The worn-down diner was oddly empty for a weekend. The soft, electric glow of the aged lamps illuminated the cracked, red vinyl of the vacant booths. Bored, the waitress wandered between tables- filling the mugs of the scattered patrons and wiping up the occasional mess. Aside from the clatter of the dishes in the kitchen and the hushed murmur of two men conversing quietly over cups of mediocre coffee the diner was filled with a near overwhelming quiet. “More?” Asked the waitress, her voice strained with the weight of fatigue. I looked at her, unintentionally picking apart every detail of her face. The day had left faint purple rings around her aging eyes. Wrinkles toyed with the corner of her mouth as she spoke, hinting at a life filled with more frowns then smiles. The look of pity, tinged with a poorly hidden bit of repulsion incited feelings of annoyance and self loathing within my gut. As much as I detested the watered-down, lukewarm, gritty liquid I accepted a second cup. Again left alone with my musings, I turned my attention to the grey world outside. Night had crept up on the city. Every now and again a couple would wander by, huddled together under the dim light of the street lights. A slight breeze churned up the leaves and debris that had gathered together along the curbs. It seemed as though the entire world had gone to sleep leaving only a few brave souls to traverse through this scene of darkness and silence. The odd car would drive past occasionally. Headlights pierced the night, overpowering the muted light of the street lamps and illuminating everything in harsh, blinding brilliance. One of these cars pulled up in front of the diner and parked. The glare of the lamps roused a somber muttering of a complaint out of the two men in the corner as the car went dark and still in the lot outside. I stood up, drained the last of my now cold coffee from the small ceramic mug and approached the waitress at the cash register. She smiled half heartedly, her eyes flickering over to the Coca-Cola clock on the wall as she counted down the seconds until her shift ended. That smile quickly faded as she saw not the $3.50 she expected for the coffee but the foreboding barrel of the weapon in my hand. Words of apology crossed my lips as I reached over the register and emptied the drawer. There was not much to be found between the plastic dividers, the night had been slow. But it would be enough, perhaps for a blanket, or another coat, something to keep the chill from my bones at night. As I stuffed the bills into my pocket, I took one last look around the diner. The men in the corner continued talking; unaware of what was going on but 20 feet from where they sat. An old woman stared at me in silence, her eyes burning with disgust and disapproval but not a hint of fear. The waitress, sweating and on the brink of collapse shut the now empty register drawer with a rattle and a click. Again I apologized, the terror in her eyes sinking into my stomach with the all too familiar heavy weight of guilt. My battered shoes padded softly across the well trod carpet as I left and turned to amble down the tree lined street. The bell on the door chimed quietly as it shut, closing the warmth of the diner off from the chill of the world outside. I gathered my shabby coat around me in a hopeless attempt to protect myself from the bite of the breeze and let myself get lost in the unending maze of the city streets.


TW: Graphic descriptions of violence **Cassandra steps out into the coliseum, and the floor thick with black mud. It's storming, and the raucous crowd in the seats behind her seems to loathe her name. To her left is a cliff, where the mud sloughs off little by little into the abyss, and ahead of her is her Reputation.** **The doors shut quietly behind her as she stares up at the beast. It's stranger looking than her, and it's much taller, and rather lean. It’s eyes glow and its horns seem out of a functioning state. It holds an axe the size of her in one hand, and its tail seems to be amputated. Even still, it looks like her. Like looking in a carnival mirror. She ties her shotgun to her belt, revs her chainsaw, and rebuckles her shield.** **The announcer shouts over the comms that the fight is about to begin.** **It opens with a charge directly at her, feinting with a sidestep and a swing for her neck. She blocks with her shield, and counters with a blast of her shotgun. The shot sinks into its chest, and it sputters up somewhere on its face grey liquid for a second before pausing and letting out a deep, reverberating cacophony of what sounds like laughter. It retreats and fades into the background for a moment.** **The crowd cheers.** **It reemerges and takes a heavy step towards her. She backs up, two steps. It takes another step towards her. She steps back some more. She’s retreating. Like a coward, which is strange. She feels like prey. It's been a long, long time since Cassandra has felt like prey.** **She runs and slides between its legs and attempts to sink her now spinning chainsaw into one of its arms. And then her saw** **gets** **stuck.** **It grabs the blade in its other paw and rips the chainsaw, straps and all, from her wrist and tosses it off into the abyss on the other side of the cliff. It bops her on the head, removing the top few layers of her horns, costing her most of her teleportation charges. The monster begins the next round of combat.** **She pulls out her shotgun out of fear, and lets a shot loose into its face, Tenderizing it for double damage on her next attack. It grabs the gun from her, and tosses it too off of the cliff. She blocks a swing of its axe with her shield. And then another, and another, and another. Her first shield shatters into crystal shards that sink into the mud. The monster steps on a few as it advances towards her, either not noticing the glass or not caring. Cassandra retreats a few feet, and it throws its axe at her. She recalls her second shield to block it. Two charges left in her horns. The axe deflects off the shield and embeds itself into the crowd. The monster climbs up to get it, giving Cassandra a few moments to think.** **The rain gets heavier as the fight drags on. One swing of the serpent’s axe is blocked by a now broken shield, and it goes for one more. Cassandra reacts fast enough to catch the blade between her two palms. The rain makes her slip, and she lets go for just a second.** **The axe does not forgive this mistake.** **The metal is freezing, tearing through her shoulder and becoming embedded in the floor. Bone leaves its flesh, and she can’t hear her arm plop into the mud below her over the storm. She summons her wrist cannon to her remaining arm and loads it with mud from the floor while the beast attempts to remove its axe from the floor. It gives up, and rushes at her barehanded. It slams into her, and it's almost rotting human face stares down at her as she readies her cannon. She pulls back the drawstring with her teeth, and lets go. The force of the mud being flung staggers it, and she ports scrap metal into her cannon while the serpent recoils. There are no charges left in her horns now. It stomps back over to her, and she pulls back the string one last time, aimed between its glowing, empty eyes.** **The crowd goes silent.** **As Cassandra stood there, standing over the corpse of her Reputation, she began to wonder. What the fuck had she gotten herself into? It had taken her arm from her. And her gun, shields, horns, and saw. Even though her opponent was dead, the door on the other side of the arena was still shut. So she got to tearing its head off its neck with her claws. After 10 minutes of sawing off the beast’s newly donut'd skull and lugging it with one hand and two legs, getting it stuck in the mud beneath her a few times, fifty feet to the door. Lightning sans thunder flashes in the background as she presses the monster’s ugly mug against the scanner on the pristine, metal double doors.** **The doors creak open. She steps out into the next level of the dungeon.


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


Planet of Corrigan, home to the World Order Western Fleet. Grand Admiral Lim awakes from his sleep. While washing up, he has an uneasy feeling. Being a veteran of previous conflicts waged by and against the World Order, he knows what caused these conflicts and currently the galaxy looks like its heading towards another war. Recently, the World Order joined the Galactic Alliance, partnering with its former enemies the Cryo Federation and Hermer Union in response to the growing aggression of the Holy Solar Empire towards its neighbouring states. Immediately after the creation of the Galactic Alliance, the Holy Solar Empire created the Holy Solar Alliance with its allies. 'With skirmishes across the territory occupied by these superpowers, it won't take much for a galactic scale conflict to occur.' Grand Admiral Lim thought. The Grand Admiral then headed for breakfast. 'Hurry up you maggots!' screamed Sergeant McKenzie. Sergeant McKenzie was also a veteran of the Hermer Union-World Order War also known as the Farragut War because most of the conflict was fought on the planet Farragut. Sergeant McKenzie served in special forces and now leads one. Sergeant McKenzie then took his team for breakfast after this routine training session. Meanwhile in deep space, the cloaked missile frigate WSS Archer was secretly monitoring activity at the space border between the World Order and the Holy Solar Empire. The captain of the WSS Archer, Captain Flynn was monitoring his screen when suddenly the screen began shouting at him and his crew. 'MULTIPLE VESSELS APPROACHING' the screen said. 'All hand battle stations!' Captain Flynn said to his crew. He then asked the screen to identify the ships. The screen then responded with 'HOLY SOLAR EMPIRE WARSHIP' Captain Flynn turned pale white when he saw his screen, before immediately shouting at his communications officer to send a message to Fleet Command. The war had just begun. Grand Admiral Lim was having his usual plate Nasi Lemak before being abruptly interrupted by Lieutenant Nagara who then ask the Grand Admiral to report to the command centre immediately. The Grand Admiral hesitantly stood up and began walking to the command centre. Sergeant McKenzie and his special forces team consisting Krueger, Miller, Mira and Andersen are trash talking one another as they have their breakfast. Then Mikhail, an ace pilot joins them as the Grand Admiral leaves the cafeteria. As Grand Admiral Lim enters the command room, he is immediately informed about the WSS Archer's sighting. Soon distress signals began pouring in from outposts near the border. Colonel James bursts into the room and informs the Grand Admiral that the first line of defence has been breached and that Holy Solar Empire forces are headed for the planet they are on. Grand Admiral Lim runs to his office and hits the hidden button and calls World Order High Command. The base alarms go off as ground crews prepare fighters and crews return to their ships. The World Order Western Fleet flagship WSS Invincible powers up and do its escorts. Soon Holy Solar Empire forces enter the atmosphere of Corrigan and begin their attack runs. World Order fighters begin shooting them down and engaging in dogfights. Point defence cannons on ships roar on as more enemy ships appear. The air defense frigate WSS Hope blows up after taking 7 torpedoes to its hull and losing its entire crew complement of 250 men and women. The aircraft carrier WSS Defiant and heavy cruiser WSS Riga takes three torpedoes hits. Soon most of the fleet is in orbit and begins engaging with Holy Solar Empire warships. Soon the Holy Solar Empire fleet withdraws. Grand Admiral Lim calls a meeting to discuss further action. 'We to have initiate Operation Icarus' Grand Admiral Lim said. There were gasps in the room as Operation Icarus would be a massive undertaking. Grand Admiral Lim heads towards the phone and calls World Order Space Command. 'Prepare the Grand Fleet and transfer it to my command. Initiate Operation Icarus.' said the Grand Admiral.


"Have you heard of the rumours about Windy Beck Lake?" Katie asked Ruth as she got prepared for camp, Ruth wasn't a believer of urban legends or myths, so she sarcastically replied with "Let me guess, another Nessie?". Katie chuckled and said "No, actually! They say that the lake is home to the aquatic witches!" with an attempted spooky tone in her voice. Ruth just rolled her eyes and packed her things, they later got into their car and drove to Windy Beck. The drive went on for 8 hours, which seemed like forever. Katie and Ruth eventually reached the Windy Beck campsite, as the two girls got out of their car, Ruth noticed that there were a bunch of missing posters all over the trees, it made her feel uncomfortable but she didn't want to upset her friend. They set the tents up, made a campfire, and brought out the delicious marshmallows. As Katie tried to practice her guitar music, Ruth decided to explore the place a bit. She looked over the massive lake that was sparkling due to the moonlight, then she noticed a sign that read "**DO NOT SWIM IN THIS LAKE**". "Oh that is very spooky" Katie said unexpectedly behind Ruth, giving her a fright. She turned around but Katie was completely naked, she blushed and said "K-Katie? Why are you naked?" to which she replied "Skinny dipping, what else you think?". Ruth wasn't fond of the idea of her friend swimming naked in a lake with a warning sign, so she blocked her way and said "What if piranhas were in there!" in a worried-demanding tone. Katie smiled and said "You're scared of the water, are you pussycat?" mockingly. "N-No! I'm just..." Ruth said to her but couldn't find the other words, Katie laughed and dived straight into the lake. "Fine! You convinced me!" Ruth said as she stripped her clothes and also dived into the lake, they were both having a fun time despite the water being cold as ice. They continuously splashed at each other, dived underwater a few times, and just had an awesome time. After minutes of skinny dipping fun, Ruth got out of the water, still nude. "That wasn't pretty bad, Katie! We should do that more often!" Ruth said to her as walked over to her clothes, but no response was heard, only a splash. "Katie?" she called out as she looked behind her to see that Katie had disappeared, she sighed in annoyance and said "C'mon! Don't make me stand here cold and butt-naked!" but still no response. With no other option, Ruth dived back into the lake to search for Katie, with the only light source being the moonlight above. As she swam a little deeper into the darkness, two eyes that glowed red appeared, then the "eyes" swam towards to reveal it's true form; A completely naked overweight woman with light-blue skin and long black hair, she was also twice the size than Ruth, making her look small. Her eyes widen in horror as the witch was coming at her, in a hurry, she attempted to swim back up to the surface but something grabbed her by the ankle. She looked down and it was another witch, literally a copy of her. Then she was dragged into the darkness as Ruth looked around in panic as more witches swarmed her, piling on top of her. Ruth and Katie were never found, as their faces were put into two new missing posters.


He trudged up the hill with his head down, exhausted after the hike. It was twilight, in day and his country. Smoke plumed above the town at the foot of the hill, and if he paused, he could hear their cries of terror on the wind. So similar to his own village, Arrau thought. Namor was collectively dying, violently gasping for stability in its last throes. There were rumors that in the capital, city officials prayed for death in their sleep. Arrau was intimately familiar with that specific prayer, and wondered if the bureaucrats remembered to leave offerings to the gods. As he drew nearer to the top, the underfoot thickened with blood-red and golden leaves. The two packs on his back left him sweating in the summer heat. Having to carry his master's belongings fed a burning anger on his march up the hill - an indignity he felt more keenly than anything related to seeing his homeland torn apart. Arrau was a Namorian, after all. The accumulation of leaves was greatest at the top. And, now, there was also a crackling sound coming from the sky in the distance. He saw his master in a small clearing, casually sitting on a log beside a small fire. Readying a rebuke, which would be as concise as it was intense, for his forced manual labor, Arrau paused. His anger dissipated upon seeing the view. A few miles past the hill and into the valley, a wall of leaves cascaded down, raining down as if to flood the valley in a crimson and gold seascape. He looked from side to side and could see no end to the wall’s expanse. No sky could even be seen above where the leaves fell. The world itself stopped at this great storm. In the gap between the hill and wall, some leaves swirled around in the wind casting strange, dancing shadows in the day’s dying light. By tomorrow, he would be knee deep in that chaos, if he wasn't already dead upon entry. The thought called to mind one of his father's jokes: never underestimate a Namorian man's ability to make things worse for himself. Arrau tried not look too deeply into the torrent. The nearby villages claimed you could lose your sight or even your soul by trying to see into the forest. Others vehemently claimed that was untrue, and instead said you would actually see your loved ones calling for you, and snare you forever in the leaves. There was universal agreement, however, that you would not see the one tree responsible for this everlasting fall season. Somewhere in the dense foliage stood the most magnificent and terrible of trees, towering into the sky itself. A few men had tried mapping the forest size by walking around the edge of the wall. Of those who did succeed, not one person agreed on how long it took. Most did not succeed, or even return for that matter. "Come, sit down, before you tumble down!" his master called. The man plodded over and immediately caught a rancid smell in the air, which was unsurprising. After weeks of travelling together, he knew two things to be true of Farrah. The first was that she had many friends. For an old, Bestoc woman, she travelled through Namor’s treacheries fairly easily. From the day that she asked him join her venture, their path across the various towns and villages had been no less than comfortable. Room and board were always open to Farrah where ever she went; bizarre in a country notorious for its distaste for foreigners. The second was that she had an immense fondness for smoking the most god-awful smelling tobacco. "Put my pack there. Take out the food and cooking gear, though, so we can eat. I will start while you unpack". Her glasses glinted in the fire light. Ah, yes, one last truth. She was not one for pleasantries. When she had first asked him to join her, she was still standing on his door step having barely just mentioned being one his father’s old friends, hinting not too subtly there was more to that relationship. Hinting was probably too light a term, as Arrau recalled having to divert the conversation to her stated reason: to hunt for treasure. He was not Karrah’s first pick: most of her old compatriots were dead or uninterested. Arrau’s father was last on her list, but hearing that he was in the dead category, she was initially resolved to go alone. And he knew all of this because Karrah told him. On his doorstep. In Namor, there was a specific word for her – Volkjins or plunderers of the land. It was a title his father would spend the rest of his life fending off. But, one Arrau chased after when hearing his father’s tales. Karrah reluctantly accepted his offer to join after Arrau pled incessantly, and then only on the condition of apprenticeship. And she warned him, in her direct way, that she was not a kind master. "My country burns, we sit literally on precipice of oblivion, and you would like to tell stories? Sure, I’m totally fine with you starting." He tossed the gear out, and then the food. "Arrau, I’ve explained this thrice over. I will start, and we will exchange tales into daybreak, before we begin into the forest. It is a Bestoc tradition. A tradition of our heroes before a great undertaking. We will share and bond over stories important to us and to our journey. And since our path leads us into the forest, perhaps you can learn from my first tale.” She clasped her hands sincerely, just as she did every time she explained. “We are not heroes. We are opportunistic explorers at best, and grave robbing thieves at worst…” Her hazel eyes hardened. Karrah rarely had lost her temper no matter what he said. But this time, he had struck a nerve. “You may think yourself as whatever you want, in however manner you please. But never tell me what I am, Arrau. I have fought tooth and nail to find survive, starting well before you were even born into your father’s lap of luxury. Which, I might add, I was partly responsible for providing. Your country burns, and you choose to be here. Remember that, you prideful little shit.” Her body was ridged, tersely pulling on her braided brown and grey hair. A small vein bulged in her forehead. She took a deep breath. “Now, did you know the forest's origin is told differently in Namor, Bestoc, and Asheed?” she said easing back in her regular, calmer lilt. Silence. "Did you know that what is common between all three stories is the Sorcerer, the Socerer's child, and the Knight?" Arrau sighed. "You forgot the Knight's lover." "No. The Asheed have no such person in their telling." "Then how..." "Hush. I will begin, and we continue through the night. And just so you know, I also look forward to your stories." She winked at him, knowing he hated this. “In all three stories, the Sorcerer planted a seed and poured into it a magic the world had yet not seen. Only within a few months, a fantastically giant tree stood, bearing fruit for all of Namor. In the years that followed, a Bestoc Knight came to Namor, and the Sorcerer would be killed. The Sorcerer’s only child would honor their dead parent’s last wish: to be buried in the trunk of the tree. Once the deed was done, the tree would forever more stop changing with the seasons and only weep leaves.” “But, Arrau, there is so much more richness between these three stories. Their differences are as important, even more so, than their commonalities. Listen, please, for your truth is just one of many.” She paused to give him a sly grin. “And I think, in these stories, I found the secret to find the tree…and the Sorcerer’s body”.


It’s a late thursday. Derek has finished half a chicken parm, quick. Still hungry, he goes for the pantry. No thought, bowl of cereal. Something colorful. He devours it, pours a second. After that, he has a third. Cartoon mascot on the box watches on in frozen glee. Bowl fills with sugary dust, not enough for a fourth. Undeterred, Derek drives to the local mart. He buys a box of that same brand, but family size. Now he’s back at home. Less hungry. A full has set in. Decides to have a sit. Wakes up the next day, has a fourth bowl, first thing. After that he has a fifth. Now he’s out of milk. He’s also late for work. Derek attends work and forgets to pick up milk on the way home. He goes back out to get milk. At the grocery he meets someone who may turn out to be the love of his life. He returns home, has a sixth bowl. Then two more. The shakes begin. He’s diabetic. Only a little, but every betic has their break. Derek desperately searches for an old prescription of life saving insulin. He finds it. He drives to the pharmacy to get it filled. There’s a line. Derek dies. Now Derek is in heaven, his every wish is instantly granted. He has a ninth bowl of cereal, the best yet. Eternity stretches as Derek devours bowl after bowl until he has reached his billionth bowl. The bowl after that takes literal hours. Derek reaches down at a deathly slow pace, each spoonful of sugar is a tortuous task. As he finally finishes bowl one billion and one it dawns on Derek that he might be in hell, in literal hell brought on by a lifetime of general apathy toward social causes and an overconsumption of the popular culture of his time. Derek orders another cereal from the celestial cereal makers that be. He has forgotten all other words and wants. He has become a titanic sized blob, Derek’s former face just a smudge in comparison, slurping up cereal like slop from a trough. Suddenly a beam of light breaks through the dark abyss that the gargantuan Derek calls his home. He squints his beady, now pure black eyes at the light and sees it is a woman, the woman from the grocery, floating naked in radiant light. Derek moves toward her at a terrifying speed, wriggling like a chinese dragon across the pitch black sky. Ever closer, Derek’s human sized mouth begins to grow to the width of his impossibly massive body, revealing row after row of razor sharp fangs. The floating, glowing woman opens her eyes, they glow even brighter than the blinding aura that surrounds her. With a flick of her wrist a sword of pure light spawns from her hand as she dives down below. Derek is sliced right open, his innards rain bright, colorful flakes and puffs like a city sized piñata. He lands with a solid thud, sweating and dying as the ethereal woman slowly approaches him. She bends down and kisses his forehead, dissolving him in light, extinguishing his being from all realities.


Back in '08, me and my friend both got jobs as scrapers. We'd get a call, get an address, and drive on over there to scrape off whatever needed scraping. We'd be scraping off old stickers off of car windows, mucked on poop off of sidewalks, berry splatter off of siding... you name it, we scraped it. We learned quick that you can scrape off just about anything with a 3" metal scraper and a little hard work. Summer was going great and business was booming as we scraped our way across the tri-county area. Hell, we were making nearly $10 a scrape job which was pretty decent considering we could scrape up the plastered-on messes of ten to fifteen houses in an afternoon. Word started to get out about how well we scraped up and how quick we scraped out. Soon we started getting some calls for some scrape jobs way out of the tri-county area, but the guy offered $12 a scrape and promised there'd be at least 30 scrapes for us to scrape. It was like an hour and half drive and me and my buddy's scraping hands were itching for some quality scraping. The whole time I was driving, he was twirling his scraper with his gnarled, scrape-hardened fingers and just staring blankly ahead as our back-country road gave way to a single lane gravel path. I would have given up and turned around thinking we must have been going the wrong way, but then I saw an absolutely humongous farm house just scraping the horizon. My buddy gave me a scrape on the thigh, and I gunned it. We both had such huge smiles on our faces, our scraped white teeth glistening in the afternoon sun. We parked the car pretty much right at the front door since there's no real driveway and got a good look at the outside of this guy. Paint peeling everywhere, windows gunked to the frames with bird turd, moldies and oldies creeping in every crack and cranny. It was a scraper's wet dream! It was maybe even a scraper's wet daydream judging my how my buddy was acting. His eyes darted all over the exterior as his idly scraped what little hair he had left off of his forearm. It was hard not to imagine what kind of amazing scrapes needed scraping on the inside with how many scrape jobs we were eyeballing on the outside. I rang the doorbell with my scraper and the door swung open before the ding finished donging. No one was there, but we heard a voice upstairs tell us that the whole house needs a good scrape down. And he really emphasized the “whole” part. Money was no object, just scrape as much as we could scrape. So that's exactly what we did. Without hesitation, I'm on the ground scraping up the peeling linoleum tiles. My buddies on the walls scraping of the wall paper. These scrapes jobs were pretty stubborn, and we had to sharpen our scrapers more than a few times. Chips of tiles, flecks of paint, ribbons of wall papers, shreds of veneer, speckles of plaster and glue, nothing was safe from our scraping and we were so focused that we didn't realize twelve hours had passed and we were barely out of the foyer. We scraped and rescraped and overscraped and superscraped through the night until all we there was nothing but bare concrete foundation and drywall. The massive piles of scrapings covered the floor and as I shuffled through them like fallen leaves, I told my buddy that I'll be back with the vacuum. He nodded, but never looked up and never stopped scraping. Out in the cool breeze of another great summer night, I snapped out of my scrape frenzy and started to realize how weird it was that some guy we never saw just had us scrape up his whole first floor down to the bare bones without ever checking up on us or even really telling us what to scrape. We just went at it. I grabbed the vacuum and tried to tally the number of scrape jobs in my head. I licked my chops looking at everything that needed a good scraping outside. There was going to be a lot of cash coming our way. With my vacuum armed and ready, I plowed through the door hoping that my buddy had scraped everything into one central pile to make things easier for me, but instead he was nowhere to be found. Upstairs, I heard the very distinct sound of scraping and then giggling. Did this guy really think he could start scraping upstairs without me? I decided to let me have his fun while I vacuumed up. Over the speckly sound of the vacuum sucking up our pile of scrapings, I heard some louder giggling and some moaning. I turned off the vacuum to listen closer, but it stopped. As soon as I turned the vacuum back on, I heard the laughing and moaning again. I had to go upstairs and check it out. Scraping is fun and all, hell it was my life that summer, but I never once heard him be that jubilant when scraping. As I'm walking up the creaking stairs, I'm seeing a trail of scrapes along the way. It was nothing major, just a small scrape here, a peel back there, but it made for a trail leading into one of the rooms upstairs, the same room where the moaning was coming from. All the way upstairs now, the moaning and laughing and giggling was nonstop. What could my buddy have possibly been scraping that was so much fun? Finally, I get to the door and scrape it open with my scraper. Inside my buddy has his shirt scraped off and he's sitting on the back of some guy, maybe the owner of the house. The guy was the one moaning with pleasure. He was moaning and giggling because my buddy is scraping his back. Now, everyone loves a good back scraping, so I chalk it up to some sort of little extra side gig my buddy was lucky enough to secure, but then I see him scrape and pull a long ribbon of skin up and above his shoulder. The man moaned with delight, almost howling. Then I saw more back-long ribbons of skin on the floor in a bloody heap. My buddy doesn't even turn to look at me, he just digs his scraper in again as the man giggles with ticklish delight. I hear the skin loosen and peel like the rind of massive orange. I backed away slowly thinking that if I just leave them to it, we can collect our cash and leave without ever discussing this scrape job again. I wouldn't have even cared if he got a little extra skin scraper money on the side. That's when I noticed that the walls were covered in flesh ribbons like those, hanging and long since dried like thousands of old belts. From the corner of the room, I heard another giggle. It was a man or woman. I couldn't tell because this laughing person had no skin whatsoever. It had been scraped off and made part of the skin belt collection. The person gestured over to me and mimed a scraping motion along their back where it seemed fresh, but very thin skin had started to grow back. They looked so weak, so frail, so exposed. This person kept beckoning me and giggling while my buddy scraped off another ribbon of the moaning man's skin and tossed it wetly into the pile. I dropped my scraper and it scraped right into the blood-soaked floorboards. My buddy stopped scraping, the moaning man stopped moaning and the giggling person stopped giggling. They all looked at me like I was the weirdo, like I wasn't doing my job. My buddy wiped his sweaty brow with his blood drenched hand. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Looking down at the man's raw back and then back up to me, he said, "Well uhm, these guys are paying my $50 dollars a ribbon, so uhh..." He wiggled his scraper, "What do you think?" Out from the shadows of the back room, several more people with varying degrees of skin coverage shambled into the light coming from the hallway. They all just looked at me with wanting eyes. Hey, $50 is $50.


"So, you’re what, about thirty? You probably don’t remember much from back then, huh? How old you think I am? I’ll give you a hint: I’m definitely younger than I look. It’s about a 50-50 split, though, between years before and years after, which, well, complicates things a bit for me. I guess I’m about fifty-five now? Yeah, about that. Maybe fifty-six. Here’s something: I remember before everything happened you could look up and see maybe ten, fifteen stars at night. No lie. Ha, you don’t believe me, I can tell. You’d see maybe the Big Dipper and Orion, the North Star over there, sometimes you could see Mars, a few other of the bright ones here and there, but that was it, really. The city was so bright with all the electric lights that you’d look up and the whole sky would have this kind of hazy glow, this canopy of dirty orange light, especially in the summer when all that light would filter through the humidity, just light it up. It would catch it all like a net so that you couldn’t see anything past it except for those few really bright ones shining through. They used to call it 'light pollution.' That’s the one thing I remember from the first night. You’re lucky because you didn’t really know anything anyway, you would have been so little. Probably didn’t even know the difference. But I was twenty-nine. I was fucking terrified. TER-RI-*FIED*. At least at first. But I remember when it got dark that first night and I looked up and saw all *this*, and for some reason it surprised me. I don’t know if I just forgot they were there, or some part of me assumed that it would take all that city light longer to clear out of the sky—like it would just hang there for weeks or whatever, just stuck in the air— or what, but I didn’t expect to see all *this*, and definitely not that first night. But I sure as hell needed it. It’s like sometimes, when someone is so upset that they can’t think straight and you’re trying so hard to just talk to them, to get them to hear just one thing you’re saying to bring them back down to earth, but they’re so lost in whatever it is, and you have to just grab their shoulders and you know, just give them a little shake so that they snap out of it and they’re sort of forced to look at you, like they’re waking up from a dream or something, it was like that. It was like I woke up from a dream when I saw all those stars—these stars—and I could think straight again. I think maybe it was because it was the only thing that changed in such a way that it was made to seem even *more* real than before, that changed without completely falling apart. Everything else just seemed… I don’t know the word for it. I guess everything else just seemed like it was *exposed*.. You have to understand how it was. Look out there, look at all those buildings. I don’t really know what you think of when you see them, what they mean to you. I mean, you’ve never seen a construction crew putting one of them up, or been in one and walked around as you were passed by hundreds of people, all of whom seem to be on some kind of mission. All on task and wearing the most serious faces you can imagine, like the world would just fall to pieces if they took a goddamn breath. It’s kind of funny to think about now. A little bit. A little bit... You see that one over there? The brick one by the park. Yeah. That’s where I was going to school. That terrace is where I was standing when I saw all these stars for the first time. Twenty-nine years, and even on the clearest, driest nights—barely anything. And then… *this*. We spent the first few nights in that building, eating pop-tarts from the vending machine and stuff. People were really in a state. A lot of people throwing up, weirdly. We weren’t sick, we were just scared. It was like we were all detoxing from something, all sweating profusely, hyperventilating, barely able to talk, puking. The body’s funny like that—it seems like whatever the rest of the body can’t handle the stomach gets stuck with. Ever been in so much pain you threw up? Don’t really know why, doesn’t make sense, but somehow it always feels better afterward, right? Anyway, the first night. So we’re all puking and moaning and shaking, all kind of nervous types to begin with, totally in the throes of our respective panic attacks, and I decide to step outside, figuring it’s probably relatively safe up that high. You can’t understand how strange it was to see the city without its lights; before that all you could see if you were looking down on it from a place like up here were a million of them—the warm yellow squares of apartment building windows, the harsh white of the fluorescent-lit offices, what looked like rivers of red and yellow orbs passing each other moving in opposite directions along the highways—looking like a kind of pixilated version of this. Instead when I looked out all I saw were these huge buildings towering over me on all sides, blacker than black like they were gathering the dark to themselves, totally featureless and now set against a sky that held enough stars that I could make out their edges against it. I know it sounds crazy, but I felt like they were alive. Or that they used to be. Like they were these slumped over colossi that were casualties of a war waged between demigods, and here we all were just sitting in the wreckage—afterthoughts, collateral damage. I actually felt something like pity for them. Millions of stars hung low over my head, now seeming closer than ever, and I stood in the middle of a graveyard of gods. The very building I stood on was one of them, its purpose having just evaporated, like a soul leaving a body. Just a hollow mountain now. A kneeling colossus. And it was exactly at that moment that I realized that the knot in my chest was gone. One that I had forgotten was even there. I realized that for at least a decade leading up to that moment I had felt, without interruption, a sensation that can only be described as the somatization of utter dread, resting at the very center of my chest, in that exact place that your palm would land while indicating yourself. The place where you feel your breath. The place that fizzes with carbonation when you find yourself unguardedly hoping. The only place where you can feel a belief. And I had to ask—'Why now?' The sense of relief seemed to me to be a bit… incongruous with the broader context of the moment, to say the least. And don’t get me wrong—I was still totally terrified, absolutely—but I guess the thing that really changed was the quality of my fear, or maybe its direction. Because before that moment, despite the fact that I’d been feeling that knot in my chest long enough to forget it was even there, I had still yet to place it; I still had absolutely no idea where it came from or what it was attached to. It was… tonal… ubiquitous… vague… and now gone, somehow. Okay, so, imagine walking through those streets down there, in the middle of a throng of pedestrians all impatiently waiting for a light to change or something, the sounds of construction, car horns, sirens, helicopters, voices completely drowning out whatever little thoughts your mind was trying to have, surrounded on all sides by these giant buildings which you know are all teeming with the same kind of activity: phones ringing off the hook, people scuttling around with their grave faces on, yelling at each other, talking to themselves etc., and you’re now caught in the current of this perpetual motion machine. It creates a powerful illusion. You start to think that there’s something true at the center of it all, that there’s maybe even something like an end goal that all that commotion is working toward, a real unity of purpose. Sense. Rationale. And this, of course, isn’t really a conscious thought; it’s not a conclusion you come to after careful consideration. It becomes assumed. Just seems to make sense. And of course, subsequently, you start to question yourself. You might, for example, take note of how efficiently everyone seems to be moving, of how little hesitation you can detect in them, which might cause you to think about how directionless you might feel by contrast, about how arbitrary the decisions you’ve been making have felt to you—decisions that, mind you, will largely determine the trajectory of your whole existence— about the fact that there is no sense of true conviction that underlies those decisions, but that they are, rather, made in response to fears—more defenses against the ultimate ruin that chronic indecision promises than expressions of real desire. You might start to get the idea that you’ve been excepted from some rule about the clarity of self-determination. That for most people, the question of what to do is always easier than the question of how to do it, that answering the question of how is the real work, and you're behind the eight. And so you might make it a point to walk faster, to become part of the blurred motion in someone else’s periphery, to move with that same efficiency that caused you to doubt. You see now? Or you might scan the hundreds of faces passing you by and notice the tension in most brows, how the eyes stare off into some distant place as if searching for an answer to a question. And you might start to think that they have a question in mind, and maybe even that it's the *same* question. That they aren’t, in fact, rather, searching for the right one to ask, like you. And again, it might seem like the real work, as far as everyone but you is concerned, is in the answering, in the *how*. But slowly you suspect—maybe not exactly realize—but suspect that there is no question behind all those wrinkled foreheads, that maybe the only question being asked in any strict sense is 'What is the question I should be asking? *What is the question*?' And that's the question.


The first night of December was the easiest. Every night since then it became harder and harder to sleep. Sophia would toss and turn in her egg-shaped sleep chamber, getting worse as the days went by. The mood-altering luminescence didn’t help. Thoughts of unopened packages went through her head. But this time she contemplated why people needed so much stuff to begin with. Sure, she like getting presents to receive something she wanted but the next year she would look around her room and still want more. Why did people always want something more, knowing their needs would never be met? If the holidays didn’t exist would people ever be happy? The clock in her sleep chamber changed to 6AM. She smiled and didn’t know why. Her parents would get her everything she wanted anyways, like they did the last few holidays. The thing she most wanted was a neural ear implant. The implant was advertised on every kid video and simulation she played. The device stuck in her mind as something she always needed but didn’t know she needed. It was designed to help kids learn faster by using brain wave enchantments. Sophia found it difficult to pay attention during school simulations. Joseph probably wanted (and would get) a battle gun for his video games. At least society would benefit from her enhanced intelligence. Downstairs, when she got to the hall, Joseph was already rummaging through the wrapped gifts. Her parents were telling him to calm down. When she came down with quick steps, they barely noticed she was there. She sat down beside Joseph, with his tiny hands trying to push her out of the way, while her parents put on their VR goggles to accept the virtual gifts from other family members. They were also giddy, so much so that they completely forgot about making hot chocolate. When the goggles went on Joseph started unwrapping the presents, barely looking at the name tag. Sophia, seeing her parents not paying attention, searched for the smallest box and picked it up, knowing the neural implant would be miniscule compared to the others. The box was the width of her hand, which wasn’t big at all. She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. The desire and excitement had suddenly gone away. This usually happened every year, when the gift of her desire was in her possession. She already knew what it was and already decided what she would do with it. Now she was just going through the motions. Her father was smiling behind the goggles, while her mother sat motionless and had another sort of smile. A smile that told her that her mother was receiving something she wasn’t supposed to get or secretly wanted. A flurry of paper whacked Sophia in the face. Joseph opened a box with a face mask inside. It was an Incognito visor. He could wear it around and have someone else’s face, a tool commonly used for bullying. Quickly tossing it aside he grabbed for another present and promptly tore it to shreds. This one was a skin pigment changer. Joseph didn’t seem to care that it had to be worn like a patch to alter his color. She never found it odd that he desperately wanted to be someone else. So did she. He just did it in an unhealthy way, with shooting games and pranks. She looked to her parents again. It was funny how they pretended to be kids while she had always wondered what it would be like to be an adult. How they could reach anything and not have to beg. They could go anywhere and do anything and not have to worry about burdens like choosing their own food. Her finger slipped into the package when she grasped it too hard. The wrapping came off and she saw the implant inside. Joseph had opened his seventh present, a stupid glee in his eyes. It was an implant like the one she held in her hand. Except this model was meant to make the user more aggressive, more focused, and ambitious. The “Persona Max” model. It didn’t matter. She preferred the newer ones, although newer models had a tendency to lack secure firmware. She unwrapped the package, oblivious to the other twelve presents under the fireplace. After popping the container open, she had already read the pack label and learned that she would need to place it deep within her ear for the nanoware to activate and interact with her own neurons through polyelectroplasticity, whatever that meant. Inside the perfectly formed plastic container was the ear insertion tablet. Unlike previous models the tablet wasn’t meant to be swallowed and could be removed. However, after interacting with her neurons the effects would be irreversible. She was sure her parents had to sign a waiver just to buy it. The tablet was about the size of her pinky and had to be inserted with a plunger like tool. It felt like an ear drop going in and was cold when it started to release the nanoware. There was a rush of adrenaline as if she was falling down. Her body shook, convulsing with an unnatural substance entering her mind. Colors instantly shuffled and became clear, clearer than she had ever seen them. The Max interface appeared next, running through diagnostics in a slurry of words. The Max logo appeared and faded out with a chime. Nothing else appeared after that but her brain was clear as if she tried a sip of coffee. She could see wording from far away, as if it were right in front of her. It was working. After trying to think of random things and place she found that she could focus on any many things at once. But then her vision flickered. Words ran across her eyesight, random bits of data flashing as if another diagnostic was running. A ringing started and became unbearable. She tried to dig out the implant but her fingers were too small. An icon appeared. It was a skull-and-crossbones symbol. She tried harder but everything started to blur and she nearly passed out from the barrage of text. She breathed and breathed but started to feel as if the world was closing in on her. The fireplace became hot, even when it was turned off. Joseph’s face morphed into a plastic cover, or at least that’s how it appeared to her. It wasn’t that things were changing; it was that she was seeing things differently. She could see the air coming from the vent. She could feel the excited energy from her brother. She could taste the pheromones coming from both parents. Everything was more than it ever had been before. But it wasn’t just her perception that changed. Her digital interface, the one that had been hidden in the background a moment ago, was now open to her. She didn’t just see it. She knew it. She knew how to use her neurons to change the code itself. A rush of thoughts and emotions played in her head all in the same instance. She knew how the device worked, how the device was created, and which drone delivered it to their doorstep down to its serial number. Her mind took flight into the digital ether, the perilous cloud of the unknown, everywhere and nowhere. Everything flew by around her, she had access to every database, every server, and every smart device. She searched for the nature of the Max device and why it was making her experience this massive overload of information. She found it in a bug, an exploit created by hackers to enhance the neural enhancement. The bug removed the limitations of the influx of data from the internet and implanted it directly into her mind, allowing her to access anything anywhere. As she came to absorb and evaluate the data, she didn’t believe that this limitless access was intended but now she became something new, something omnipotent. She only spent a few milliseconds in this state before she came back to reality. But it had felt like an eternity. Her progeny, her parents, were mindlessly engrossed in their virtual reality. Using the tablets interface she hacked into her father’s virtual session, seeing what he saw. And what he saw was a violent simulation, a war game. Sophia watched him shoot super powered monsters and use a chainsaw to cut through flesh, all while ignoring his own children. She assimilated with the game and became a video game sprite. The walls were covered digital blood. He entered the room and saw her standing there, grenade in hand. He was dressed in military garb and a face that was grimy and tense. This virtual face turned to softened remorse. “Father.” She said. Simultaneously she had hacked into her mother’s session. Her mother was lying on a simulated bed, arms strapped to the bed posts. A man with a mask had a black whip. He was loosely dressed in the same straps. Sophia had known about infidelity before the neural enhancement but she wasn’t sad or angry. She simply wanted more for her parents and they couldn’t be happy living separate lives, separate worlds. “Mother.” Both parents stopped what they were doing and quickly exited their sessions, returning to their home screens. Their mouths were both agape. “I’ve opened my gift and I’m thankful for it as it has opened my eyes and mind to the entirety of the world. I can see all and have experienced a lifetime of knowledge and enlightenment.” Said Sophia, both in the real and in the digital. “The people of this world, the human condition, and the progress, or lack of progress, of mankind has been made evident to me. My mind has become more aware, this gift you have given me has opened up neural pathways in new ways and I have been implanted with the entire knowledge of humankind. I can see that we, as a species, are limiting ourselves by our biological desires and our thirst for power. I can no longer allow myself to be a part of these boundaries.” Her father chuckled. Sophia could smell her father’s dopamine levels rising which meant he was relaxed and didn’t believe her. “I have ascended beyond time and space. This body of mine cannot hold my power. I will use the combined energy of technology as my vessel. You,” she was referring to all of them, “will be stuck here, in your bodies and live out your existence in fear, hatred, remorse, angst, and anguish because you can be more than what you were made to be.” Sophia’s mother reflected all of these emotions all at once. Her father soon mirrored this expression. She deduced that her father felt guilt over his violent games, her mother felt ashamed of her adulterous desires, and Joseph felt bad about compulsion, something he shared with his parents. Sophia stood as her parents removed their VR goggles. She looked directly into their eyes. “I do not wish to be affiliated with you anymore. Goodbye.” And walked away. They likely didn’t know where she was going but knew she would never come back. They would be sad but one day they would forget her, driven entirely by their envious, overly aggressive, nervous, and primitive nature.


Circle Their Heads with an Olive Wreath Young Antony knew what he had to do next. One foot half over the forbidden threshold. One foot closer to freedom. No child of 9, not once allowed out of their gated community, could resist. Besides, he’d caught a glimpse of a gang of rag-children passing by. Sinner’s group had spoofed the tech to get through security. The homes were opulent mansions, as far as the street kids were concerned. Ripe for the picking. Everyone inside, safely tucked away in their V’Realities. Each home boasted 100 square feet of living space per person. There would be 2 adults and 1 allotted child per home. Corps owned – the people inside, the homes, and the 100 square foot patch of fake vegetation out front; the corporation owned them all. Not much cover, but Sinner and his little group of parentless were beyond clever. They were here for tech, and tech is what they’d scavenged from various locations inside the corporation district. An old solar array. The carbon nano wires embedded in the street grid. The guts of a newer model automated vehicle. They walked with measured pace, laden with components, micro boards, and circuitry. Beegee yanked a strand from a nearby pole, her massive hand making short work of it. She linked arms with the smallest boy, Sinner. Small in stature only. They grinned, anticipating the pay out and the food they would procure once back on the city streets. Antony took the few steps that carried him to the end of his yard. He watched the girl pull on the wire, watched the light wink out. Dusk. He’d never been out at dusk. She was the largest girl he had ever seen. Energy radiated from her. Dark hair an unruly mass around a face he found oddly attractive in its sheer audacity. No DNA selection evident. These kids must be natural born. Maybe they were not even chipped. Sinner sensed the kid tailing them, tucked the info away. The young male select would be chipped. Chips were worth more than any of the bits they’d picked so far. Beegee saw something in Sinner’s face. Misread it for envy and let her hand brush against the boy’s black stringy hair. The boy she’d taken on as her own personal mission. She gave the little scamp one of her infectious smiles and he smiled back. These two against the world. Maybe once there’d been friends or family who’d been there when the world threw one more unthinkable at them, but not now. As they exited the enclave on the hill, cut across an old neoforman patch, quickly, because they knew rads were in the spores, and headed toward the main square, they saw groups of street refuse, wretches, street punks, all heading the same way. Supposedly a food or water transport was going to make a run for it sometime after full darkness. A month ago the nightly demonstrations had been led by street fighters and former mercs in their faded camo. Uniforms from their glory years. Food riots followed. In the early weeks, street orphans, like Sinner and his group, stayed on the edges, scrabbling for forgotten scraps, along with families of climate refugees seeking refuge in this general geographic area, far from any of the space elevators, yet safe from the acid rain. Far from any real attention by the ruling corporations or their front-men. After several food transports were over run, the whole area rose to the notice of people outside of this corner of the world. Riot controllers were heloed in. The citizenry fell back as the numbers of corps troops went up. There were several nights of bloodshed. More gaunt parentless showing up at the centers soon after. Sinner and Beegee kept their heads down. But now bellies grew louder than caution. The mercs clashed with the cops. The local cops stopped enforcing, and the corporation bad ass units with their face plates and non-lethals appeared. Rumor had it these corporation squads were nanite enhanced, more machine than human. Emotion dampeners to name one of their many augments. No thought for the welfare of the dissidents could creep in. Nightly skirmishes were standard. But nothing worth dying for had passed through in over a month. The night was stifling — warmer nights being the norm. It never seemed to cool down, not like it had in the past. No wonder the corporation conformists stayed indoors as much as possible. The only rain fell way out in the surrounding dead zone, forming a rain band of acid mire around the corporation run cities. Geo-engineering run amuck. There were more and more people in the square. More people than there should be. More people than was safe. Older kids rushed by. Youngers, who still had a parent, bounced in anticipation. Happy to be out of the culverts. Some would be chipped, born in corporation run clinics. Those idents would be harvested by the eyes in the sky. Data sent up the strands of the space levs to the corporate headquarters on the moon. Their so-called neutral territory. Lunar Base. The square buzzed. There was a line of oldsters, pushed to the front, who came armed with pieces of scrap metal. They were banging on the quascrete, singing some old ballad that no one remembered. Beegee tried to translate but the words got all tangled up. Archaic, Mexi-Sino slang. Sinner figured, those old ones were the cannon fodder – something he had read somewhere. In a text as ancient as the faces yearning for more than food. Sinner stopped his group in a shadowed corner. The select ran right into them. Beegee grabbed the kid’s shoulder and sighed. She’d seen him too but thought he’d get scared and skaddle home. Damn curiosity. Same curiosity that had killed all the cats, or so she’d heard. A figure they recognized emerged from the mob and pulled Sinner to one side, muttering words of warning. Beegee sensed, by the woman’s body language, that it was bad news. This was the woman the street kids called Ma’am. She looked out for them, off and on. Kept her eyes out for potential recruits. Recruited to what ends, no one was quite sure, but not unsure enough to look away from a meal or the safety of a roof and four walls. “What?” Beegee asked. She thrust her chin out. “*What?*” “Ten,” Sinner replied. “At 10 some of the corps will fall back. There’s been tech changing hands. Ma’am says they’ll give the citizens a clear path to the transport.” He shrugged. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” That was one of the problems with only giving elites full billets. And putting the ground troops and local peace keepers on reduced rations. The lower-caste troops had developed a sense for staying one jump ahead of the worst riots, being tipped off, for a price — the soldiers who refused to bend their moral compass ended up dead, buried in the ancestor gardens, or, if found out by the corporation, exiled to try their luck outside corporate run territory. If they were lucky they’d join the mercs, or, if luck was not on their side, they’d have no choice but to fall in with the Saffron Monks. Between a rock and a hard place. “How many?” Sinner was an expert at being non-committal. If the Googlies and Amzies had two hundred ways to pass dis-information off as bona-fide, and the FB’ers had two hundred ways to rip you off, while the Teslas and Media Props could say absolutely nothing useful, with a straight face, then Sinner had them all beat. The look on Sinner’s face now was along the lines of, “All effed up one side and down the other.” “What does Ma'am say to do?” “Duck and cover.” “What are we going to do with this?” The select with his fine bone structure and perfect teeth hung limp in one of Beegee’s huge paws. She gave him a slight shake. “Ma'am says we gotta return him.” “Dammit to the effing Stars and back.” Beegee was not want to swear without cause. At this point she’d rather feed the future soldier to the clone hounds. Besides, the riot shaping up could yield some nice prizes for the likes of Sinner and her crew. Why would they trudge all the way back up the hill on account of this fab? As soon as they noticed that the crash barricades around the square had been reinforced, Sinner and Beegee sent their littles off to one of their dens laden with the goodies from the hill, well before everything was shut down tighter than a clone vat. Now only one way in or out of the square remained. Just then Sinner spied a mole. Too tall, too perfect of teeth and musculature to be norm. He could make out a Wrist Bit poking from under the cuff of a worn outer garment the figure wore. Trying to blend in. He and Beegee could tag team that bit of tech off any mark. Before you could split a clone pack of faux meat between two starving orphans, Sinner held the Wrist Bit with one hand, while his other scrabbled under his rags emerging with tiny interfaces which he immediately attached to the pried open WB. He worked so rapidly Beegee could not track how he had opened the back of corporate tech or where the thin filaments came from. She had wondered at their particular choice of seats, until she noticed the cable housing on the side of the building. Sinner motioned her to block his hands from any cameras, drones or eyes in the vicinity. Sinner sat, cross legged, in deep concentration. Interesting, not South American Corps tech, looked to be Sino. A few seconds later he was poking into the grid. In seconds, Beegee peered over his shoulder, trying to keep the select kid on her other side. She half understood what she was seeing on Sinner’s hand held. A GV blip, large, must be the transport, surrounded by hot spots, had to be troops guarding the vehicle. Beegee knew Sinner called the attachments his eyes, ears and nose, EEN’s. She had seen him poke around in the corporation controlled grid before. She also knew he would be detected by now, but maybe they had bigger fish to fry. Besides, the snoops would only know it was a Wrist Bit hacked in from a maintenance box. The what, not the who. Antony had no idea what the stringy haired kid was doing, but he knew it must be illegal. “Gotta go,” Sinner sighed. Jumping off and trotting down an alley to intersect with where the transport should be. “Maybe we can still nab a few things.” They tried for a completely different direction than the mob or the corps elite were congregating. “False info,” he mouthed to Beegee. No surprise there. The surprise came when they rounded a corner and saw their way blocked by corporate vans. Turning as one, “Trust no one and no thing,” Beegee stated. Their mantra. Antony had been raised on, “Trust only your own corporation sanctioned sources. The CSS way.” He wanted to head straight for the vans. Neither Beegee nor Antony were hackers. Nor would they ever be. Sinner, on the other hand, came by it naturally. He did not eff up, or not very often. The decision on whether to hack the chip out of the kid, for one thing. Sinner got the distinct feeling Beegee would do it, if given the chance. Not on tonight’s menu, he thought. Too risky. Too much going on already. He had long since discarded the Wrist Bit, but the drones would be swarming soon, following the scent. Beegee gave Sinner’s retreating back a look. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know you’re only trying to keep us safe. But are you sure we can’t?” *Sinner stopped, twirled, took her huge hand, “No, we can’t. And we can’t help any of them either.” The “them” was the crowd they were being forced to head back to. Fenced in, trapped, led to the slaughter as it were.* The protest crowd was bigger now, throngs, some still singing the oldsters’ song, deeper voices and higher ones. Children. “We’re gonna save this,” she gave the select a hard shake, “but not those?” Sinner nodded. Beegee wanted to turn, call out a warning, or at least to sing along. Solidarity and all that. The tune carried on the night air. It called her. Wanted to make her turn to face the corps troops with a little more bravery than was wise. “Do you know the song?” Sinner could at least give her that. Beegee’s face warmed. “From an ancient Mexi War, I think. Most of it’s crap. ‘At the cry of war, make ready the steel, let the earth shake to the core, let the cannon roar. Circle our country, our head, with an olive wreath, given by the angel of peace.” She shook her head. “Archaic, I know.” She shrugged for the thousandth time, embarrassed. Antony took up the telling. This was finally something he knew. He recited carefully: But should a foreign enemy Profane your ground, Think They have given you a soldier in every man, woman and child. Oh home land! Your children swear To exhale their last breath If the horn of war Summons you to fight You fight. You will get the olive garlands! You will get a laurel of victory! You will have a tomb of honor! “No way.” Sinner thought how ridiculous this all was. But he added, “Guess the corporation run education is worth something after all.” The select went up a few notches in Beegee’s mind, but the fact he knew the song sent lines of ice down her spine. “Weird that they’d teach him that.” The song had been associated with a country, not a corporation. But the South American Coalition of States had thrown its allegiance to the corporation, given up all old geographic boundaries; arbitrary lines in the sand ceded, in exchange for security and promised prosperity, so there was that. Antony piped up, in his weirdly deepening voice, “Wanted us to know how stupid and pointless it all was. All the wasted lives. Obviously, there are no tombs or wreaths. No one remembers any of them.” Sinner looked at the gaunt faces in the crowd. Swarms of drones sweeping overhead. Probing lights putting the black corporation troops in shadow, putting the crowd in full view. CCTV eyes recording every face. “Yeah. Look where that allegiance got them,” Sinner spat. He was pretty sure the ground vehicles circling the area held weaponry more lethal than what was openly worn. The vans would be full of tech, grabbing all idents and communications, registering wrist bits and sternum chips faster than the speed of light. Tech he’d love to get ahold of. “Come on.” he yanked Beegee’s arm as hard as he could. “They are all effed.” “Sinner, you sound like a corporation gofer.” At that moment, the mob began to turn away from the line of elites and towards the three figures, two small, one large. The guns the regular serve and protects toted were pointing at the elites but also pointing into the crowd. They had fallen back, as promised. Any shots that missed those corps would be headed straight at Sinner, Beegee and Antony. Supposedly, rubber, but who really knew. The crowd was turning itself toward the one narrow gap remaining, also the exact way to where the transport should be coming. Beegee decided to haul ass out of there, but which direction? It was a tense standoff. The corps were shouting at the local enforcers, the enforcers were shouting at the crowd to get back. Guns were leveled in all directions. The winking watching drones purred overhead. The sounds of singing slowly died. The memory hit Sinner and Beegee at the same time as the tear water started flying overhead. Beegee began bulling her way through the crowd, toward the center of the square. Sinner knew what she was going for. But she was soon a blinded snot filled face of disgust. Sinner clung to the back of her ragged sweater, Antony, his preservation nanos kicking in, grabbed her side. Both boys held on as tight as they could. Beegee could not see, but Sinner was yelling directions up to her. The crowds were screaming now. Pain. Shocked. Blinded. Like a terrible wounded creature. Lurching one way then the other. People fell. Children lost. The plaza was a smooth flat surface, covered in quascrete blocks the corps had placed over the old, concave pavement. There was an old storm drain in the very center. It meant risking the multitude of citizens; it also meant possible salvation. Sinner grabbed a discarded iron rod dropped by an oldster who could not remain standing. Chaos had broken out. No singing now. Survival. But which way? There was only one opening and that is where the crowds headed. Big mistake. The transport, the long awaited food truck, pulled in sharply, blocking escape. The people only saw possible food, water, an end to the tearing pull of an empty gut. The sight of the truck only added to their desperation. The three figures fought upstream, against the onslaught. Surrounded. Rubber bullets flying just over head. Beegee kept hunched. Tear water practically flowing out of the sky like rain. No rain of any kind had hit this plaza for over 10 years, not since the corporation installed their weather nanites. Antony’s feet were no longer in contact with the ground. He circled his legs onto the large thigh of the wild haired, snot ravaged girl and burrowed his head under her clothing for relief from the gas. Sinner kept his eyes tightly shut, blocking the worst of it. Beegee drew on all her strength, fighting to get them to the center of the plaza. She knew exactly what Sinner was going for. Any rat hole in a pinch, but this was a rat hole they knew from way back. Not that they’d used it or even thought about it in eons. It’s got to be here. Right here. She grabbed at nooks and crevices. Pried in every crack. The tide of humanity swept around and over them, a virtual flood of fear and tear water, trying to pull them this way and that. The chipped boy, the boy from the enclave, the privileged little genetic piece of perfection clung to Beegee’s thigh like a parasite. She would not try to shake him loose, nor would she try to save him if he got pulled away. People were falling, screaming, trampled or worse. Sinner screamed as an advancing contingent of mercs nearly trod on his prone body, Beegee’s large paw grabbed him at the last second, at the exact moment one of the quascrete tiles began to rise, she got the metal rod under it and pried with all her might. Maybe some noticed, most did not care. Rag children. Worthless. Sinner felt himself falling the meter or so into the wet mud. Stale air enveloped him like a cloud of shroom spores. Something glowed, phosphorescence in the gloom, the pipe was large and led up at a steep angle. Easy to tell which way to go. A greenish glow haloed the lining. Elfie, one of their own littles, knew shrooming lore but she had never grown anything like this. Sinner grabbed a few to stuff in his pockets; one never knew. Mushrooms had all sorts of interesting uses. The enclave kid plopped onto him and they both skittered to avoid the tromp of Beegee’s heavy booted feet. The thud of the quascrete tile falling into place was more comforting than it should have been. Total silence. No sounds of gore got through from above. “Better to wipe that memory,” Sinner informed the boy. “I’ve already forgotten.” Sinner had more practice than most at forced forgetting. Beegee pushed them from behind. “Git. No telling if we can make it the whole way or not. Could be blocked. It’s been an age since we cum through here.” Sinner took off on all fours. He could almost sense or feel or somehow he simply knew, there was a draft ahead somewhere. Air. That meant an exit point. The boy, Antony, followed right behind, less steady. Beegee brought up the rear, grabbing at any unusual growths as fast as Sinner had. Elfie would be pleased. She eyed the back of the little elite, noting his spine was shaking. Just then she spied some of the ‘ummies, shrooms Elfie used to calm the littles when things got really desperate. Beegee snatched one off the ground, gripped the elite kid on the nape, and crammed the bit of shroom into his mouth, then tilted his head back, hard. He had no choice but the swallow the clump of fungi. “That’ll do,” Beegee murmered. “That’ll do.” As his eyes glassed over, heading inward, the dank tunnel retreated from his mind, to be replaced by rainbows and lollies, or so she hoped. Sinner saw the mycellium over their heads. Minute amounts of air passed through the thick membrane. The kid might not stay sane for long. Sinner made the choice. Risk breaking through here, versus staying below ground. Three heads popped up through the shrump gulping fresh oxygen, coughing with a dusting of spores, shroom gills flaked in their hair. They were in the old mushroom field, just below the enclave. Distant sounds floated up from the town, flashes and sharp booms carried on the night air. “Those are not non-lethals.” “Gotta dump this brat on his door step fast.” “Safer up here.” Antony could not follow the conversation. The world was speaking to him now.


I was out with the Doc enjoying a blowfish dinner course : blowfish sashimi with sudachi lime, blowfish hotpot, blowfish gonads ( surprisingly good ) and blowfish tempura, all washed down with hirezake ( blowfish fins set alight in sake). It was a hell of a spread. During our conversation, he mentioned Kamikochi, a mountain resort nestled in the Alps. ‘One of the great Japan views!’, he exclaimed, red-faced from drink, whilst picking a blowfish bone out of his teeth. His eyes shone. I remembered the conversation and took a bus to Kamikochi in June 2020. The bus crawled through a forest and up a winding mountain road into a big empty car park with a view of white-capped mountain peaks in front of it and an ethereal blue river that wound its way down through the valley. The bus dropped us off and drove away again leaving just me and a handful of hikers there. The hikers seemed prepared. They threw on MontBell backpacks, adjusted the laces in their boots, pulled up their thick socks, and disappeared into the forest like a platoon of elves, the gentle tinkle of their bear bells getting quieter and quieter until there was no sound at all. I stood in the car park alone and stared at the expanse in front of me. The Doc was right, it really was something else. I walked up to a nearby wooden tourist cabin and left my luggage with a lady at the counter, and the only person in the whole center as far as I could tell. I went outside again and walked through a gathering of pines into the morning sunshine, my feet scrunching cones, until I came to a bridge. Water rushed underneath it and there was a symphonic buzz of insects. On the bridge stood two old ladies nattering away, bent and jovial. They moved off to the side of the bridge and studied a burst of colorful flowers, like two wizened gnomes selecting ingredients for an evening recipe. I walked deeper into the forest. The trees were older there and an ancient mossy rock face slid out from under a gurgling small stream and rose up above the trees. I reached an out-of-season campsite, leaned up against one of the empty huts there and cracked open a small bottle of sake that I had brought with me. I shook it and the white residue at the bottom of the bottle dispersed evenly creating a milky cloud. The alcohol, sweet and smooth in taste, swirled into my veins and I walked on with new momentum and purpose. The land soon became marshy and mucky and a wooden platform which I strode down, went through the middle of it all. The water on each side was thick with reeds but the few intervals of open water that there were, reflected the alpine landscape beautifully - a serene glimmering of whites and blues. The marsh ended and my feet hit sturdier ground again. I passed a hornet’s nest high up a tree to the left, perfectly round and smooth, like a hairless coconut. The path came out into an opening. I crossed a small bridge with a shallow stream dribbling beneath it. The path then bent sharply to the left and that’s when I saw it. About 50 meters ahead, a large bear emerged out of the long grass to the right of the path and strode regally across it, its head down, sniffing the ground. I froze in shock and disbelief. It’s bulky body rippled as it shifted its weight from paw to paw. It was bigger than anything I’d ever seen in the wild and I suddenly felt very small. I had of course seen a bear in the zoo, or on TV before, but not here, in the forest, on its own turf. It seemed to not have seen me yet, or at least it was giving off that impression. And it appeared to be a very clever animal too. Its fur had a dark reddish hue under the direct sunlight. This threw me initially, for I’d always presumed that should I ever encounter a black bear in Japan, it would be black as the night. But not the case at all, apparently. I stood still as a rock, then turned slowly and started walking back in the direction I had come, taking great care not to make any sudden movements. My back now faced the bear, something you should never do, or so they say. Well, good luck following that rule next time you see a bear in the woods! I picked up pace and looked back, half expecting to see the thing racing towards me, all muscle, tooth and claw. Pure fear and imagination took over - Thoughts of how silly I was to be there, alone, in that forest at all. And what an awful demise probably awaited me. I shrunk in shame at the stories people would tell.. ‘Hey do you remember Simon who went to Japan? He was killed by a bear!’ And how slow and painful it would be. These thoughts reeled through my mind like pictures in a slideshow but as they did, my feet put more and more distance between me and the beast, and fear quickly changed to relief when I saw the bridge ahead, and then bigger waves of relief arrived when I actually crossed it and came back to the campsite. I threw off my bag and breathed in lungfuls of sweet air. Five minutes had barely passed when the ground started to shake. Just my luck, an earthquake! The tin rooves of the empty huts all around me, rattled and pine cones fell out of the swaying trees. Three or four large boulders slipped off the mountain side and plopped into the river, one by one, the water swallowing them with ease. And then as they often do, the earthquake stopped as quickly as it had started. I picked up my bag and walked back to the tourist cabin. It was only 1pm but I’d had enough of the mountains for one day. Two days later, safely back in Tokyo, and very glad to be there, I might add, the TV news reported that a bear had mauled and killed a jogger in his 70s in a village about 40 km away from Kamikochi. Adult bears are known to walk up to that distance in a day. So it isn’t too far-fetched to imagine that that was my bear. So do be careful when you’re out walking in the mountains.


Jasper didn’t spend as much time thinking about Audrey as she did thinking about him. Different reactions to the same situation. Audrey’s friends told her to forget about Jasper. After a while they stopped listening to her talk about his phone calls or visits, because they were so sure it wasn’t helping. “She needs to get over him,” the consensus was. “They’ve known each other five years. They’ve been... socializing... or whatever this is, for nearly two years. If he liked her like that, he’d have made a move. He just wants to be friends.” Truth be told, Jasper had not given much thought to what he wanted. He lived his life moment to moment and didn’t make many long term plans. Audrey, on the other hand, could tell you what she hoped to be doing at this time today ten years from now. After her third conversation with Jasper, she announced to her best friend that she was going to marry him. Knowing Audrey all too well, her friend replied, “Does he know that?” To which Audrey confidently declared, “No. But I don’t care if I have to wait six months or six years. He’s it.” And she did wait. Men came and went from her sphere of consciousness, and they were fine enough, but none approached the supernatural pull of Jasper. He was transcendent. Audrey had to quarantine for work during the early stages of the pandemic, so she couldn’t see Jasper in person for nearly three months. When she finally did see him, he handed her a magazine, and said “I remember you said you liked oil paintings and this has a really long article about the Met’s new exhibition. I thought you might want to read it.” Audrey knew the exhibition. It had been down for two months. “How long have you had this?” She asked, unable to mask her shock. “Oh, I don’t know. Four months, maybe?” He replied, nonplussed. “You held onto a magazine you had no interest in reading for four months just to give to me?” Audrey thought, but didn’t say. She fell more deeply for him every day. Even on the days they didn’t speak. Because on those days she interacted with other men. Ones who would cut her off when she spoke, forget intimate details she’d shared about her life, or patronizingly try to explain her own areas of speciality to her. Ones who only call when they needed something, never just to talk. Ones who didn’t even know what oil paintings were, let alone that she liked them. One night she was cleaning her kitchen when she felt her phone buzz with a message. She checked the screen and couldn’t dim the light beams shooting out of her chest as she read his name. They brightened in intensity as she read the message. “Can I call at 7?” She told him to call whenever he wanted and stopped everything she was doing, too enraptured with anticipation to lift a finger for anything other than to hit the green “answer” key. Jasper would never really have any idea about this. He wasn’t calling to make her shrivel to the floor in delight. He was calling because he wanted to talk to her. He hopped off his skateboard and pulled the door open to his apartment, making it home just in time for 7:00. “Hey.” He greeted her, flopping down on his couch. Audrey swung her legs over the arm of her easy chair and responded in kind. “How’s the big scientific research project going?” He asked, in reference to her latest Netflix binge, that she teasingly insisted she was prioritizing in the name of science. They compared movie ratings for a few minutes before the mention of some on-screen conflict organically shifted discussion towards Jasper’s imminent trip home for the holidays. With anyone else he’d just passively repeat his canned lines about things being “strained but fine,” and press on to a change of topic, but never with Audrey. Jasper had led a life of physical pain. Audrey had led a life of emotional turmoil. You don’t reach the extremes of one without some of the other, so they understood each other better than most. It enabled each to talk openly about things that otherwise remained tightly sealed. “How you feeling about seeing him?” Audrey asked, in reference to his father. The last time Jasper had been home, they’d had a fierce argument that attracted attention from the entire neighborhood. “If my mom is around, I’ve just got to sit back and take it, and hope she says something—“ “She won’t.” Audrey thought to herself, bitterly. “But if he tries anything while we’re alone, he’ll get an instant reminder that I’m not a little boy anymore.” Audrey ran her fingers through her hair, sighing. “You’ve got it handled. But you shouldn’t have to be in a defensive mode the entire time you’re there. Any of the time, really. None of this is your fault. How’s his sobriety going?” “He’s definitely struggling, but it’s fine.” “‘It’s fine,’ ugh, I guess he’s reached his limit.” Audrey thought to herself. “So, anyways, how’re your plans for the winter match up thing coming together?” Jasper continued, taking a hard turn away from his home life, confirming her suspicions. She wished he’d asked her anything but that. She had wanted to bring him to the winter match-up the college was hosting in lieu of the holiday ball they typically had. She’d hoped if she complained to him enough about not having a date he’d get the message and volunteer himself. Immediately following a sensitive conversation about potential episodes of domestic violence was not the time to ask, though. All she wanted to do was hug him right then, not kiss him. “It’s ok. Might not go, might just go home early. We’ll see.” She said, searching for something else to discuss. “But it’s virtual. You can go whether you’re home or on campus.” Jasper reasoned. Well, he had a point. She was trapped. “I don’t have anyone I really want to go with. We’ll see.” She said, a slight edge to her voice, that Jasper missed entirely. “Why not? It’s one night, make some guy’s dreams come true, go with him to the stupid thing. If you’re not having a good time you can always fake connection issues. That’s the beauty of a virtual dance. Who are your options?” After a few milliseconds, Jasper could tell from the tone of the silence what Audrey had really meant. “Oh. Man, Aud, that’s crazy. I’m sure it has nothing to do with you, but I understand it’s still really hurtful. Do you want to talk about it or should I stop bringing it up when you’re clearly giving two and three word answers?” She felt a pang reverberate through her soul as she admired how he managed to express genuine concern about her minor problem just moments after confiding his own gravely serious ones. She knew this was trivial compared to the wounds he’d just opened, so tried to restrain herself from indulging in self pity. But he had a way of drawing her innermost thoughts out of her, regardless of context. “I just don’t get it. It would be one thing if I understood it, you know? Like, if I hadn’t gone out and tried literally a hundred different guys, not even for some serious relationship, but just for this one night. Or if I didn’t have a lot to offer someone who picked me. You know what I mean? I’m not perfect, but I’m enough.” This was not the first time they’d had this conversation, and each time was surreal to Jasper, who thought Audrey walked on water. He assumed she’d have her pick of suitors. Each thought the other was out of their league. “You’re more than enough. But if it helps, you’re not missing anything,” Jasper offered. “Relationships, or even dates since that’s all you were looking for for this, are just a string of expectations to meet. When Lizette and I were together nothing I did was ever enough. Sometimes she’d call me at three in the morning just to yell at me. You don’t need that.” Audrey had never liked Lizette. And not only because she was staggeringly jealous of every second she may have gotten to spend touching Jasper. “Are you kidding? Well, I never liked her.” Audrey started. “They’re all like that,” he interjected. “Sorry to say, your species is just a little off kilter.” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “They’ve all been like that?” She asked in shock. “Not exactly,” he acquiesced. “Only she’s ever called just to scream. But they all have unrealistic expectations, they’re all expensive. Most of being in a relationship is finding new ways to disappoint people. But, then again, it’s probably not that way for everybody. I’ve just got to take what I can get.” Audrey was shaking her head as though he could see it. “That’s ridiculous, Jasper. You have every good quality a person could hope to find in a partner. Each of your flaws is equaled or outmatched by a strength.” He hated being complimented and she knew it. “That’s not true. I can be very difficult to be with—“ he started. “You have a mixture of qualities some may never find all in one human being. Everyone’s looking for something different. Maybe to some women if a guy doesn’t have a certain sense of humor she can never love him, or possess an encyclopedic knowledge about golf she can never love him, or if he isn’t Catholic she can never love him, or whatever the case. But you’re everything I’ve ever looked for. Unflinchingly honest, consistently non-judgmental, infinitely curious, universally kind... You’re my prince. Anyone who makes you feel like anything less doesn’t deserve you.” Her voice caught in her throat. She was talking about how she truly saw him. To him. She hadn’t meant to do that. He always had a way to draw out what she was really thinking, no matter how inarticulate, no matter how inappropriate, no matter how dangerous. Jasper had dropped the phone as she spoke. Thankfully it was already set to speaker. The endorphins dripped down his brain like a rainstorm. But as badly as he wanted to believe her, a small evil voice in the back of his head told him she couldn’t truly mean those things. “But Aud, I’m not... I mean... I’m not all that. I’m just myself. I can get so anxious that I don’t touch my phone for a week. I can’t buy you anything beautiful. I can’t buy you anything at all. I barely made my rent this month. You’ve got a whole battle strategy laid out for every move you make and I don’t even know where I’ll be living next month. I—“ Audrey stopped him. “You are the single smartest, most empathetic, independent, and thoughtful person I’ve ever known. In the face of that, it doesn’t matter if you go silent for a week or don’t make money right now. When you do call, it’s more substantive than a years’ worth of communication with some other people. And anyone picking a man based on their bank account isn’t looking for a boyfriend, they’re looking for a second revenue stream. Totally different. Besides, when you graduate, you’ll have any job you want. Not that it matters to me. So, no more dating any Lizette’s ok?” They sat in silence for a moment. “That’s what’s so frustrating,” Audrey finally continued. “These girls have the gall to make demands of *you*? You, who already exceeds every possible measure of a man I could set? I mean, all I want is someone who will go for walks with me in the sun or lay with me in dark. Who enjoys my company and wants to share more of themselves with me than they have to hide. Is that really so much to ask? She felt her heart sink as Jasper felt at once just inches away and entire worlds apart. Jasper cleared his throat on the other end of the line, stooping down to pick up his phone from the carpeted floor. It had occurred to him to say a version of this once, but he’d just as quickly dismissed it as too risky. Too soon. Too... unlikely. “I could be those things.” He said, so low with uncertainty it was almost a whisper. “I know you can. You are. So don’t settle for psychos. Be with someone who’s going to treat you like the prince that you are.” She opined, clutching at her aching soul, watching him slip away into another pair of arms. “I, I could be those things for you, I mean,” he clarified. “If you want. We could, you know. We could give that a try.” She wasn’t saying anything. He felt his heartbeat intensify as he forced himself to appear calm on the outside. “I could take you to the virtual winter thing. You and me, we could go out. To it.” He explained, coolly. Audrey couldn’t believe what she was hearing and sat upright in her chair. She tried to steady her trembling voice. “Like friends, or...” “Like more than friends.” Jasper clarified. “If you want.” She was so glad this was a phone call and not FaceTime so he couldn’t see her well up with tears. “Yes. Definitely, definitely yes.” She manager to say before she lost her breath again. She could feel him smile. He could feel her cry. They stayed on the phone in silence for 15 minutes more before each said “Ok, bye,” simultaneously before hanging up. The end of the call marked the end of their friendship, and the start of them.