulder as the silenced column of steel plunged out of sight.                The giant tail whipped out of an adjacent tunnel and sent Mark sliding across the compact gravel. Fuck this. Jess’s phrase swept across his HUD. ‘Shal'karis Zarok'eth!’                Silence filled the cavernous juncture before a sibilant giggle filled the void. ‘Oh, you’re definitely not a hunter.’ ‘Fancy that..  I’m looking for Anabelle,’ Mark said. ‘You found her, what do you offer?’ Anabelle said.                Mark pulled the paperwork from his battered mid-section ‘I’ve got a contract you’re going to be interested in, it’ll make us all rich.’ ‘We’ll get to that one later, you claimed the rite of Shal’Karis, lets conclude that first.. unless you come as a pauper,’ she practically spat that last word. Hmm Jess said something valuable. Tallies blinked through his HUD, showing the same answer. Mark sighed ‘Ahab’. His right leg disconnected whilst he pressed the manual releases for his right arm. He doubted it’d receive voice or neural commands at this point. Mark held the pair over his head. ‘I'll give ya my arm and leg, mate. They're top-notch bionic gear, worth a fortune, mate! With 'em, ya could buy a couple of castles, or just flatten 'em if ya fancy,’ Mark said.                The bright pink tale snaked out of the tunnel off to his right. It had shrunk significantly since it tried to impale him minutes ago. It wove its way up his leg and coiled around his waist before it lifted him off the ground, pulling him quickly toward the gaping black. ‘A unique and flattering offer. I accept your offer to mate.’ *** ‘Mark? Mark! Thank The Grim you’re back. You’re toy keeps trying to zap me every time I go to leave, and I need to pee!’ Jessica shrieked. ‘Oi, Rex, take a breather... sorry about that, mate. Sometimes he goes all literal on me, doesn't he?’ Mark said. Jessica leapt from her seat ‘Oh mercies you’re a lifesaver.. geez what happened to you?!’.                Mark’s shirt was in tatters, deep gouges across his chest shaped a bloody landscape of pain. Vivid bites arced up his neck and over his cheeks. His eye twitched involuntarily as he pointed to the pink scaled lady standing beside him. ‘Jessica, meet Anabelle. She..’ ‘Gimme a sec,’ Jessica said as she dashed behind an endless waterfall.                Anabelle’s head whipped about as neon purple eagles rocketed from one ear to the other before plummeting to her feet. The tiny constructs melted into a puddle and reformed as a duck that sauntered off into the ether. A smile rippled across her face as quickly clapped her hands. ‘Magical,’ Anabelle whispered.                Jessica joined the pair at their usual table and Mark pinged the galley. Seconds later a drone delivered a large basket of hot potato chips soaked with gravy. >Intercept .                Rex snagged the basket just as Jessica was about to grab a handful of deliciousness. ‘Hey, control your Golem!’ Jessica said. ‘I told ya not to give him the shits,’ Mark said.                Rex’s smiley-face morphed into a pixelated storm cloud that proceeded to rain hands with the middle finger raised as he taunted Jessica with the basket. A chrome tentacle uncoiled from its underbelly and injected Mark with a TetraPack. Relief washed across Mark’s face as the wounds slowly closed. ‘Jessica, this is Anabelle. She’s taken our offer,’ Mark said.                Anabelle's crown of elegant horns dipped slightly as she inclined her head. Her delicate scales shimmered with a vibrant pink hue that distorted the surrounding HoloForms to match her tone. ‘How did you hear about my.. change? I imagined once anyone found out I’d wind up mounted by hunters,’ Anabelle said. ‘You were a legend back home, I was naturally curious how the Rupture affected you,’ Jessica said. ‘So, Anabelle is going to help us take out The Harpy? Rain of fire and all that jazz?,’ Mark said. Anabelle’s eyes narrowed and her lips curled revealing rows of ivory daggers. Jessica chuckled ‘Wait, he doesn’t know.’ ‘Know what?’ Mark said. ‘The rupture affected Anabelle too, she can’t blast fire anymore... what she can do is be an amazing Chef, that’s how we’re taking out The Harpy,’ Jessica said. ‘The rupture switched her fire for recipes?’ Mark said.                Anabelle extended a clawed finger at a group of teenagers nestled in a command blister of a HoloTank on the other side of the room. Her jaws opened wide, and a thick column of hot brown liquid shot forth. The stream hit with precision, filling their empty HoloCups.                Mark dipped his finger in some of the liquid that sprayed across the table. His HUD blinked the results. Analysis: Chocolate. A broad smiled bloomed across Jessica’s face. ‘I’ve sourced a Ruptured elemental that will complement Anabelle. She’ll blast centre stage and it will make the chocolate move. Song and dance, grand battles where the customers eat what they slice away.. you name it!’. ‘Nice one… say, did you know Dragons could take human form?’ Mark said. ‘Haha no, I’d heard rumour though,’ Jessica said. Mark held out his hand to Rex ‘Give it here fella, lets not cause another blue.’                He grabbed the basket, pressing the empty capsules into his hand cavity and placed the delicacy on the table. Jessica grabbed a handful and chomped down. She closed her eyes savouring the taste.                A DM flashed on Mark’s HUD – Rex:> ‘Spiders?’                                                                        Mark:> ’Nah, scorpions.’