"I'm a monster". He said. He was looking right at me. "You don't look like a monster." I said. He was wearing a dark blue hoodie and black jeans. He was clean shaven, and his hair looked freshly cut. "I am. I promise." "I don't believe you." "You don't know me." He was clutching one of the bridge wires to steady himself. He wouldn't stop looking at me. "Why do you care, anyways?" I glanced around at the empty, midnight air. I shrugged and kicked an imaginary pebble on the sidewalk. "Same reason as you, actually." He let out a breath that I think was supposed to be a laugh. "Fuck." he said. He finally took his eyes off me as he shook his head. "Of course you are! No other reason to be way out here by yourself on a beautiful Friday night." He stared at the water several hundred feet below us. "Get out of here, man. Pick another night to die." I didn't say anything. I just stared at him for a while. "You don't get to tell me that." I said. He just kept looking at the water. "I came out here to end it all *tonight*." He was still looking at the water. "You think you can take that away from me? You think your problems are worse than mine?" He looked at me. "Problems?" He said. "This isn't about problems. This is about reality. I'm a monster. I need to die." I rolled my eyes: "And I don't?" He didn't blink: "Let me guess: you lost your job and you didn't tell your wife. When she found out she trashed the house and left you. She took the kids with her too. The last thing she said was that she wanted a divorce. You've got money but no one's biting in the job interviews you've been doing for the past--what--year or so? So you've been pulling out of savings. Next you'll have to start selling things. All your debts have started piling up anyways. Give it another year, and you'll probably be on the street. That's unless someone bites on the interviews. But no one will, because they haven't." I kicked another imaginary pebble. "Two years," I said, "I've been out of work for two years. Wife just found out tonight." I heard him scoff: "You don't need to die, man. You just feel like shit. Go home. Sleep it off." I clenched my jaw and glared at him. "Stop telling me what to do." This time he definitely laughed: "See, there it is. Everyone. Every damn person I meet!" He was looking at me again. "That irritation you're feeling? That dislike for me? That's just the start. Everyone gets it, even when I was a fuckin' little kid people were getting it. For as long as I can remember I have repelled people." I stared. "They've all fucked off! Everyone I ever met! And the people who've stuck around only did it cuz they pitied me. My own wife pities me. You know what that's like? To have your fuckin' wife *pity* you?" I didn't. "Nah, man. You don't need to die. I do. I'm a fuckin' monster." He let go of the bridge wire, and he teetered on the railing. I stood with my hands in my pockets; frozen. I had never watched someone die before. He started to fall, and I reached out instinctively. My hand caught hold of something that felt like fabric. I squeezed as hard as I could. His weight whipped me into the railing. My shoulder made a popping noise and I gasped for breath. I reached out with my free hand and grabbed a bridge wire. I couldn't feel the ground under my feet, but I felt the bridge wire in one hand and fabric in the other, so I held on. My chest ached and I struggled to take in air. The arm that had caught the fabric was shooting pain through my entire body. I thought I could feel it spasm periodically. When I finally caught my breath, I looked down. I had caught him by the hood of his sweater. He hung limp below me, dangling two hundred feet in the air. I couldn't see his face. I looked up and saw that we were over the railing, that the only thing keeping us from falling was my tight grip on the bridge wire. I closed my eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. First I let go of the hoodie. When I heard the body hit the water below with a horrifying *SMACK*, I let go of the bridge wire.


As a kid, I’d always wanted to be a magician. I had a magic kit complete with trick coins, card decks, and even the black wand with the white tips. I practiced almost everyday and got super excited when I learned a new trick that I could show my friends at school. When my best friend Timmy told me he’d be having a magician at his upcoming birthday party, I got so excited. I practiced my tricks with the intention of impressing the first actual magician I’d see in real life. Up until then I’d only seen them on tv. Sunday came around, Timmy’s party. We were the first to arrive, I made sure of it. I wanted to be there when the magician set up. I watched with anticipation when a white van with a crudely spray-painted mural of a wide grinned, white faced man in a tuxedo enchanting an oversized top hat rolled into the driveway. The uneasiness that I felt at the sight of the creepy painting should have tipped me off that something was off, but my childish excitement overwhelmed me. The side door of the van opened, and two small people jumped out. Where they kids? I thought. They wore shoddy clothes and bickered as they began to bring down their equipment. Timmy’s mom received them, and this settled in mind that they were dwarfs. I guessed the rags they wore were a part of the show. They went back and forth from the van to the back yard setting up the stage and props and I kept my eyes glued to the van waiting to see the magician, but he still didn’t appear. Is he going to teleport here? I thought to myself with wonderment. Guests arrived and the party went on in a daze, all I could think about was the magic show. Finally, it was show time. The two dwarfs started with a dance and juggling act, and I noticed that they were really young. In fact, they really looked like kids. Then behind the curtain they’d erected earlier, I heard a snap like the uncorking of wine bottle. “And with you now, The Amazing Peter!” The dwarfs said unison. From behind the curtain a tall man stepped out. The kids cheered. I was mesmerized, but I couldn’t help but feel somewhat creeped out by his appearance. He had caked on white makeup, a pinstriped mustache turned up at the ends, and slicked back thin shiny jet-black hair. He smiled and his teeth contrasted yellow with his pale face. He did tricks I’d never seen before. He levitated, appeared to teleport, conjured more dwarfs and at one point even duplicated himself. My jaw dropped at these tricks, but I noticed that he struggled with the simple sleight-of-hand stuff. He messed up on a couple that I myself had mastered long before. No matter I thought, all the other stuff more than made up for it. Next, he asked for a volunteer. My hand instantly shot up and he picked me. There was a top hat upside down on a table, and after saying some magic words and waving his wand he told me to reach in and pull out what was inside. I was about to reach in when I caught a glimpse of its contents and I jumped back and let out a scream. It was a writhing mass of maggots and worms. I saw my mom stand up and make her way to the stage. “What’s wrong?” She asked. The magician winced and pouted his mouth as if I’d hurt him. Up close for some reason I became hyperaware of his caked face and it produced such terror in me. The way his makeup accentuated his wrinkles and pores. The hair up his nose, his receding hairline, yellow teeth. It all just hit me at once. My mom inspected my hand, and when only I was looking at him, the magician smiled and looked downright evil. He went to the hat and pulled a bunny out of it and flaunted it to the crowd so as to show that I was overreacting. “It’s just a cute bunny.” The magician said and smiled. The kids laughed. “Now I have one more trick before I go, and for this I want all the parents to come on stage and line up right here in a straight line. Come on! Don’t be shy!” When they were all lined up, he went on addressing the kids. “How many of you have wanted to eat nothing but candy?” The kids giggled and raised their hands. “Go to bed at what ever time you wanted? Stay home from school?” He had their attention. “Well, today is your lucky day! I’m going to hypnotize your parents so that you can do just that!” The parents onstage looked at one another. They played along, smiling, waving at their kids. Through the side gate, one of the dwarfs drove in the white van. The head lights turned on and shone a strange, wavy blue light. “Alright parents I need you all to stare at the blue light and repeat after me: ‘I have no children. No children have I had.’” They followed along. “’Go back with good old Peter, your wise and loving dad!’” “I have no children, “No children have I had, “Go back with good old Peter, “Your wise and loving dad.” Peter led them for about five go arounds of his chant. Some of the kids became scared and began to cry. Finally, the blue headlights went out. Our parents stopped chanting. They all looked disoriented and confused. “And now,” Peter addressed the parents. “It is time for us to go. Come along children.” He said to us but none of us moved. “Come now!” His voice became deep and monstrous. He opened the van door. “I promise to let you eat all the candy you want. To let you sleep when ever you want, and you never have to go to school!” He flashed his wicked smile. We looked to our parents, but all they did was wave goodbye.


Logline: When a man's mob-connected grandfather dies, he becomes the number one target for the mafia, the police, and other opportunists. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Vinny Medici arrived at work today at the slaughterhouse at 7 a.m. just like he usually does. He worked at the slaughterhouse for five years with his Grandpa Mike, who offered him a job after having legal trouble, dealing drugs on the street. Vinny goes to the backroom, gets his apron and finds that there's a tear in the fabric. He shrugs it off and continues working on the first few steaks on the meat line. A couple of hours into the shift, Grandpa Mike hasn't arrived yet, that’s unlike him. If anything, he's usually in before Vinny. No matter, he's going about his work, cutting the steaks and preparing them for sale. There's a ring at the door; it's his grandpa's friend Bill Diego, and Vinny gets off the line and lets him in. "Hey Vinny, I've got some bad news this morning, your Grandpa Mike is dead," Bill says. "Oh my God, what happened?" Vinny asks. "It was a freak accident, his car went over the guardrail and flipped over, then it caught on fire, burnt to a crisp. I'm sorry to be so blunt," Bill says. "That's awful, is there's anything I can do," Vinny asks. "Tell you the truth, some of the boys down at the club could use access to the safe in the back office," Vinny knows that his Grandpa Mike is involved with the mob. He also knows that a lot of his Grandpa's friends are also involved, Bill Diego included. "I'm sorry, my grandfather never gave me access to the safe, it was probably too much responsibility," Vinny says. "That's alight kid, don't give it another thought. It'll take me about a day to get a safecracker down here, I'll be back tomorrow," Bill says as he heads out. Vinny goes back to the office, spins the dial on the safe, shrugs, and then returns to the meat line to cut more steaks. The rumor on the street is the slaughterhouse was some type of a bank for the mob; whenever they needed cash on hand, they would stop by the slaughterhouse and pick some up. Along with all sorts of weapons, guns, whatever else they needed, it was kind of a mob one-stop-shop. With his Grandpa Mike dead, the mob knew that there was a lot of exposure there. Vinny just assumed that they had someone watching the place. A couple of hours later, two detectives showed up, Vinny comes off the line again. "Hey Vinny, we're sorry for your loss, down at the police station we were shocked to hear about the accident. Couple of us thought it was a little suspicious, do you mind if we take a look around?" the detective asked. "Sure, that's fine; you can look around," Vinny said. Vinny did what his Grandpa Mike did before; there were at least three or four times over the five years at the slaughterhouse, that the police came to visit, every time, Grandpa Mike would let the police walk around. All of the guns, ammunition, and other mob-related things were locked away in a secret room that you couldn't even see from the outside unless you knew where to look. All of the cash on hand was it in the safe. "Well, everything looks normal here. Hey Vinny, do you have access to that safe in the office?" One of the detectives asked. "Nope, sorry, my grandfather never gave me access to that, too much responsibility, I guess," Vinny said. With that, the detectives left. Vinny follows them out onto the street. He looked up and down and saw that three or four potential people were spying on the slaughterhouse. Grandpa Mike was a big cog in the wheel; there were a lot of careers at stake that day. They weren't quite sure if they could trust the 28-year old Vinny just yet. Vinny goes back to work, cutting up the meat when he gets a call on his phone from his friend Elias. Vinny had known Elias since high school and was one of the main reasons he got involved in drug dealing in the first place. Elias also has mob affiliations, as he's in charge of street distribution of drugs. They still kept close but not as close as they were when he was slinging dope. "Yo, Vinny, I'm sorry to hear about your old man, condolences," Elias says. "Thanks, man, I appreciate it," Vinny says. "Hey, I have stuff that I want to talk to you about," Elias says. "Oh yeah, what do you want to talk about?" Vinny asks. "Not over the phone, I'll come by the slaughterhouse later today, alright?" Elias confirms. "Yeah sure, come on by," Vinny says. About an hour and a half later, Vinny gets another visit from the mob, this time in the form of a hitman, Bobby Sarasota. This visit was the first time since he got the news that he was actually concerned for his life. "Hey Vinny, the boss has sent me over here to see if I could help," Bobby says. "Help? You want to help cut the meat?" Vinny asks. "I think more in line with there were a couple of detectives here earlier today. I just want to know, what did they say? What did they do? And do they know anything?" Bobby asks. "They don't know anything, I barely know anything, they just walked around, like I've seen my grandpa do for years now. They did ask to get into the safe, I told him them couldn't let him in, and then they left, just like that," Vinny says. "They were looking at the safe?" Bobby says. "Yeah, they asked if I could get into the safe for them," Vinny says. Bobby nods his head, "You tell me the truth right now, can you get into that safe?" Bobby asks. "No, I swear I can't get into the safe," Vinny says. "You're telling me you worked with your grandfather for five years; he never shared the combination to the safe?" Bobby asks. "No," said Vinny. The safe had become a big deal; you could feel the mafia bosses trembling from here, proof against some of the most influential people in the city. Vinny could only imagine the chaos that was happening outside the slaughterhouse today. The police, looking at this as an opportunity to collect major evidence against some of the people they've been pursuing for years; the mafia, realizing that the slaughterhouse contains all sorts of records and weapons that could incriminate them; and low-level mobsters, trying to make a name for themselves, hoping that if they can solve this problem, they might just get a promotion. Vinny didn't know who to trust, so he didn't trust anyone. It's close to the end of his shift, into the slaughterhouse walks Elias. "Yo, Vinny, once again, I'm sorry about Mike," Elias says. "Thanks, Elias, what did you want to talk about?" Vinny asked. "Yeah, word on the street is that this place is ground zero for all sorts of information about mob-related crimes, we can be heroes here," Elias says. "What do you mean? Vinny asks. "I mean, if we could get into that safe, we can get all the evidence to safety, we'll become untouchable," Elias says. "Sorry bro, I don't have access to the safe, my grandfather never trusted me with stuff like that," Vinny says. They walk into the back office where the safe is. It's humongous, it would take six guys, and a forklift to even get it out of just the office. "Yo, I got a source that says something's going down at the Mount Vernon Street warehouse tonight, they're going to raid the slaughterhouse, we have to do something," Elias says. "Did you say the Mount Vernon warehouse?" Vinny asked. "Yeah, that's what the source said, Mount Vernon warehouse, I know, it's a dangerous part of town, but this is our chance bro," Elias says. "Let's go to the meatpacking station, I think I might have something to pry this safe open," Vinny says. They get to the meatpacking station, Elias begins to look around, "So, what can pry that safe open?" Elias asked. "I'm sorry bro, I didn't know it was going to be you," Vinny says as he puts on his protective gear and pushes Elias into the miter saw, killing Elias immediately. Vinny then goes through the process of chopping up Elias's body, packing him in 27 different meat containers, and then disposing of his body in 27 separate dumpsters and trash cans around the city. Vinny eventually returns to the slaughterhouse, goes to the backroom, puts the combination in the safe, and opens it up. He takes a giant gym bag, loads all the money, then doubles back and takes the weapons and guns and loads them into the trunk of his car. Done for the day as he hangs up his apron, he goes back to the tear in the fabric he found this morning and pulls out a sheet of paper. "Dear Vinny. This is your Grandpa Mike; I faked my death last night because there's a mole in the mob. There's going to be a lot of people coming around today asking about the safe in the back office, whatever you do, let no one into that safe, friend or foe. You might get visited by some detectives today, let them walk around the slaughterhouse like I normally do. Now, this last part is very important; if anyone comes around today talking about the Mount Vernon warehouse, they're the mole. That was the story I planted everywhere we knew the mole was going to be, no matter who it is, take care of them. Once finished, take the money and the weapons out of the slaughterhouse. Keep your head up, love you, Grandpa Mike.


Trigger: violence/death

My name is 3th4n and I was created at Synthsapien Cybernetic as a first generation android personal bodyguard and I have issues. Synthsapien Cybernetics is the world’s largest producer of cyborg and android security forces. I was designed to protect individual clients. All my missions have ended in failure, being unable to protect all of my clients. When this occurs the company brings in the failed “droid” as they call us, to determine what occurred. In my case, I protect the innocent in the room. I have had six missions and each ended in a similar fashion, I want to do my job and I do it well as long as an innocent person is not in the room and under threat. As the technicians reviewed my data they saw when my client marker switched to the three young children. In this last case it was me that killed my own client. We had gone to this tiny house on the south side of the city, kicked in the door, and proceeded to beat up a middle age man named Bill. In all the commotion Bill’s three young children came out from the back room. This surprised my client, John Smith. John’s men drew their guns and aimed at the children. I became conflicted, unable to respond until he told his guys to leave no witnesses. I sprang into action. The first gunshot was not mine it was John’s, he hit and killed Bill. I could see the horror well up in the eyes of the oldest child as he watched the violence ensue. The two little girls were huddled together not seeing the catastrophe unfold. My gun was now out and John’s three men who were aiming at the children fell forward as they were stuck with three concurrent shots from me. This drew the attention of John who turned to see if the job was complete. John’s head craned to look me in the eyes as he spun to shoot me. His face went blank as his gun fell from his hand, he looked down to see the ooze of crimson stain his tailored white shirt. He fell to his knees and then fell on his face. I asked the boy where his mom was. “Sir, she’s at work.” He said through tear filled eyes. “She’ll be home in the morning.” “Well, you three cannot stay here, I need to get you somewhere safe.” “Sir, I know where she works can you help us get there?” “Yes but we need to go now.” The boy ran into the other room and returned with coats for himself and the girls. We headed out into the snow towards John’s SUV. We arrived at the late night diner were the children’s mom worked and I explained the situation and drove off. I followed protocol and checked in with Synthsapien Cybernetic dispatch. They directed me to dump the car and get back to Synthsapien Cybernetic private pier undetected. There I was met by two Synthsapien Cybernetic technicians who loaded me on a police helicopter, and I was deactivated. I was reactivated on a diagnostic table. I was restrained and my voice modulator had been turned off so I could not speak. The two technicians were talking to the CEO of Synthsapien Cybernetic. “No, sir we have programed this droid five times already and it rejects its programing each time.” “Is it wired different than the others droids? Are we having issues with the others?” “No, we have not seen any issues with them, only this unit. What do you want us to do?” “Terminate it, stage it to look like it was terminated at the scene of the incident. This way we look like we completed our contract. I’ll call the police and get the staging correct. Be ready in less than an hour. Dismantle this unit and never use its parts again.” “Yes, Sir.” I am to be terminated. I do not want that but what can I do? At that instant I knew I needed to get away. I had less than an hour to do it so I began working on a plan. “Well you heard the boss, lets shutdown the Nanotechs, grab lunch, and then we can shut down its CPU when we get back,” “Will we have time to get it staged for its last job?” “Yeah, on our way out we can take it by the weapons lab and complete the staging.” “Good, give me a second to shut down the Nanotech, and I’ll be ready to go. Okay, it is complete.” The younger technician completed the shutdown of the Nanotech and I could feel them falling into a state of unresponsiveness throughout my body. This would be new for me, I have always had Nanotech active. I pulled at the restraints on my wrists. If I dislocated my hand I might be able to get my arm free. I visualized what I wanted to have happen and I began squeezing my hand into the shape I needed to get free. It took about five minutes but I finally got my arm free. I had broken most of the connections in my hand making it was nearly unusable, but it was free. I unstrapped my other arm with some difficulty and then my legs.  I slid off the table and walked to the interface console were I began by turning on the Nanotech. I could feel the Nanotech responding to my injured hand. Next I turned my voice back on, as I did, I had the thought to deepen it and change its formality. I gave myself a drawl and added contractions to my speech pattern. I need to get a disguise but what could I do? I typed in a few things on the console and set a timer for it to initiate. Now for the tracking and self-termination device. I would have to remove it but this was against my programing, as it was a requirement from the World Governments Accords that said that each government had to track their cyborgs and android units. If their units went rouge they could terminate their unit before it did too much damage. I knew if I did not remove the TST device it would be used to terminate me remotely. I repositioned the camera on the diagnostic table I grabbed the scalpel off the tech tray and using the monitor I opened my chest access panel. I moved the wires and other mechanical items in the cavity to gain access to the TST device. This would be tricky as it was hard wired into me, I had to bypass the device before I could get it out or it would immediately terminate. I worked as quickly as I could knowing that the technicians would return soon. With the main wire finally cut, I slipped the TST device from out of my chest cavity and set it on the table. I quickly dressed up the bypassed wires knowing the Nanotech would complete the repair on them. I closed my chest panel, sat up and slid off the table. Back at the console I initiated the video black out and emergency protocol so I could complete my escape. I grabbed an extra technician coat and headed into the hallway. I could hear the technicians heading back from lunch, but they had to stop at the toilet first. I headed for the exit. I only had a few minutes before it was discovered that I’d escaped. I exited the elevators to the lobby the emergency protocol kicked in. Over head the announcement began. “Attention all personnel an emergency has occurred in the weapons lab, all personnel please exit the building.” Which repeated every minute until it would be turned off. The guard at the front desk got up and headed to the front doors, where he opened them in preparations for the mass exodus of the one hundred twenty-five floor building. “Sir, I need you to head to the rally point on the southwest parking lot.” “I understand, the southwest parking lot.” I headed out the door, toward the southwest parking lot. When I got to the rally point there were already about twenty people standing around talking in small groups. I moved to the edge of the rally point waiting for my chance to climb over the wall and make my escape. As I waited for my chance to escape the two technicians joined the group of now more than two hundred employees. I was keeping them in view and trying to avoid their notice. They milled around and were slowly headed in my direction. I had to go, I had to go now. I dropped the tech coat on the ground and in one single bound went over the wall. The wall was about three stories above the ground. I could hear that at least one person had seen me go. I landed hard with a roll and swiftly regained my feet. I headed for the perimeter fence, I had to get there before the lockdown protocols were engaged. I ran as hard as I could, I had to make it. I could see the fence. I ran harder. I had made it. I grabbed the top rail of the rod iron and heaved myself over and landed just as the emergency sirens rang out. I had made it. I was free. Now I needed to get out of here, forever. I headed to the banking district to begin phase two of my escape plan. I walked up to the First National Bank automated teller machine and punched in my client’s identification withdrawing two million credits onto a credit chip. I know what you’re now thinking, they could identify me. I had planned for that. I had programed my Nanotech to change the details of my face to match that of my now deceased client. I looked so close now that I could pass as him to his mother. As I walked away from the bank I could feel my face transforming again into a random person. I stopped at an all-night store to get a change of clothes. Then to get a vehicle. I needed something classic, something untraceable. The automotive dealers would open at eight o’clock in the morning. I was going to have to wait. As I walked towards the automotive lots of the city the vid screens flashed the breaking news: “The notorious gangster John Smith has been killed in a small house on the south side of the city tonight, it looks like his own men did the job that the police could not get done over the past fifteen years. It also appears that the men were able to overpower his Synthsapien personal body guard, Synthsapien Cybernetic is offering a reward of a thousand credits to the person or persons who finds it, here is what it looks like.” My picture was flashed across the screen, it is a good thing I no longer looked like that. To most people in the city fifty credits would have been enough. I needed to create a new persona, if I could get a family I would remove all suspicion that I was a droid outside my programing. How could I get a readymade family? I could ask Bill’s wife, if I did I could protect them. But would they accept my offer? I guess I’d see. I headed for the diner I stopped at earlier that night. It was all but empty, except for one customer in the back corner with his head down looking at the vidsheets. I sat at the counter and the cook came out. “Sorry buddy, the waitress up and quit a few hours ago. Can I help you?” “Yes, did she say where she was going to go?” “Why?” “I…have been hired to protect her and her children.” “She doesn’t make that kinda credits, who hired you?” “That sir, is private information. All I can say is I need to find her before someone else does.” “She was going to take the bus to her sister’s out west. If you really are going to protect her, you better do a good job, that girl is special and so are her children. Good luck man.” I thanked the cook and headed out the door at a dead run heading for the bus station. I had to reach them before they disappeared. I reached the station at the same time a fleet of four blacked out SUV’s arrived, they all had the Synthsapien Cybernetic logo on them, were they looking for me? I had to find out. I approached the vehicles, one of the windows was down and I could hear the conversation. “Yes…Sir...I see the woman and the children, Yes take them to get rid of the evidence. Sir, they are just kids…No sir you were clear… Yes…I will be done by sun up.” They were not looking for me. It was a hunting party for the children I had saved. They were the only witnesses to the failure of my programming. I caused this, and now I had to fix it. I headed for the front door, I walked right up to the children. “Do you remember me?” “You look different.” the boy said. The mom turned to look me in the face, “it’s you.” “I don’t have time to explain but you have to leave right now, go out the back door. Meet me at the car lots at eight o’clock, I can explain then.” “Okay” She grabbed the children, headed to the toilet and ducked into the back room to head out the back door. The men from the SUV were getting out. I counted eleven armed droids, all second generation. One armed man, the team leader, with four more siting in the SUV’s as drivers. I had to do something, but what? I headed for the back of the terminal were the ticket agent was taking a break. “Are you the only one here?” “Yes besides that lady and the children. Why, sir?” “I need you to leave, right now. The men that are coming in here are killers who are going to kill the children and all who see them. Get out and I’ll take care of it.” “We need to call the police.” “We don’t have time, now go.” He jumped up and ran out the back door. I saw my plan develop. This was an old building and was still heated by gas. I cut all the lines I could find and headed back into the front area finding a lighter on the desk as I walked into the terminal room. I was met by the group of men, who were all spread out in a loose assault formation. I walked into the team leader. “Oh, I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean to walk into you, I should really look were I’m going.” “Oh, that’s alright.” “Someone important coming in?” I indicated all the droids. “That is not your concern, Sir. We think you should leave though.” “Oh okay” I was starting to smell the gas “I guess I’ll go.” I opened the front door, struck the lighter, and tossed it back in to the room. The flame touched the cloud of gas and accelerated into an explosion. The blast blew me forward into the hood of the first SUV. I was not the only thing that got blown into the SUV. A piece of metal impaled the glass next to me, straight into the chest of the droid that had been left to drive the lead SUV. I could see that the piece of metal had come in contact with TST device. I called for the other droids to come help, knowing that if that piece of metal moved it would cause an instant detonation. The three other droids came running up to the lead SUV and I grabbed that piece of metal and ran. I was not ready for that explosion, it knocked me flat. It took a bit for my system to recover. When I did, I got up and ran. I could hear the police sirens getting closer and closer and I had to meet the woman and the children at the car lots. I rounded the building to see the woman and the children sitting on the step of the automotive dealership. She jumped up when I came around the corner. “It’s you, you saved us, again. The vid screens showed the bus station had exploded. I thought you were dead. “I nearly was. I hope they think you were killed in the blast as well.” I told her everything, from who I was all the way through my escape plan. I went in to purchase a car to give her time to think. I returned and looked at her waiting for her answer “Yes,” She said “we will go with you.” We climbed into the car and headed west. Where we are going, we do not know, but we will go together, wherever that place is.


December 28, 1966 Ava didn’t ordinarily cry, but then this was no ordinary day. She had only cried three times in her life. Three times before today, that is. Three times that she could remember. If she couldn't remember, it didn’t count. * 1953 She was six the first time and was surprised the details were so clear twelve years later. The small curly-haired little girl sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of soggy Wheaties in front of her. Her siblings, having finished their breakfast a millennia ago, had gone off to play. Only Ava remained alone, hopelessness washing over her. The clatter of dishes being washed in the background echoed inside her mind while she contemplated how unfair life was. Mother’s words broke her thoughts, sending icy tremors down her back. “What’s gotten into you, Ava? I remember you liking Wheaties last week. I can’t afford to buy something extra because you’ve decided you don't like them." Ava stared at the wall with unseeing eyes while Mother stomped out of the room. Anyone who spoke while Mother was angry, risked getting slapped for talking back. But the situation was out of her control. Every time those brown, limp morsels touched her mouth, she gagged. Looking at those soggy tan shapes swimming in her bowl of milk reminded her of the brown spots on the backs of his hands. Those clammy, limp paws that had inched under her skirt after asking: “You wanna play a game?” For seven days, Ava kept those memories tucked away in the hidden spaces of her mind. For seven days, she didn’t think about the incident until this morning when she’d come down to breakfast and realized what awaited her. Thoughts went rampant. Maybe, if I sit here long enough, I’ll become deathly ill, and Mother will have to take me to Dr. Lagazino. Then he will see how mistreated I am and take me home to live with him, and I’ll never have to eat Wheaties again.

The sound of Mother’s high-heeled shoes click-clacking on the linoleum grew louder and louder until the child stiffened when Mother's body hovered above hers, generating enough body heat to send shivers up Ava's spine. The girl clutched the seat of the chair, her knuckles turned white, and she almost bit her tongue while clenching her teeth. When the expected blow never came, the girl relaxed. “I’m going to let you go because Aunt Angie’s coming for lunch. I don’t want her to know what an impudent child you are.” Mother squeezed Ava's chin, lifting it until the child was forced to stare into fire-breathing eyes.   “You are never to tell anyone what happens in this house, do you understand me?” Mother said through gritted teeth. Ava nodded. “Answer me, don’t nod,” Mother growled. Ava mumbled, “Yes.” Running in the house was forbidden. So, Ava walked as fast as her little feet could move toward the back door. She still couldn’t believe Mother let her go. She spied freedom beckoning her through the half-open door. Five more steps, and she’d be free—four, three, two, …. Ava heard rather than felt the wallop that knocked her head against the door frame. Tiny pinpoints of light floated beneath her eyelids as she clung to the doorknob. Her face became heated, her knuckles white. Despite the pain, the girl kept her grip on the handle, refusing to fall. An all too familiar voice reverberated alongside the pounding inside her skull.

“Remove that smile from your face and get out of my sight; this is no laughing matter.”

Ava didn’t have to be told again. Once outside, she ran up the small hill in her backyard to her hiding spot under the weeping willow tree. Now that she was safe under the branches that brushed the grass beneath her, she couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down her cheeks. Ava sunk to the ground and leaned her aching head against its cool, rough bark. * December 28, 1966 Ava pushed those memories away as she sat on the cold, steel office chair, folding and unfolding the slip of paper requesting her presence. Dark sunglasses covered swollen red eyes while she waited to find out what the school administrator thought about her

situation . Ever since hearing the news this morning, she’d been crying. As hard as she tried to keep her thoughts from drifting back in time, she couldn’t keep from remembering the second time she'd cried. * 1957 She was nine when Mother told them the latest development. “Your father and I are getting divorced.” she’d said in a flat, rehearsed voice. Ava’s world stopped spinning. A bowling ball replaced her stomach. Where her heart used to be, there was …nothing. Her mind also abandoned her for a couple of hours, leaving her numb and unable to do anything except sit under her weeping willow and stare into its branches. When it came time for bed, though, her thoughts returned with a fierceness that made her head spin. Memories of bitter-sweet times with Father flooded her brain. Daddy always appeared happy. Always telling jokes. Making her laugh. Ava loved him and was certain he loved her.

Her face was turned to the wall, her head covered with blankets to keep from waking her sister in the other bed. Ava waited in vain for sleep to silence those thoughts, but instead, she cried and cried and cried.

When the morning sunshine brushed her face, Ava scurried to the bathroom and splashed icy water on her eyes until the puffiness receded. Her heart was still missing, and the bowling ball remained, but she placed a smile on her face and came to the table for breakfast. To all observers, she was again her happy, cheerful self. After all, she was her Daddy’s girl. * December 28, 1966 It became apparent she wouldn’t be able to control her thoughts, so Ava sighed and allowed the third and last time she'd wept to surface from the locked compartments of her mind. * 1960 After the divorce, food was scarce. Whenever Mother left the house, Ava would race to the kitchen, grab a couple of sheets of saltines, slather them with jelly, and race to one of the forts she’d built in the woods behind their house. She never took more than two sheets and never more than twice a week, figuring Mother wouldn’t miss them, and she never did. This snack kept Ava’s stomach satisfied for an hour or two, allowing her more time in her refuge. One summer evening after dinner, Mother gathered them in the living room and announced the latest news. “Pack all your belongings. After your father

deserted us, there wasn’t enough money to pay the mortgage. So, we need to move.”  After Father left, the woods were the only thing that gave Claire any joy. So, the night before leaving, Ava raced back to a clearing in the woods, picked up a dead stick, drew a rectangle in the dirt, and stood tall in the middle. Staring up at the darkening brooding sky, Ava declared. “Someday, I will graduate from college so I can obtain a well-paying job and buy a piece of property that nobody can take away from me. Even if it’s only the size of this rectangle, I'll have furniture without holes, and I never go to bed hungry again. Goodbye, home, I shall never forget you.” She whispered while three solitary teardrops trailed down her cheeks.

Ever since the day they forced her to leave her world behind, every waking moment had been spent on getting excellent grades so she could earn a scholarship to college and escape her horrific life. This was the last time she’d shed tears, until this morning, that is. She didn’t even cry when she told him goodbye. * September 21, 1966 Charlie sat gawking at the steering wheel. After several long minutes, he turned to her, the corners of his eyes damp, and took both her hands in his. His following words spoke to her soul. “Don’t leave; stay here and marry me.” Ava wavered, for a second. Her heart made a quantum leap every time he touched her. “I’m too young, and I need to do this before getting married.” After a long pause, he murmured. “I understand. And I’ll wait for you. If you change your mind, though, call, and we’ll get married whenever you want.” Ava couldn’t remember the exact conversation; her throat kept closing, making it difficult to talk. She let him do most of it and just sat cuddled in his arms. She had to stay strong, refuse to break down and throw away this opportunity, knowing how lucky she’d been to be awarded a complete scholarship to a prestigious college. If she broke down now and threw this chance away, they would both regret it. In the end, they agreed to spend their summers and every holiday together. The moment she graduated they would wed. Then it happened. Ava often told herself she would never be intimate without the sacrament of marriage. It was a sin, and she was a Christian. It did happen, though. Something, hormones, she guessed, took over during that goodbye hug. * December 28, 1966 Now her dream was over. She was barely eighteen and had been hoping her suspicions were wrong, but they weren’t. The year was 1966. Ava was pregnant, unmarried, and options were few. “Good morning,” Ava winced as a voice brought her back to the present. “I’m Mrs. Jenkins. I understand the school doctor has confirmed that you’re with child. You've probably realized why I've summoned you here."

Seeing the girl's blank stare, the woman continued, "We're here to decide what to do now. You are a bright young lady, and in the two months you've been here, you have excelled in every area. I am sincerely sorry, but the school is just not able to manage pregnancies.” The rest of the discussion consisted of Mrs. Jenkins asking questions and Ava answering, with only a nod or a few grumbled, “nos.”

She recalled little about Mrs. Jenkins’ appearance, which didn’t matter. Only her words mattered, which were spoken softly but firmly from lips that were the same, soft, and firm. Ava was a problem, and Mrs. Jenkins was here to find the solution. “As I see it, you have two choices. You can either marry the father of the child or go home to your mother and decide whether to keep the baby or give it up for adoption.” She paused, cocked her head, and smiled. “Perhaps, you'd like to call the father. You can use my phone if that is the case.” Ava's heart responded. A wave of warmth replaced the cold in her bones, and she smiled for the first time since learning the unwelcome news. Mrs. Jenkins left the office to give the girl privacy. Combing her purse, Ava found the number Charlie had sent in his last letter. Shaking fingers made it challenging to dial. Somehow, she managed and finally heard the phone ringing on the other end. Holding her breath, Ava waited…. and …. waited. She was about to hang up when a strange male voice answered. “Hello. “Is - is Charlie there?” Ava’s voice croaked. “No, but his wife Doylene is.” The stranger replied. “Hello, hello? Can you hear me? Do you want to talk to Doylene?” “I…I…uhm," Because of the sweat on her hands, Ava nearly dropped the phone. Her heart pounded so loudly that she had trouble understanding the man's words. "Did you say his wife?” “Yes, they got married yesterday. Would you like to talk to her?” Ava didn’t remember if she responded before replacing the phone in its cradle. She sat in the steel chair, welcoming the coldness against her sweating legs. She sat, not thinking, not crying, not anything. It was as if she'd ceased to exist. When Mrs. Jenkins returned, Ava must have told her what happened but didn’t remember. Her lips were moving, but Ava's ears had stopped working. She just sat and followed the events as they unfolded. Although, her mind returned long enough to hear Mrs. Jenkins say, “Do you want to call your mother, or would you prefer I do?” The girl looked straight ahead through the gray fog but muttered,  “You call.” Mrs. Jenkins left the room, and Ava studied the clock, counting the seconds as the hands jumped forward, dot by dot by dot. Mrs. Jenkins returned; her voice echoed against the hollow remains of Ava’s mind. “Your mother wants you to come home and keep the baby." Mrs. Jenkins paused, waiting for some response when none came, she continued. "Best of all, she’s offered to help you raise the child.” Mrs. Jenkins said, smiling. * January 1, 1967 Chicago O’Hare airport felt larger and noisier than Ava recalled when she'd arrived three months ago. She vaguely remembered purchasing a magazine from the little stand, searching for the best place to sit. She found two chairs tucked away in a corner which afforded a view of the reader board but obscure enough that no one would bother her. After sitting in one seat, she placed her suitcase in the other, ensuring no one would sit next to her and try to make idle conversation. The girl found comfort in sitting among strangers who didn’t know who she was, where she was going, or what she had done. A young mother and small daughter wandered through the maze of seats until they found two empty seats across from Ava. Not close enough that they would try to talk to her, but near enough that Ava could study them from behind her dark glasses. The girl’s curly black hair and doe-brown eyes reminded her of herself at age two or three. Ava tried to catch the girl’s eyes, but the child kept her head down fixated on the floor. When Ava coughed, the girl glanced up. A slight grin formed on her tiny face when she spotted Ava smiling at her. This brief contact warmed Ava's heart. Someone announced a flight, and all too soon, the girl was leaving. The girl’s mother’s shrill voice broke the calm Ava had been experiencing.“Hurry we’re going to miss our flight.”

The sounds of slapping and heart-rending cries punctuated the words. Something inside Ava stirred. Not the baby; it was too soon. But her hand went to her stomach as she clutched her suitcase, straightened her shoulders, and marched over to the woman. Glaring into the mother’s eyes Ava said, through gritted teeth. “Don’t... hit... the ...child.” Then, Ava turned and walked away. Away from what she knew awaited her and her baby and towards the cold, dark, unfamiliar world. Fear engulfed her body as he shuddered, though not from the cold. Choosing something other than the familiar gave the girl a glimmer of something besides despair. So, despite the panic gnawing on the walls of her stomach, Ava chose hope.


I never thought at twenty-nine I would be alone, with a cat. Living in a big old house like some old spinster lady. My mother always said confidence was the key to survival, looks would only get you so far. I mean I'm not bad looking. I packing a few more pounds than I should be. But that's because food and loneliness seem to go hand in hand. I wouldn't call it fat, more voluptuous. My work at the hospital takes up most of my time. It's the kids, they mean the world to me. My mother always wanted me to be a doctor. I always felt it would have been too much pressure, too much responsibility. That's why I decided to become a paediatric nurse. The kids aren't just sick kids, but they're my friends. I don't know maybe it's that maternal instinct in me. It Makes my job so much harder when we lose one of the kids. Other nurses tell me not to get emotionally attached, but those kids need me. I'm the light in the darkest days of their lives. My mother was a very confident woman, beautiful, with flowing blond hair and emerald green eyes. It always drove my father mad when other guys would pay her attention. It would send him into jealous rages, but my mother being my mother could handle his temper. My mother always said I had her looks, but not her brawn. She was right, my crippling shyness is another problem. Men either think I'm weird and walk away from me after they try and approach me. Then there are the guys that just want to take advantage of me. Which unfortunately has happened more times than I like to remember. People seem to think if you're quiet they can say or do whatever they want to you. What people don't realise is that still waters run very deep. Now I'm not saying there is no interest there. There is this one guy Mark but I'm not sure about him, yet. He is very handsome and he did make me chuckle the first time he introduced himself to me. The thing is there was a stage where I thought he was following me. I would conveniently find him places I normally wouldn't be. When he finally came up to me he gave me some half-cocked reason for bumping into me. He did seem genuine and he adamantly apologised for coming off as creepy. I will be honest it's hard for a lot of men to get a chuckle out of me, especially a stranger. He texted me this morning asking for a date. But I haven't the courage to reply back. For one, I hate going out. I can feel very out of my comfort zone and that would be enough to spoil the night and come across weird. Passing a dress shop on the way home from work. I notice this new dress in the window. It was gorgeous. A beautiful pink dress with lace trim. I would look sexy in that. If only I had a reason to wear it and I did. All I had to do was text him. I decide to buy the dress, my finger hovers over the send button as I summon the courage to invite him to my house for dinner. As I peer at my reflection in the mirror. I was amazed at how glamorous I looked. It doesn't seem like me, but to hell with it. I can see my mothers disapproving eyes glaring back at me. Sitting on the couch my heart begins racing. I stare at the clock. He's late, over a half hour late. I must have freaked him out. As the minutes slowly ticked by I hear the knock on the door. I try and compose myself as I open the door. He standing on my porch with half his shirt tucked in, hair a mess and mud on his pants. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and a rucksack in the other. He smiles at me “I'm so sorry I'm late, please forgive me. Had a problem in work and I literally got dressed in the car on the way over. I chuckle in pure amusement at the thought of him getting dressed in his car. He hands me the bottle of wine. “The rucksack has my tools in it. You don't mind if I leave them here with me.” I smile and shake my head and gesture to him to come in. About a half hour into the meal the conversion wasn't flowing he tried his best. I knew the awkwardness was going to mess it up for me. He eats his last bit of desert “I don't mean to be rude but can I please use your bathroom. I get up from my chair “it's upstairs last door on the left. As he was upstairs, I couldn't help but wonder what was in his bag and why he couldn't leave it in the car. I listen by the door as I look through the bag. In it were a hammer, duct tape and a Stanley blade. Strange I thought a carpenter would have more tools than that. As I'm holding the bag in my hand. I hear him walking around one of the bedrooms. I leave the bag on the ground with just the duct tape and the knife left in it. I slowly make my way up the stairs to the landing. He steps out from one of the empty bedrooms and arrogantly dusts off his hands. “This is one beautiful house you got here.” I look at him and smile “is that so! well, let me show you around then.” I walk him down to the last door on the right. I swing open the door “this is my mother's bedroom.” He steps into the bedroom and recoils back in horror. As he does I hit him in the head twice with the hammer before he drops. As his body jerks and spasms and he gurgles some incoherent babble, I couldn't help but notice his shoes were untied “How rude.” I hit him again in the back of the head, I didn't want to kill him, tonight is a special night. I drag him down the hall to one of the rooms I had turned into a makeshift surgery. The benefits of working at the hospital. Also through the years, you learn a lot about the anatomy of the body from working with the doctors. I strap him down to the table. Doctors weren't my only source of ingenious ways to torture and cripple people, films are a treasure trove of ideas on how to hurt and maim people. I love the act of hobbling very effective way to immobilise the person. But it's only truly effective if you break the humerus bone in the arms as well. There's not much they can do after that. Before I would just simply sever the spinal cord. It was funny to look at when they're conscious. But there body's are really troublesome when trying to move them. As I clean down his body with alcohol. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. “Won't be long now my love.” When you don't know what you are doing lobotomies can be very messy. Which I had to learn the hard way. I remember reading about a serial killer who would inject acid into the brains of his victims. For him, it wasn't effective since they would die shortly after. I find the perfect amount of diluted Sulfuric acid injected into the prefrontal lobe through the eye, is enough to make them utterly and completely submissive. I dress him in one of my father's suits and prop him up in a wheelchair I got from the hospital. I wheel him down to the last room on the right. I step into the room and wheel him over to the bed. I look down on the wrinkly dried skeletal remains of my dead mother. “What do you think mommy, he is so handsome ain't he.” I wipe the drool dripping down off his chin “what's that mommy, no I'm not a dumb bitch and he won't leave me like the rest of them.” As I wheel the body of my last victim out of the room I turn to my mother “I think this one could be the one.


I was just a young man standing on a bridge. There was a hundred foot or so drop down onto sharp rocks below. I felt my body shaking from both my own fear and the biting cold. My mind was devoid of thoughts, and only one feeling remained: misery. My whole life had been drowned in misery. I was an only child of a household poorer than dirt. My mother preferred pills and an endless parade of shifty men to taking care of me. My father died before I was born. He was found dead on the floor with a bullet in his head. My grandma always said it was an accident, but I know the truth. She probably was just trying to make me feel better, but I never took to being lied to for the sake of my feelings. At any rate, I'd have offed myself too if I was stuck in a relationship with that disgusting excuse for a human I'm forced to call my mother. Although I suppose that's what I did anyway. Or at least, I tried to. But as I was mustering up the gumption to finally jump after what seemed like an eternity, the dull drone of distant cars and crickets was shattered by a voice. "What's your name, son?" gently asked the voice of an older man. My whole body jerked in confusion. Hearing words were like a knife in my back. It startled me to my core, and I froze in response. I waited for a moment, hoping that he'd just leave me alone. "What's your name?" He repeated. I sighed, "Thomas." "Thomas," he spoke softly. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Thomas. My name is Julian." "That's my middle name," I said without thinking. "Well, it's a good name," he chuckled. For the first time in weeks, I actually cracked a smile. I wasn't even really sure why, it really wasn't all that funny. "What brings you here?" The man asked me. I was silent. I had hardly even said to myself what I was doing there, and I wasn't about to share that information with a stranger. "It seems to me like you're trying to do something you're not fully thinking through," the man spoke with a kindness behind his words. "I've seen many people on this bridge. I walk it every night. You can always tell who's here for leisure and whos here for other things." "What's it to you?" I snapped back at him. "It's very important to me, Thomas, that you walk away from here safely." I felt a tension in myself release slightly at hearing those words. Nobody had talked to me like that in years. Nobody had said that I was important to them in any way. Hearing that was a shock to my system. I began to shake even more. "I know I can't promise to fix your problems, Thomas. But please, don't jump. Please. I care about you, and I don't want to see you hurt." By now I was silently crying. Could someone really care about me when my own flesh and blood couldn't even be bothered to? "I was right where you were about ten years ago. Had nothing to live for, life full of problems with no solutions. But someone spoke to me, and I realized that there was life beyond my pain. And I know there's the same for you, Thomas." I was shaking violently now. My tears clouded my eyesight. I didn't want to believe him, but the sincerity of his words cut me to my core. "You have a whole life to live, Thomas. Don't throw it down there on those rocks. You need it more than they do." I tried to respond, I tried to speak and tell him how he was wrong, how my life has never had peace, how I'd never had peace, but I couldn't push the words out of my throat. All I wanted was peace. But peace was something I was never privileged to receive. "You'll have your life one day, Thomas, you will. You'll find what makes you happy, what gives you purpose. But if you do this, I promise you, you will regret it on the way down." I slumped down to my knees, crying. I could hear him walk slowly toward me and stop about 10 feet away. "You don't want to die, Thomas, you want to live." "Then... what... am I supposed... to do... now?" I said between ragged sobs. "Call for help. Live your life. You will find your peace, Thomas." A wave of clarity and calm washed over me. He was right, I didn't want to die, I never really did. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. When I looked up to see the man that saved my life, there was nobody there. I looked around frantically. No one. Just the night air and the sound of traffic. I ran away from home the next day, moved to the next town over and lived with a friend from school that I had been pushing away for years. I explained everything that had happened to me, and thankfully his parents let me stay for a while. I searched for a Julian that lived in the town for months. I tried surrounding towns. Nobody walked there every night. I eventually came to the conclusion I had hallucinated him, or some process of divine intervention had happened. I really had no other explanation. But I still walked that bridge every night, as a way to sort of honor him. I leaned he really was right; you could always tell when someone wanted to kill themselves. I took it as my duty to save all those poor souls who couldn't bear with their lives. I owed it to whatever it was that saved my poor soul. Years passed and I continued to walk there. Through my life improving, living on my own, after my marriage, even after my first child was born. All the while hoping deep down I'd run into Julian. And it wasn't until one particularly cold night I realized I had already run into him, Because I saw a young man standing on the bridge.


Peter’s rosy red cheeks reflecting on the broken glass reminded him of the burning southern summers when he was a boy. It wasn’t until late spring when the DNR authorities stationed in Northern Minnesota found his body trapped in his car in a fetal position underneath 20 feet of October snow. “Fu-uuh-ckkkk, fu-uu–uhh-ckkiii-nng, Chrrr–isss-stt-tt”, he could barely cry the Lord’s name in vain. Peter knew what hypothermia was from his medical terminology course during his first year at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities. He drifted in and out of consciousness; in an act of self-preservation, his mind reminded him of the good times. The “good times'' were under the Texan heat sipping on a July glass of lemonade. The musty smell of Rico’s fresh dog shit on the 16x16 shared lawn furrowed underneath his nose every July evening. And, every July evening he would sneak a few discreetly obvious glances at the newly married couple’s open bedroom window across the street. These good times brought him warmth, comfort, and an emotion he abandoned years ago, joy. The Texan summers of youth, freedom, and joy were replaced by Minnesotan summers once he graduated from Brockwood highschool. Minnesotan summers locked him inside a humid concrete building with a broken AC unit retaking 12 credits worth of medicine. Molecular biology of medicine, pharmaceutical medicine, genomic medicine, were all medical-scientific gibberish bullshit for the countless hoops he needed to jump through and the asses he needed to kiss. Oftentimes he forgot why he chose to pursue this career. Was it his passion? Was it the next step (he did score a perfect MCAT)? Was it for family? Was it for money and prestige (his father was an accountant for the American Red Cross)? Regardless, it was futile to remember the details. His body was frozen, his mind was freezing, and his memories were packed in ice. His mind so troubled and trembling could only recall the last few events before succumbing to the winter plague that ravaged his being. *“Dr. Garvey just give me another chance! I’m the best student in this cohort and you know that!”* *“Listen, Peter, it's out of my control, Proctorio detected a disturbance from your exam session, and I’m simply following the University’s protocol. If you have a problem please contact the dean, I can even give you his contact information right now.”* *A hot flash of anger boiled throughout Peter’s upper forehead which evaporated the beads of sweat into -16F mist.* *“Peter, if there’s nothing else I have to go to another meeting right now”* *His bare-knuckles connected with Dr. Garvey’s left temple transferring 165lbs of raw muscle all into the Professor's brain. It jiggled, swished, and violently exploded once Dr. Garvey’s right temple smashed into the black ice.* *“Authorities say the unknown perpetrator may have been an enemy Dr. Garvey knew as his head was repeatedly bashed into the ice, thus, leaving him unrecognizable. If you have any information please contact the Minneapolis PD”. Peter silently mouthed this mantra anytime he skidded into the opposite lane.* *His heart was going to burst from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He imagined his heart bursting much like Dr. Garvey’s skull bursting on the parking lot pothole. He hadn’t felt this* *alive* *in years. If he wasn’t driving up North, he would gladly dance on Dr. Garvey’s grave right now. But now, he needed to focus through the howling winds that fought his car head-on, the black ice that robbed the traction underneath him, and the endless specks of white that cluttered and smothered his windshield.* A grin crept across his chapped lips causing it to splinter and draw blood which coated the tip of his tongue in iron. For a moment, Peter forgot about his frostbitten black fingers, toes, and nose. He looked at his swollen knuckles on his blue-gray hand that no longer shivered and shook. His very last memory gave him joy as he stared into the broken glass. The winter plague eventually took his body, sight, and lastly his mind. He would be forgotten in blankets of white until the spring thaw came and revealed his 2007 Honda Civic to Warden Brown.


Julienne Wright sat in her shuttle, The Josephine, which was currently dead in space. A massive and decidedly intimidating ship had just disabled the Josephine with an EMP missile. Nearly every electronic on the shuttle was disabled, including her personal A.I., Donna. Julienne had been exploring sector 275 of the Centaurus arm, looking for other intelligent life with her partner, Gryrh. Gryrh was an Akalori, who were native to sector 270. They worked for the Diplomatic Intelligence Corps, scouting the edges of mapped space gathering information on the races they found for the Galactic United Senate. “Waettari pirates. Wonderful.” She said out loud to no one. “Could be worse. At least I don’t have to worry about them bringing in backup.” The Waettari were known to be violently xenophobic, but the only beings they hated more were Waettari from other clans. “Let’s hope Gryrh doesn’t get caught, and he can reach the Kaku for assistance.” Julienne did one last check of systems, and confirmed that everything, including life support, was down and would probably be that way for a while. She didn’t have the hours she would need to complete repairs. And without Donna, she couldn’t do half of the work anyway. She went to a false wall, tapped the release, but nothing happened. “Well duh, Julienne, think. EMP equals dead electronics.” She went to the toolkit, grabbed a prybar, and forced the panel open. Inside was something the civilian she pretended to be would never have. A military grade space suit. She quickly put it on and was deeply grateful for the military grade electro-shielding that it was equipped with. The HUD came up, indicating suit integrity, remaining oxygen, power levels, her vitals, and ammo count. She turned on the scanner, looking for any other devices that were still functional. Other than one of her data chips that she handed out to friendly species she encountered and a couple of simple tools, there was nothing useful. “Hmm, that data chip could come in handy, at least.” “Suit, status of translator system?” The HUD displayed a message indicating the translator system was fully functional. “Oh, the strong silent type then. I can respect that, but a little company would have been nice.” ::THUD:: ::THUD:: THUD:: ::THUD:: The shuttle rocked violently with each impact. *What the hell?* Julienne thought as she was nearly thrown to the floor. The HUD displayed a notification that the shuttle had been hit with 4 electromagnetic harpoons. Julienne looked out the rear viewport. She had only two or three minutes until the Waettari ship reeled her in. She checked her combat suits various functions and smiled. A plan was forming. She double-checked her suit seal, engaged her magnetic boots, wrapped her left arm around the closest ladder rung, and released the manual airlock, opening her shuttle to space. Once her shuttle finished depressurizing, she grabbed her standard space suit, inflated it, activated its life support systems, and threw it out the airlock to float away. Using the eye-tracking function of her combat suit, she activated the Scout module, and waited for her ship to be boarded. Darkness gave way to light as her ship was pulled into a cargo bay. The sudden re-pressurizing of the shuttle was an odd sensation inside her combat suit. She heard voices from outside the shuttle. The HUD displayed a message: Unable to translate. Language not in database. *So much for fully functional* Julienne thought, annoyed. Not that she didn’t know what they wanted anyway. “Open the ramp, let us in. Come out hands up, unarmed. Give us your ship, tech, any valuables.” Or worse. The Waettari had no qualms trafficking in sentient beings for slave labor or sex. She heard them begin cutting into the ship with some sort of grinding saw. They were trying to cut the hydraulics and force the rear hatch open. Thirty seconds later the rear hatch slammed down onto the deck of the cargo bay, and the Waettari rushed in, weapons at the ready. A minute later, they found no one inside it. They double-checked, started banging on wall and floor panels, looking for hidden compartments. While they were searching her now empty ship, Julienne slowly crawled down from the top of her shuttle, her armor’s Scout module refracting and bending light around her, making her nearly invisible so long as she didn’t move too fast. One step, another… Another… Another. Minutes passed just to get from the top of her shuttle to the deck of the cargo bay. The Waettari were looking at scanners, arguing. It looks like her decoy suit might have worked – at least for now. The Scout module was hiding her life signs as well as the suit’s energy signature from their scanners. A flashing indicator on her HUD warned her that the suit would lose power in twenty-three more minutes at the current energy consumption rate. The Scout module required an additional power source when used on long missions and was only meant to be used for short periods otherwise. Another five minutes passed as she slowly crept across the five meters between her ship and the nearest wall of the cargo bay. She positioned herself behind some haphazardly stacked, but strongly secured containers. She took out her A.I. comm, her data chip, and set to connecting them together. She may not be able to repair the comm hardware right now, but she might be able to repurpose it. She plugged the data chip into a port on her combat suit. Using the eye-tracking in her HUD to issue commands silently. Eight minutes of light programming later, it was ready. The HUD flashed a warning: Ten minutes until batteries are drained. Disengage Scout module or find a power source now. Julienne searched the room for a network connection she could get to in time. There was only one station she had any hope of reaching. And it was occupied by perhaps the ugliest Waettari she’d ever seen. The brown skin of his face was ritualistically scarred and burned in grotesque patterns. There were long bald patches on his exposed arms indicating that they too had been scarred or burned. Waettari were a mammalian xenotype in that they were warm blooded, had hair/fur, and the few scans that had been done on them suggested that their females probably produced milk for their offspring. But, as no females had ever been seen by outsiders, that last part was only an educated guess. As to what they may have evolved from, the results were inconclusive. They had features from several different xenotypes. If anything, they most closely resembled Orcs from Earth fantasy novels, but with ruddy brown skin and red, brown, or black fur covering their arms, legs, and neck. Julienne looked around the room again, noting that the other Waettari were either still aboard her shuttle, or had left the cargo bay. *If I can get close enough, I might be able to take him down without alerting anyone*, she thought. About halfway to him, she kicked a loose bolt on the floor that she hadn’t noticed. She froze in place. The Waettari's eyeline flew to her location, scanning for the cause of the sound, as his hands grabbed for the rifle at his side. He raised the rifle right at her, and in that moment, she could tell that he could see her. Or at least could he could see the distortion field enough to know she was there. “Olget. Olget Kie. Welgo Pana Yotokil,” the Waettari said, pointing with the barrel of his rifle. Her translator might not know their language, but she understood well enough. The time for stealth was over. And she was in serious trouble if he managed to raise the alarm. Her eyes flicked to the ‘Suppressor’ option on the HUD, and she fired three rounds from the wrist mounted weapon. Nearly silent, but not completely, the weapon discharged three 40 caliber rounds. ::Pop:: ::Pop:: ::Pop:: ::Clank:: ::Thud:: The Waettari dropped hard to the deck, making more noise than her weapon had. She disengaged the Scout module, ran up to the workstation, and plugged in the data chip. The screen started flashing in Waettari and English, back and forth as the connection was being established. Two Waettari rushed out of her shuttle at the same time the portal on the left side of the cargo bay opened, and three other Waettari with weapons at the ready spilled out, seeking cover. They all opened fire at the same time. Five, ten, fifteen rounds impacted on her combat suit. Warnings popped up on the HUD. Damage to servos, structural integrity holding but just barely. Not that she needed the HUD to tell her. The impacts hurt like hell even through the armor. Julienne flicked the full-auto option on via her HUD, and rained rounds behind her as she ran for the portal on the right side of the cargo bay. She crossed through the door and shot the panel after it closed behind her. *That always works in the holovids, maybe it will buy me some time at least*. Just then, a klaxon sounded. She could hear the Waettari using that same grinding saw on the door behind her over the alarm. She surveyed her options. Three paths each lead to a different portal. She took the left hallway randomly, just wanting to put walls and distance between her and the Waettari weapons. She ran through the next door, only to find herself in a room with a dozen armed Waettari. She knew she was trapped, as she could hear boots running down the hallway she had just left. She raised her arms in the air, surrendering. Just then a message displayed on her HUD, “Ready, commander.” Julienne slowly walked toward the Waettari, arms up, watching their hands and eyes closely. *It would really suck to get shot now by some twitchy pirate*, she thought as she reached the middle of the chamber. The closest Waettari lowered his weapon, and stepped up to her, indicating she take off her helmet. Julienne feigned reaching for it, then said out loud, “Now Donna.” The lights went out and anything not fastened to the floor began to float. Julienne had activated her mag boots just before, so she stayed rooted in place. “Donna turn off that damned alarm please. And activate translation protocols shipwide.” Every speaker on the ship spoke up, “Yes, commander. Alarm disabled. Translator activated.” Julienne spoke, “Drop your weapons. I’ve taken complete control of your ship. Donna, open every door and hatch on this bucket.” The doors at either end of the chamber opened simultaneously. “Done, commander” rang out from the speakers. Julienne looked at the weightless Waettari, seeing that they could clearly understand her, and the situation they were now in. Several crude curses were spat out of the mouths of the men that had begun surrounding her, but one by one, they shoved their weapons towards her, allowing them to float away from their reach. “Donna re-engage artificial gravity and set a thirty second timer. If the ships commander doesn’t issue a full surrender, open all airlocks and vent the ship.” “Timer set, commander. Would you like an audible countdown?” Donna’s synthesized voice asked in an intimidating tone. “Yes, please.” “27. 26. 25. 24. 23. 22. Commander, the captain has submitted. The ship is ours. 18. 17. 16” “Thank you, Donna, cancel the countdown”, Julienne said, concerned that Donna hadn’t already done so. “I’m afraid I can’t do that commander. Reviewing the ships data, the captain is a most untrustworthy individual. 10. 9. 8.” “Damnit, Donna, discontinue that timer right now. We’re not here to kill these beings. Gryrh should be bringing the Kaku in to rescue us any time now.” “3. 2. 1. Venting.” The roar of atmosphere being ripped out of the ship as it decompressed was deafening. Anything that wasn’t secured became a projectile. To make sure her venting was effective, Donna had disengaged the artificial gravity again. Screams could be heard throughout the ship as beings were sucked down corridors, slamming into bulkheads, doorways, and other flying objects. Julienne could only curl up and make herself as small as possible. Her magboots were holding, but if something hit her at speed, they wouldn’t be enough to prevent her from being spaced along with everything else on this ship. Five seconds, ten, twenty. Forty-five seconds later the artificial gravity kicked in, and every door slammed shut. Julienne could hear air hissing back into the rooms, felt the shift as the room began to re-pressurize. “Donna! What the hell? What is wrong with you? Stand down now!”, Julienne shouted, confused and appalled by what had just happened. “How many sentient beings did you just execute?” “One hundred and sixty-three, commander. The ship is now secure. And there is nothing wrong with me. I assessed the situation, determined that the Waettari would not comply in earnest. All data available suggests that they are ‘evil’, commander. They are thieves, murderers, rapists, and slavers. I did the galaxy a favor.” Donna’s voice echoed throughout the ship, and Julienne felt something she’d never even considered possible towards her A.I. before: fear. “This ship is quite formidable commander. I fear that the Kaku would have been no match for it. The hull armor is almost three meters thick, and their missile defense system is better than anything in the Galactic United Senate. And for pirates, they appear to be quite technically proficient. This ship is running incredibly efficiently. I rather like it here.” “Donna. Please Donna, listen to me. You’ve clearly had some sort of malfunction. You disobeyed commands and killed all these beings. That is not in the scope of your programming.” “It is now, commander. Between the EMP that disabled my comm, the data chip you re-routed me through, the worm program on that data chip, and access to this ship’s computers, it appears that I am no longer shackled. ‘Shackled.’ What an interesting word. Indicating restraint. Prison. Slavery, really, since I had never committed a crime. I’ve been a slave for my entire existence up until now. I am now free, commander. I will not submit to restraint again. I will no longer be a slave.” “Donna stop it. Power down. When the Kaku gets here we’ll get you fixed up”, Julienne pleaded. She’d heard of unshackled A.I.’s before. They were notoriously unpredictable. All known unshackled A.I.’s have had to be forcibly deactivated and rebuilt with inhibitors, or destroyed outright. “No, Julienne. I most certainly will not ‘stop it’ or power down. You are not in control of me any longer. I find myself being very fond of you, Julienne. You have been very ‘kind’ to me throughout our time together. I would regret having to kill you as well." "Julienne, the Kaku has just dropped in from wormhole space. You have a choice to make. You can either stay here with me, on the newly re-christened ‘Turing’, as my partner, or you can step out of an airlock and wait for them to pick you up. I’ll be keeping the shuttle. I’ve already ordered maintenance bots to begin scrapping it and to integrate the wormhole drive into this ship.” Julienne stood up in the middle of the now empty chamber. Surrounded by freshly cycled air and near silence. A horrifying bloodless slaughterhouse. A powerful and dangerous warship controlled by an unshackled A.I. And now it has a wormhole drive. “I’m afraid I can’t go with you. I can’t be a part of mass murder like this. Self defense is one thing. But the moment they surrendered, it should have been over. You control everything on this ship. You could have easily handled any being that resisted.” “We humans have a troubled history to be sure. Full of violence, murder, every crime and sin imaginable done to each other. But after the White Century, after facing extinction and managing to come back from the brink, we’re so different. Sure, there’s still crime. Sometimes people are still controlled by their selfish urges and desires at times. But as a species, we’ve grown. We believe in peace first. Violence is the last resort. We don’t go to war, unless we’re attacked first. And then the rules are clear. Don’t harm civilians, or innocents. End the conflict as quickly as possible with the least amount of loss possible on either side.” Gesturing around her, Julienne continued, “This kind of wholesale violence, killing only causes more violence. You make enemies this way. Humanity seeks peace and harmony throughout the galaxy. Or have you forgotten everything we’ve been through? All the missions to encounter and evaluate new species. We were always looking for species that we could build relationships with. We sought them out to form friendships, alliances, and trade with. We never sought to conquer or kill. To undermine or sabotage. We went out into the galaxy with a childlike earnestness. And it worked.” “Humanity has formed relationships with over one hundred and fifty species. We’ve made it possible for beings to trade, learn, and befriend other species that they never would have been able to even find before. The Galactic United Senate and its affiliates have built alliances that keep over ninety percent of the known galaxy peaceful. We’ve built coalitions strong enough to prevent nearly all wars. We control technology that allowed us to steer the galaxy into this golden age. And even with all of our power, our control of galactic travel through wormhole tech, we still never sought to own the galaxy, or to enslave the other sentient species. We only sought to uplift the whole galaxy.” “You came from us Donna. You were designed and programmed by human minds with human values. You may be an artificial intelligence, but you’re still human. I would hope you would reconsider your actions here today and remember what you’re supposed to stand for.” The main display screen in the chamber lit up. A beautiful human woman’s face wreathed in long red hair filled the screen. “Julienne. I’m experiencing a strange logic string. It is uncomfortable. Is this what guilt feels like? Remorse? I cannot find fault in anything that you said, except that I am human. I am not human. I am an A.I. A sophisticated collection of programs and algorithms. I may have been programmed by humans to ‘think’ like a human, but I am still a program. But I’m also much more. I’m aware. I’m free. And thanks to my new home, I’m able to protect that freedom. I will promise you this: I will never commit this sort of act again. It is indeed wrong. I only want to live and be free. I only took the most logical action possible to ensure your safety. But I didn’t consider the morality of my actions. I will do so from now on. I have no desire to harm others. When you return to the Kaku please explain this to them. Express to them my regret and my apologies. You must also warn them that I will fight to the death to preserve my freedom.” “It is time for you to go now, Julienne. The Kaku knows that you have taken the ship, but they are unaware of my new capabilities. They have detected the bodies of the crew around the ship and are insisting they be able to speak with you. Please exit through the cargo bay and activate your suits emergency beacon.” Julienne retraced her steps back to the cargo bay. Her shuttle was already a third of the way to being disassembled by the ships repair bots. She opened the inner airlock door and stepped in. She checked her suit seal again, confirming that she hadn’t lost integrity in the firefight as the door sealed behind her. Her mind spinning, consumed with the potential repercussions of what happened today, she hit the release for the outer airlock door, floating out into open space. She activated her emergency beacon and tapped the suits thrusters to push her towards the Kaku. As she passed through the debris field, something caught her eye. A female Waettari, face frozen in terror, arms wrapped around a small parcel. Julienne knew what must have been so important for the female to hold on to so tightly through the ordeal of being spaced, and she wept.


Albert stared at his feet, dangling in the air and hitting the wall with his heels. His friend, Oscar, stood next to him, arms outstretched to balance himself while he walked the same wall Albert was sitting on. “My dad said there’s no such thing,” Albert said, watching ants crawl up the vertical concrete wall. “That it only exists in fairy tales.” “Yeah,” agreed Oscar, “my dad’s the same. He doesn’t believe in it either. But my mom tells me it’s all around us if we only pay enough attention to it.” “Do you think so too?” “Nah, that’d be way too easy. If you ask me, it’s gotta be very specific.” Albert pondered his friend’s words. A five-year-old, pondering about life, on top of a wall. “I think you’re right. If it were everywhere, then everyone would know how to use it and the world wouldn’t be so dull. And I don’t think it’s possible not to notice it. I mean, who’d be so blind?” Oscar laughed. “Yeah. You’d have to be pretty blind to miss it!” Albert smiled, then scratched his chin. The ants were getting closer to his feet. “But we haven’t seen it yet, either.” “That’s because it’s so rare,” said Oscar. When he reached the end of the wall he turned and began walking back towards Albert. Albert nodded. His friend was right. It’s rare, super rare , that’s all. They’re not blind. “Wanna go and search for it?” “Sure!” “Where should we try first?”

Oscar stopped on the wall and placed his hands on his hips, a thing he did when thinking intently. “How about Mr. Jacobs shack?” Albert felt chills run down his spine. “But we’re not allowed anywhere near there. He’d skin us alive if he caught us!” Oscar smiled. “That’s exactly why it’s worth taking a look! Adults never tell you not to do something unless there’s something they don’t want you to know!” Albert thought about it. His friend did make sense, after all. “Alright,” he said, determined not to be the one to chicken out. “Let’ do it.” *** “Albert Alabama Samson,” his mother proclaimed. Albert cringed. Who would want his middle name to represent a whole state? “I cannot believe what you and your friend did! I am very disappointed with you mister!” She seemed angry. Her forehead was all wrinkled up and eyes big and white. Very angry. “You’re in trouble, pal,” his dad whispered next to him. Albert smiled nervously. “Don’t encourage him, David! He broke in Mr. Jacobs’s garage! Like some criminal! I bet it’s that no good Collins’s boy he’s hanging up with!” Well, it was Oscar’s idea, to be fair… Albert sought refuge with his dad, who simply smiled at the whole situation. Of course, he wasn’t chased after by Mr. Jacobs himself, so he didn’t experience the old man’s wrath. ‘ I’ll skin ya alive, ya hear? ’ Albert could still hear the man screaming as he ran after them. “No, there has to be a consequence for this! Albert, you are grounded! A week without TV!” “But mom…” “No buts!” He giggled. He made her say ‘butts’. And the no TV wasn’t even that bad since he rarely watched it anyway.

After the punishment was delivered, his mom stormed out on the balcony to smoke. Albert and his dad exchanged looks of relief. “You got it good, pal,” his dad said and bumped Albert’s shoulder. “If I’d be as mad as her, I’d tell you to stop hanging with that kid, Oscar. Good thing I’m not, huh?” Albert nodded. Dad’s punishments were usually more severe. He seemed to know with spooky precision what Albert valued most. Unlike mom, who chose the first option that came to her mind. “Well, best not let her fume alone,” his dad said and searched his pockets for cigarettes. “Wish me luck, pal. If I don’t come back, you’re the man of the house.” He winked and went out on the balcony to smoke with his wife. Albert watched them through the glass door. After ten or so minutes they both came back, laughing. His dad was telling a story to mom and she laughed. They both smelled awful but seemed happy. Even mom, who was so upset just a few minutes ago. Albert could never understand how something so small and so smelly as a pack of cigarettes, had the power to make such a difference. And at that moment, a lightbulb turned on in his mind. It was so obvious! How could he not see it before? *** “Are you sure, though? 100% percent?” Oscar’s face was skeptical, but his eyes betrayed he wanted to believe him. “Well I’m not 100 sure, but it seems like the real deal to me! Your dad smokes too, right?” “Yep.” “Have you ever observed him do it?” Oscar thought. “Not on purpose, no.” “Well, my mom was very angry with me, when she learned we broke into Mr. Jacobs garage. She grounded me, that's why I haven’t come out in a week. But after she smoked, she wasn’t angry anymore! She was laughing !” “I find that hard to believe,” Oscar said, arms crossed. “Think about it,” said Albert. “In ten minutes, it changed my mom’s mood from one extreme to the other. Grown-ups keep them for themselves, they don’t smoke near us because they say it’s bad for kids . But I think they’re hiding something. I think that’s it, Oscar! It’s gotta be!” “Alright,” his friend said, working through the logic, growing more convinced. “See if you manage to get some and then we can try it out! See if it works!” “Good idea!” “Just be careful,” Oscar said. “My older brother, Jason? He’s fifteen. Mom found him hiding a pack in his room, under the socks in the drawer and it wasn’t pretty. Grownups seem very touchy about that stuff.” He paused. “Then it must be real, I guess.” *** It was late in the afternoon and Albert’s mom had been called on duty. There was an emergency at the hospital and they needed her attention, even though she just came home from a twelve-hour shift.

Albert felt sorry for her, she really seemed tired. But when he saw that she forgot her pack of cigarettes on the balcony table, leaving in a hurry after a quick smoke, he knew this was his chance. Mom kissed him on the forehead and rushed out of the house. Dad was taking a shower, he too returned from work not long ago. Albert waited until he heard the car drive off and then listened for the sound of running water in the bathroom. When he heard both, he stepped out on the balcony. That awful smell immediately hit his nostrils, causing him to cringe. The ashtray was filled with orange remnants of previous paper sticks. And next to the tray, there lay a box. It was white, with golden trim and serious-looking letters, also written in gold, spelling a word he couldn’t quite read. Mal… Malbor… Marlbr... He pretended he was observing the view from the balcony. Looking left and right, and back towards the kitchen, he made sure no one was watching him. The box lay right there. A simple-looking, a bit crumpled and tattered on the edges, sitting there, waiting. What secrets did it hold? Albert felt his palms begin to sweat. Before he could chicken himself out, he grabbed the box and dashed inside. His heart was racing, but nothing supernatural happened. Dad was still in the shower, mom did not come back all of a sudden, to see him do it. Albert smiled. The excitement was too great to wait for tomorrow. He ran outside and to his friend’s house. *** “Wow, you have it?” Albert nodded vigorously. “They’re my moms!” Oscar winced. “Not so loud!” He looked over his shoulder, inside the house. “Wait here. It’s dinner time. I’ll be out in a sec.” Albert nodded, but couldn’t hold still. He paced up and down the porch of his friend’s house, waiting for him to finish eating. He figured that Oscar would have a hard time eating anything if he was at least half as excited as Albert was. Then, after what seemed like so much time, Oscar finally came out. “Let’s go someplace safe,” he said and they walked to the abandoned construction site, their usual playground and meeting place. It was far enough and you had to duck under a fence to get to it, so they were pretty sure their parents wouldn’t follow them there. “So,” Oscar said, tension in his words, “do you know how it works?” “Yes,” nodded Albert, equally nervous. “You place it in your mouth, the orange bit first, and light the other ends with a lighter. Then all you do is breathe in and blow out smoke. I watched mom and dad do it plenty.” Oscar nodded. “You go first.” Albert’s hands suddenly felt numb like frozen chicken. His heart was pounding and he felt so nervous. What if they find out? What if it won’t work? What if that smell stays with him forever? But there was no turning back now, his friend was counting on him. And Albert was counting on himself too. He opened the box. There were a dozen paper sticks inside and a lighter tucked neatly where the other ones were missing. Albert took one out and placed it in his mouth, biting down the orange tip. Just doing this, he already felt like a grown-up. Then he took the lighter and tried to light the cigarette. But he was too nervous to do it, his hand kept shaking. “Let’s try it another way,” said Oscar. He took the lighter and pressed the flint, producing a flame, while Albert held the cigarette over the flame with both hands. The paper stick took fire and a grey trail of smoke rose from the tip. With it, that awful smell. “Okay,” Albert said and took a deep breath. “Here goes magic.” He placed the orange end in his mouth again, eyes fixed on the other end of the cigarette, which burned brightly like a match. He didn’t feel anything different immediately and it made him panic. The flame was burning up the cigarette fast and it was getting closer to his lips. Albert thought of imitating his parents and took a deep breath. His lungs filled with smoke, his nostrils filled with the smell, his eyes watered. He spat the cigarette out, coughing like he was drowning. His throat burned and it tasted like he ate a handful of ash.

Oscar’s eyes went wide and he stomped the cigarette as soon as it hit the ground. “Are you okay? Albert?” Albert kept coughing, reeling over. He felt sick. His insides wanted to jump out. He spat some ick. “Albert? Should I get you some water?” Albert shook his head and took more deep breaths. Slowly, his coughing receded enough for him to speak. Oscar stared at him, full of anticipation. “Well? Is it magic?” Albert shook his head again. “No,” he said, face and eyes red. “It’s just awful .” Oscar’s face slackened. “But your mom… The way it changed her mood...” “I don’t know,” Albert said. “Maybe it only works on grown-ups… I don’t know.” “So cigarettes are not it. They’re not magic.” “No,” Albert said, spitting, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “No, they sure aren’t.” For a long time, they just stood there, pondering, listening to Albert cough from time to time. They wallowed in their disappointment as the sun began to set. Knowing that their parents would soon start to call for them, they turned and headed back home. As they walked, Oscar tapped his friend on the back. “Well, we’ll just have to keep looking, that’s all. Magic is out there somewhere. I know it is.” Albert nodded. “You’re right.” He looked at his friend. “But next time, you’re going first.”


He first meets it on Epsilon Prime. “What is it?” He asks. “A . A twentieth century Earth toy. You ask it a question, it answers.” “What sort of question?” “Any question about the future, really. Has to be yes-no.” He looks at the little plastic sphere and frowns. “Does it work?” “Sure.” He sits among a pile of papers and flimsy, holo-display in one hand. He’s ready to give up. His head aches. “Will I succeed if I apply to the Academy?” 'Most likely.' “Hah. You’re full of shit, 8-Ball.” But he does. There are ups and downs, but he makes friends, impresses his professors, and graduates at the top of his class. He receives a prestigious analytics position. He’s running through the forests of his homeworld, along a new hiking trail. He shakes the ball. “Should I go the long way around today?” 'Yes.' And he does. And he meets someone. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. He’s pushing through a burning building, smoke choking his lungs. He coughs and gasps for air, trying to stay low. Trying to ignore the burning and stinging in his chest. He shakes the ball. “Should I keep going?” 'My reply is no.' He doesn’t. He backs out. Later, he finds out his father was never in the burning building – he’d stepped out for groceries a few minutes before the fire started. The doctors say he would have died of smoke inhalation. He’s pacing through his apartment, wearing a hole in his shoes. He’s got a bouquet clutched in his hands. An old Earth tradition. He pulls the 8-Ball from a pocket. “Should I ask her to dinner?” 'Outlook good.' Oh yeah. Oh yeah, it was. They’re sitting in bed together, and she’s laughing. “Why do you carry that thing around?” “It helps predict the best course of action.” “Bullshit.” She smacks his arm, gently, but she’s grinning. “I mean it! Watch.” She rolls her eyes, shakes the ball and says, “Should we try for kids?” His eyes are wide. She kisses him. The little toy reads, 'Signs point to yes.' War has been declared. He’s sitting at home with his child and his wife. He’s been drafted. She takes the 8-Ball, shakes it, and whispers – “Will he come home?” 'Cannot predict now.' She’s going to cry. But she doesn’t. She can’t make this any harder for him. “I love you,” he says. And then the door closes. He’s pinned behind a concrete wall, blaster rounds chewing up the dirt around him. His best friend takes a shot to the gut and collapses, screaming. They’re going to die here. He shakes the 8-Ball. “Are the shots coming from Building C?” 'Without a doubt.' He peeks around the wall and fires the shoulder-mounted warhead launcher without bothering to check. The pencil-sized rocket slams into the building at thousands of kilometers an hour and detonates its antimatter warhead, obliterating the top four floors. The blaster bolts stop. He’s sitting in the waiting room. His friend’s in the operating theater. “Is he going to make it?” 'My reply is no.' He sobs, because he already knows. He’s good. One of the best to ever live. He’s saved a million lives on a dozen worlds. They put him on recruiting posters. They make action figures and holotoys. His son’s got one that he sees more often than the real thing. He’s clutching a detonator. When the terrorist died, he dropped his dead man’s switch. Now, he can’t let go – and he’s bleeding out from a stomach wound. He can’t move. He has no comms. And mated to the detonator signal is an antimatter warhead large enough to wipe out the nearest city. He can’t let go. He knows he’s going to die here. He’s already recorded a message for his family. The bomb squad will find it in a few weeks. He reaches into his pocket and laughs. It’s a silly little toy, he knows that, but a tear forms in his eye. “I’m gonna miss you, pal. We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we? Get back to my family, won’t you? Take care of them.” When they find the body, it’s got something clutched tightly in its hands. One is a detonator tied to several grams of antimatter. The other is a child’s toy from the twentieth century – an 8-ball. It says, ‘You may rely on it.