Janus pinched the pill between two fingers. There was nothing striking about its appearance, it looked like your standard oblong. One half blood red, the other half a sharp white. Janus was a little surprised not to see a warning label for something so allegedly life-changing. Ingest it once and your world would never be the same, you could never go back to living the way you did before. Supposedly it was a crime to even offer Euphorium to anyone who couldn’t afford a lifetime supply. The pull of the drug was so powerful that knowing what it felt like and not being able to take it was tantamount to torture. The salesman, Maurice, was watching his evaluation of the pill with interest. “You can feel free to take one now, if you like. It’s a mild dose, the effects wear off in an hour. We have relaxation rooms if you’d like to settle in with the effects, then you can come back and review the rest of our collection.” Troy had already set his pill down. He gave Janus a wary look, before turning back to Maurice. “And how many of your customers choose a drug other than Euphorium once they’ve sampled it?” Maurice smiled. “It hasn’t happened yet. It’s our bestseller for a reason. The effects are said to be magnificent. It dials the brain’s pleasure centers up to their limits. Eternal bliss, within your grasp.” “Have you ever sampled your own product?” Janus asked. Maurice shook his head regretfully. “No, it wouldn’t be wise to start yet. I’m fifteen years away from retirement still. But once I do make it, it’ll be Euphorium all the way.” “I’ve seen the pictures.” Troy commented dryly. “Rows of bodies resting in hospital beds, their faces smiling masks, completely disengaged from reality. Living off IVs like coma patients. It’s hard to believe that could be paradise.” “Reality is created by the mind, paradise can be whatever the brain experiences.” Maurice replied smoothly. “If you have any concerns about the long nap, some of our clientele start off by switching off the drug at weekly or monthly intervals, taking the occasional breather to check in on the status of the outside world before deciding if they want to continue. But eventually, everyone seems to decide there’s no reason to walk away from heaven.” “Walk me through how it works again.” Troy interrupted. Janus groaned inwardly. He could tell from Troy's tone that his friend had already made up his mind. He was taking this time just to prove his point. Maurice launched into his spiel. “True to its name, Euphorium delivers pure ecstasy to the brain, filling it with a serene joy. There’s really no way to understand it without experiencing it. I could show you some poetry written by some of our users…” “But won’t the brain eventually become de-sensitized to the stimuli?” Janus interrupted. “Shouldn’t the effect get duller over time?” Maurice smiled. “We very delicately suppress the tolerance response in the brain to take you off of the hedonic treadmill. Your first moment with Euphorium will be as good as your last.” “My last moment is part of what concerns me.” Troy was tapping his finger on the counter. “If you’re no longer engaging with the world, how does that affect your life expectancy?” “All our evidence shows that Euphorium is actually healthier for the brain than non-assisted living.” Maurice replied. “You can expect to add ten years to your life, and if any complications do arise, you’ll have access to the best doctors in the world.” “What if we go broke, and you have to cut the drug off?” Troy asked. “Impossible. If you sign over your assets for the long nap, we’ll continue investing them on your behalf. In the unlikely event that your capital should evaporate, you’ll still be guaranteed a lifetime supply of Euphorium. Our company assumes all the risk.” “And what if your company goes bankrupt?” Janus asked. “Spoken like a businessman.” Maurice gave Janus an appreciative look. “I don’t normally do this, but I can share with you our entire business plan if you’re interested. We’re insured for a global financial meltdown, and we have enough assets on hand to continue operating for a hundred years with no additional revenue.” “It just doesn’t seem sustainable.” Janus shook his head. “If the entire population would rather live in a mentally altered state, someone still has to do the work to keep the world running. What do you do when everyone is under your care?” “Supply and demand, my friends.” Maurice said. “Our fees have been rising every year. As the supply of available labor shrinks, the price to live on Euphorium rises as a result. You’re lucky to be able to get in now. Not everyone gets to retire in their thirties.” Troy sat back and crossed his arms. “All the more reason not to throw it all away. How do you know if being on Euphorium is really a better way to live, or if the drug just makes you think it is?” “I’d argue those two are the same thing.” Maurice said. “What’s ‘better’ or ‘worse’ is entirely a function of the mind. What we know for sure is that no one ever wants to go back. All of our clients say it’s the most amazing thing they’ve ever experienced. Heaven on earth.” “Or you’ve manufactured the perfect addictive drug.” Janus spoke the words he guessed Troy was thinking. “A drug that makes you never want to stop taking it.” Maurice’s smile began to strain. “All forms of pleasure are inherently addictive. Euphorium has no chemical withdrawal markers. It’s simply a better way to live.” Maurice reached into a cupboard. “Anxiety around self-modification is perfectly understandable. The ego excels at self-defense, often to its detriment. A man who’s angry at the world would often rather stay mad than give up that identity and lose a part of himself. Luckily, we have a pill for that.” Maurice set a pair of purple oblong pills on the table. “Modicum. It disengages the ego to allow you to be more open to change. It’s like being born again, you’ll look back on your life with a fresh set of eyes, able to see your own experiences and possibilities as objectively as you would a stranger.” “A pill that makes you want to take your other pill.” Troy could hardly have seemed more repulsed if the salesman had told them the pill was stuffed with elephant dung. “Is there a pill that makes you want to take Modicum?” Maurice tried to re-assure them. “It’s nothing as sinister as that. Mental processing is simply prone to getting stuck in ruts. A person who’s used to feeling angry all the time lets that anger become a part of what they perceive to be their core identity, and they’re naturally afraid to give it up. Modicum reduces that defensiveness, and lets the user evaluate objectively whether they’d be happier if their personality was different. Some of our clients take Modicum even without an eye to evaluating other treatment options, saying it broadens their perspective, making them more open to change.” “Wouldn’t it always lead to the same conclusion?” Janus flicked one of the purple pills and set it spinning. “It sounds like Euophorium is an attractor state for the mind. If you no longer feel the need to preserve your old identity, what could be better than bliss, and taking Euphorium?” Maurice scooped both sets of pills off the counter. “From my point of view, nothing. But it’s worth noting that not all of our clients end up choosing Euphorium. We have a wealth of other options. However you want your brain to work, we can arrange it.” Maurice set a new pill on the table, a dull grey oblong pill. “Victorium. Quite popular with our results-driven individuals. It amplifies the brain’s reward mechanism for success. Every triumph is that much more sweet, every minor victory feels that much better. It's simply allowing your brain to celebrate how amazing you are. Even simply solving a crossword or finishing a Sudoku feels like the crowning achievement of a lifetime with Victorium.” “Which would presumably make you less effective at accomplishing any given task.” Troy didn’t seem to think the pill deserved a first glance. “And leave you out of touch with everyone who wasn’t as impressed by your mediocre success.” “All true.” Maurice acknowledged gamely. “You have to consider though, that being effective stops being a concern once you’ve made enough money to live as you please forever. And if you’re interested in the respect of your peers, we have a product that can deliver that sensation…” “So long as you’re fine living in a delusion.” Janus finished the salesman’s sentence for him. “That just sounds like a lesser form of Euphorium, cheating your brain into thinking it’s happier than nature thinks it should be.” “In which case why not try the real thing?” Maurice offered up the question, despite the looks on their faces suggesting he was gaining little traction. “Once you’ve transcended the need to fight for survival, there’s no reason to keep your brain from being as happy as it can be. Some philosophers claim ascending to a state of pure pleasure and joy is the natural evolution for the species. Once you break your evolutionary shackles compelling you to survive and reproduce, there’s nothing left to do but ascend to a care-free existence where you can engage in unbridled hedonism.” “So all the time we spent working up until now was pointless?” Troy asked. Maurice shook his head. “Not at all. But you’ve worked hard enough and added enough value to society that you’ve earned your way into paradise.” “What else have you got?” Janus jumped in before Troy could resume arguing. This was clearly getting them nowhere. Maurice slid open another drawer. “Some of our clients prefer to maintain an active social life, rather than leaving behind the connections they’ve made up until now. We have a number of enhancements you might consider.” Two pink pills slid onto the counter. “Empathium. This treatment super-charges the mirror neurons in your brain. If you’ve ever felt bored at a party or unable to relate to someone, this is the cure for all of that. Your brain will become more empathetic than you would have thought possible, our clients say they can instantly understand how someone is feeling, relate to them as intensely as a parent to a newborn, and have an intuitive sense for how to make them happy. We have reports of withdrawn, awkward individuals turning into the life of the party. It supercharges your social awareness, making you more exciting and more excitable. We can flip you from an introvert to an extrovert, or dial up your extraversion even higher.” “And what if you’re fine not being the life of the party?” Janus asked. “What if you don’t want to care about the things you don’t currently care about?” “We keep returning to the paradox of identity, there really is no answer.” Maurice smiled. “There’s nothing wrong with introversion or extraversion, we’re simply offering the choice. Some of our clients take Empathium on as-needed basis, for large social events and corporate functions. Some even report the curious experience of not knowing which version of themselves is superior. When on Empathium, they’re fully convinced that they are a creature of superior social awareness, and their previous self is dull and uninteresting. Off Empathium, they experience a similar disdain for their previous self that was using the drug, as an easily distracted social butterfly.” “Then who’s right?” Janus asked. “Neither. Both.” Maurice said. “One version finds social engagement the most fascinating thing in the world. Another regards it as far less interesting than leading a rich inner life. Both are simply a question of what the brain prefers. And it’s perfectly consistent to toggle between two sets of preferences.” “Surely there’s a right answer though. One has to have a greater survival value…” Janus felt like he was grasping at straws. “It’s entirely possible that the greatest survival value comes from adapting your values to your situation.” Maurice said. “Empathium may be perfect for the saleswoman needing to close a big client, but being off the drug might be better when she’s filling out expense reports or doing her own accounting. She would simply get used to switching between multiple versions of herself, each of whom finds whatever she’s currently doing to be the most fulfilling thing in the world, allowing her to put her entire focus into it.” “That’s mildly terrifying.” Troy muttered. “If modifying your values and preferences is as easy as you say, why does no one ever leave Euphorium?” “Well, some people do settle on a mode of functioning as being superior.” Maurice said. “Even if their values are different, if our hypothetical saleswoman remembered being substantially happier on or off the drug, she could eventually settle on staying that way. Euphorium is simply the global optimum for brain states. Although…” Maurice lowered his voice to a whisper. “I shouldn’t be saying this at all, but we’re working on a version with chemical inhibitors to long-term memory formation. You’d be able to experience Euphorium, and leave yourself a message describing how you felt at the time. You might even be able to sample it, and return to normal functioning without the same sense of loss.” Janus blinked in disbelief. “Are people really going to pay for a pleasant experience they don’t get to remember?” “What’s more important, the memory or the experience?” Maurice asked. “You could consider it a chance to hear from the version of yourself who has experienced the other side.” “I’m not taking Euphorium, memories or no memories.” Troy said firmly, then glanced at Janus who also nodded his head. “What are your other options?” Maurice slid two orange pills onto the counter. “Imaginarium. What Empathium is for relating to other people, Imaginarium is for being immersed in the world of ideas. Are either of you avid readers?” “Haven’t had the time.” Janus said. It was partly a lie, which Maurice’s knowing look suggested he understood. “Been awhile since you’ve been able to lose yourself in a good book?” Maurice pointed at the orange pill. “Imaginarium can change that for you. It enhances your brain’s creative faculty. You’ll find yourself abile to visualize alternate realities in vivid detail, feel other worlds come alive in your head physically, emotionally. Depending upon how strong we prepare the dose and the strength of the stimuli, you might feel like you are literally immersed in another world when reading a book, or engage in a video game as if you were actually living the life of the protagonist, your brain filling the gaps with smells and sounds. You can allow a piece of music to directly translate your emotional state, letting you feel love, joy, or serenity. With each mental journey under your complete control. It’s the Euphorium you can steer…” “But what would the point be?” Troy interrupted. “None of it’s real.” Janus couldn’t help but agree. Neither of them had kept up with TV, movies, or any of the endless entertainment distractions that were available. Janus couldn’t say why, but each option felt too much like a drug to him already, another way to dull the passage of time and enter a false reality that left you craving your next fix. “It provides the brain with enjoyment, stimulation.” Maurice faltered. “Immersing yourself in another world is also a way to study new ideas, gain new perspective. Watching a film on the Titanic for example...” “If I want to study the Titanic, I’ll study the Titanic, I don’t need some drug so I can lie to myself and feel like I’m there.” Troy shook his head. “I take a certain amount of pride that I don’t spend time zoning out in front of a screen, accomplishing nothing. I’m not sure why taking a pill to start doing that will make my life better.” “The mental journeys you take don’t have to be fake.” Maurice said, looking back and forth between both of them hoping to catch a sympathetic eye. “You can re-live old memories as if they were happening to you for the first time.” “I’ve never been one to dwell on the past.” Troy gave a knowing look to Janus. “I can understand you might say that now, but if it changing that about yourself would make you happier…” Maurice’s voice trailed off. “If the point is to be happier, why not just take Euphorium?” Troy threw his hands up in the air. “You have a pill that gives you emotional highs based on how other people feel. A pill that gives you a rush from losing yourself in imaginary worlds. They all just seem like gateway drugs to Euphorium, one step closer to disengaging from reality to feel better about yourself. How is that not a worse way to live?” “There is no definition of better or worse that exists outside the mind.” Maurice seemed on the verge of snapping. “If you’re not willing to try Modicum to broaden your perspective, I don’t know what I can tell you. It’s clear you’re locked into a neurophobic mindset, unwilling to step outside the cage you’ve built for your own mind. If you’re not interested in being happy, then there’s nothing I can do for you.” Troy was already standing up to leave. “I don’t know if I want to be happy, but I can definitely say I don’t want this.” Janus stood up, a little more reluctantly. Maurice tossed them both a packet with a brochure. “In case either of you come to your senses. A sampler pack. Only one more we haven’t discussed. Medium. A low-intensity mix of Empathium and Imaginarium. You can read about it on your own time.” Maurice was already shuffling them towards the door. Janus waited until they had left the building before speaking to Troy. “You’re just giving him a hard time, right? To get them to come back and engineer something bespoke for us?” Troy shook his head. “Sorry if I made it worse for you in there. But I’m not going back. This isn’t for me.” “But…” Janus struggled to find the words. “You’ve made more than enough money to retire. What are you going to do with yourself?” “Go back to work.” Troy said dryly. “Why?” “Because I don’t want to just turn into a worse version of myself.” Troy’s eyes were clear and focused as he stared back at Janus. “I like what we do, I feel like our work matters in a way nothing in there does. It keeps the world going. Even if I don’t need to do it anymore, I’d rather have a job and something to live for than spend the rest of my life feeling useless. Or turn myself into a vegetable, taking a pill so I don’t feel useless, taking a pill so I don’t feel guilty about taking the first pill, and eventually just taking the pill to become a mindlessly happy drone.” “I thought this was the whole point though.” Janus felt like he’d been cheated somehow, although he couldn’t articulate why. “Isn’t retirement all we were looking forward to for all these years?” “If it was, then we were wrong. You can go back in and be happy, if you want.” Troy gave one last look at the packet Maurice had handed him, then tossed it into the trash. “I’d rather be me.” \ Janus lay in his bed that night, staring at the packet. Euphorium. Modicum. Victorium. Empathium. Imaginarium. Medium. Six pills. Each of which would make him into a different person. A person who would presumably like who they were, with no desire to ever change back. It would be like stepping into a teleporter, having every atom in your body disintegrated and recreated at the other end. The original you would be gone forever, with a clone standing in your place. It would be like getting a complete brain transplant, under the logic that your new self would be happier than your old one. He would be letting his identity die. So someone else could live a better life. He should just throw the whole set of pills away. Janus lifted the packet to toss it into the trash, before changing his mind at the last second. He opened it up once more to look at its contents. Maurice’s point about the saleswoman switching between two states until she found the one that made her happier had left an impression on him. If he genuinely would be happier with a medically induced personality change, he’d never know unless he tried. And if he had the option to switch back, he could at least make the choice with his eyes open. Janus swallowed the saliva in his throat. Was he really considering this? He took a moment to examine each of the pills. Euphorium terrified him. It seemed like a mental dead end, a gilded cage for the mind. Modicum seemed like the next logical step if he was going down this road… but that also seemed like it would be making the choice for him, committing to detaching himself from his identity and letting a stranger take over. Victorium, Empathium, Imaginarium… Janus’s fingers finally settled on the small red pill. Medium. It seemed like the mildest, safest treatment they had. If he was going to try any of the pills, it might as well be this one. A few new sensations, maybe. Nothing irreversible. Janus gulped down the pill in a single swallow, setting the other pills on his bedside table. He gave it a few seconds. He didn’t feel that different yet. How long before the pills were supposed to take effect? Janus flipped open the pamphlet that came with the packet. Janus suddenly cried out in pain as a burning sensation filled the back of his head. His brain felt like it was on fire, surging and firing in unexpected ways. A swirl of emotions coursed through him. Anger, surprise, fear, each experienced more intensely than he had felt them in years. Janus bit his lip and tried to hold on. He must have gotten a bad dose. The drug’s effects couldn’t last for that long, he just had to weather the storm. Janus closed his eyes and willed the torrent raging within him to stop. When he opened his eyes again, Janus saw a sight he hadn’t seen in ages. He was in Troy’s old apartment, years ago. He could barely remember how long it had been, it felt like another lifetime. Janus blinked again, and he was back in his bedroom. The image of the apartment had seemed completely real to him. If he looked for it, he could still see it in the back of his mind. “You have to see this.” It was Troy’s voice, as audible as if he were in the room. In a panic, Janus reached for his phone on the bedside table, almost knocking it to the ground before grabbing it and dialing the number on the pamphlet. The scene of Troy’s old apartment was beginning to cement itself in his vision. Maurice answered in a bored tone. “Hello?” “I think something’s wrong with the pill I took.” Janus spoke as quickly as he could. “You have to help me. My brain feels like it’s on fire.” “Neural readjustment can be an intense process the first few times, I assure you it’s nothing to worry about.” Maurice began to perk up. “Which one of our products did you try?” “Medium. Listen, I’m hallucinating.” “Hmm. That’s rare for new users, although there can sometimes be some side effects if you have anything else in your system. This was all mentioned in the waiver you signed this morning. Experiencing emotions you haven’t felt in a while can awaken associated memories, and the recall grows more intense as your brain’s imaginative faculties expand. It’ll all pass soon enough. If you examine the pamphlet…” Janus let his phone slip onto the floor and collapsed back into his bed. The scene playing out in front of him was already too vivid to ignore. Troy was standing in front of him with a grin on his face. “This is going to change our lives.” Troy was smiling, his long hair had been cut short, the shortest Janus had ever seen. His guitar was resting underneath a pile of books. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in weeks. That was odd. Troy never went a day without playing his guitar. “What is it?” Janus heard himself say the words with a curiosity he sincerely felt. He remembered this conversation on some level. But he hadn’t thought about it in years. There had been no need. “It’s a new drug.” Troy was shaking a pill bottle in front of him. “They call it Optimum. It enhances everything you do. Makes you smarter, more effective, more focused. I taught myself Mandarin in a week. Learned quantitative finance yesterday. We could rule the world with this stuff.” “So why isn’t anyone else?” Janus mouthed the words in bed as he heard himself say them. Troy shook his head. “It’s years away from clinical trials. Rumor has it, some of the big names in Wall Street are already using it. The world will turn into a rat race once this stuff goes public, but we can get in early. Get to the top of the heap before anyone else.” Troy seemed overcharged and amped up, his mind working so fast the words could barely keep up. “I got my hands on a supplier. The best part is, this batch is non-addictive. It changes your brain chemistry each time you use it until eventually, the pill has no effect. After a month, you’re just on Optimum all the time, even without the drug.” “What else does it change?” Janus’s gaze turned to the unused guitar. Troy grimaced. “Some minor stuff. It dials down empathy, imagination, anything that’s not strictly achievement oriented. Music is much worse. I can’t even watch TV anymore. Anything that doesn’t help you get ahead simply gets filtered out as noise.” “So you’re far more efficient, but less happy. Only dialed into reality.” Janus said dryly. “It sounds like the opposite of that drug Euphorium.” “Yeah, but the effects are reversible.” Troy pointed to another bottle on the wall. “They already have the cure for it.” “Have you taken it yet?” Janus studied him curiously. Troy shook his head. “I will. But only when I’ve made enough money to retire. I’ll stay in the game for as long as it takes, then get out.” “And be a soulless monster in between.” Troy looked a little guilty he glanced at the guitar lying idle, then shrugged. “It’s not so bad. It makes it so you enjoy solving even the most repetitive problems. Your brain trains itself to do whatever it takes to succeed.” “As much as you enjoyed writing music? Going to festivals?” “No.” Troy shook his head. “But I’m not going to have the time for that until I retire anyway. Would you rather spend 40 years working shit jobs and hating your life, or spend 10 years, loving your job until the moment you leave it, then get out? If we get in on this early, we could retire in our thirties. Our twenties, even.” “I don’t know…” Troy had already handed him a pill. A white and red generic. “You should at least try it.” Troy’s voice sounded sincere. “If you hate how it feels, it’s easy to go back. Ask yourself who you want to be ten years from now. You could be rich, and able to live however you want, or you could be dirt poor, with nothing to show for it.” With more than a handful of misgivings, Janus swallowed the pill. It burned down his throat, filling his head with a white-hot fire. Seconds later, the vision had been wiped clean. He was back in his apartment, lying alone in his bed. His eyes felt like they must be bloodshot. Moisture was dripping out of them, the words he had wanted to say left unspoken.


Moving to England from Old New Jersey wasn't the worst thing in the world for Tom Rhodes. He was in the fourth grade, about to be in dreaded fifth, and he wasn't exactly Mr. Popular amongst his classmates. He thought that they thought he was a weirdo - and what was wrong with that? Everything, apparently. More likely, they just never thought about him at all. England could be a fresh start for Tom. His brother and sisters did not agree. "I hate it here already!" said Elle, the youngest sibling at six years old. "Me too. There's no beach, mom!" said Susan. "I was supposed to lifeguard this summer." "Sigh," said Peter, followed by a literal but quite exaggerated sigh. "You were never gonna be allowed to lifeguard, Sus." Susan and Peter were twins, just over two years older than Tom. Susan arrived a full half hour before Peter, which she often reminded Peter of. Their mother, Abby Rhodes (her parents had a bit of a thing for The Beatles and couldn't help themselves), glanced back at her kids from the rear-view mirror. Her stiff-upper lip, as the Brits would say, was curled into her forever crooked smile, thanks to a field hockey accident in college. "Give it a chance, everyone. We're almost there. I think you're gonna like the house." Their mini-van scratched against the bushes on the skinny country road. "Maybe I should drive, Mom," said Peter. "You're not used to driving with the steering wheel on the right side." "And you are?" asked Abby. "Yes, actually," said Peter. "I've played every single racing video game in the world, and I'm fully prepared to drive this car." "Over my dead body," said Susan. Peter was about to say something, but the lane cleared into a long expansive yard, at the end of which stood a massive stone house. "Woah," said Tom. "It's a castle," said Susan. "And that's where we're gonna live," said Abby. "You know how English houses all have special names? Well, ours is called Coldfast." "Cool," said Peter. "*Coldfast*. I dig it." "Is it really ours?" asked Elle. "Well, we're technically renting it for the summer," said Abby. "But, if we like it -- and my job here works out -- then maybe we can buy it." "Yay!" said Elle. Tom's stomach turned, the way it did when he tried reading in the car. "Can we get out, Mom?" he asked. "I was going to drive up a little closer, but why not?" She stopped the car, and unlocked the sliding doors. The kids pushed out and flew across the grounds towards the house. "There's a stream back here! It's like a little river!" "Look at this climbing tree!" "I think there's 5 floors!" "Kids! Can you come here and help me carry in our bags?" "Yes, mom!" they all replied. There were enough bedrooms in Coldfast that none of them had to share a room, and there wasn't even much fighting over who got which one. Tom's choice must have once been an old library or a study, because it was filled with wall-to-wall bookshelves, which were now mostly bare, except for a complete set of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Tom pulled out the "T" and skimmed ahead to the find the section on turtles when an old-fashioned bell rang from somewhere downstairs "I'm gonna have to figure out how to call you all, and this bell seems pretty good," said Abby. "A little different from our house in Old New Jersey, huh?" "Yeah, Mom," said Susan. "I love it here," said Elle. "Good," said Abby. "Now I have to drive into town to get situated at work. They want me to start at Bletchley Park tomorrow, and I've got to get my ID card and whatnot set up today. So, Susan and Peter, you're in charge. Stick together, and have fun. I'll bring home something English for dinner. Ok?" Everyone nodded. They stood at the large doorway to Coldfast and waved at their mother's minivan crunch away on the gravel driveway. "So, we're splitting up, right?" said Peter. "Obviously," said Susan. "We've gotta explore this place, and I want to do it my way." "Me too!" said Elle. Tom pulled on Susan's arm. "But didn't Mom say we were supposed to stick together." Susan patted Tom's head. "Don't worry. I'm in charge now." "No, I'm in charge," said Peter. "We'll meet back here in an hour and report back on our findings." "Ugh, okay," said Tom. "I'm going outside then." Something about the house creeped him out. "Elle and I will explore inside," said Peter. "Susan you should try outside, too." "I will, but not cause you said it." Tom and Susan went outside and set off in different directions, Susan towards the stream and the rolling hills beyond the western side of the building, and he towards the pine trees on the east. He'd always loved the smell of Christmas, and pine trees were as close as you could get during the rest of the year. It wasn't long before Tom had lost sight of Coldfast. He kicked up tufts of fallen pine needles as he walked, like little yellow fireworks for potato bugs. He wondered if potato bugs lived in England. Or if they had some other kind of rolly-polly bug. He spotted a particularly gigantic pinecone and kicked it. The pinecone bounced and tumbled before rolling into a hollow at the base of a large oak tree. The oak seemed rather out of place in the pine woods. Tom approached the tree and crawled down to try to snag the pinecone. He felt a warm breeze coming from the hollow, and reached inside for the pinecone. He couldn't quite reach it, so he crawled his head inside. The warm feeling grew. Soon Tom was fully inside the hollow, still crawling forward. Maybe this was a cave, he thought. This would be something cool to report back to his siblings. His head bumped into something. He reached forward. It felt like a door. It was wooden and smooth, with those boxy groves that doors sometimes have for styling purposes. Tom's hand found a cool round handle in the center of the door. He twisted it and the door opened into a sunny afternoon in a completely different forest from the pine trees where he'd been. Something snuffled nearby. Tom flinched, worried it might be a raccoon or something with rabies. "HALLOOF!" Tom turned towards the sound. Something fuzzy with two legs was sticking out of a rabbit hole. "HALPF!" Tom was pretty sure it was trying to say "Help!" so he grabbed onto its legs and tugged. And tugged, until finally the thing got unstuck and the two of them rolled backwards into the meadow grasses. "Oh, thank you, Christopher Ro -- wait a second, you're not him." It was a talking teddy bear. *Yes*, Tom said to himself, *A teddy bear is standing up and talking to me. I must be unconscious or something.* "Well, I always do say, a Stranger is just a Friend you haven't met yet. I'm Edward Bear, but my Friends call me Winnie. The Pooh." Tom nodded blankly, because at this moment, behind Edward the Pooh, were three more stuffed animals: a piglet, a tiger, and a baby kangaroo. "Pooh! Oh, Pooh!" cried the piglet. "There you are!" "Ho-hoo," said the tiger. "And a-who do we have a-here?" "Are you coming on our Expodition to the South Pole?" asked the baby kangaroo. "Because we could use someone Strong and Brave." "I..." stammered Tom. "I don't know..." "You either Know something or you Don't," said the bear. "But you can never Don't Know something. That's like saying honey isn't sweet and sticky and delicious." "A pa-pa-paradox," said the tiger, hopping on his rather coiled tail. Tom had enough. He was clearly losing his mind. He began crab-walking backwards towards towards the door, and grabbed its handle. "Are you leaving us before the Expodition?" asked the kangaroo. "Yy-up," said Tom, opening the door, scrambling inside, and pulling it shut. He crawled through the dark back into the pines, and then ran back to Coldfast as fast as he could. He opened the front door and found his siblings arguing in the foyer. "Well, where have you been?" snapped Peter. Tom could barely catch his breath. "I... I found something." "Yeah, we all did," said Susan. "No, no, no," said Tom. "I found this tree, with a hole in it, and I crawled through it, into this whole other forest, and there was a talking teddy bear, and a talking piglet, and a tiger that bounced on its tail, and this baby kangaroo, and they were all going to the South Pole." "Uh-huh..." said Peter. "Sure, you did." "No, I'm serious!" said Tom. "You have to see it. I can show you!" "I found winter," said Elle. "Your cheeks," said Tom. "They're freezing. Did you find a cellar or something?" "She was just about to tell us, Tom, before you interrupted everyone," said Susan. "Not a cellar, but a wardrobe, in another bedroom," said Elle. "I opened it up, and it was filled with these heavy coats, perfect for snowstorms, and I tried to take one off the hanger, and then I just felt more coats hanging behind them. So I climbed into the wardrobe and kept walking. I couldn't find the back of it. And it kept getting colder. Until I looked down and saw that I was walking through snow, and then I looked up and I found a lamppost, and I was standing in a forest covered in snow." "Your shirt," said Tom. "Are those snowflakes on it?" "Yes," said Elle. "But then I saw this goat-man walking towards me, and I screamed and I ran back here." "I don't believe you guys," said Susan. "I saw something *real*, though. It was a huge battle of these rabbits on the hills beside the house. There were almost a hundred of them. One of them had a big funny tuft of hair, and another had a broken eye, and then there was this big bird helping one of the two sides. It was like watching a real war, I don't even know who won, because suddenly a bunch of the rabbits climbed onto wooden rafts and floated down the stream." None of this would have seemed possible to Tom, if he hadn't had his own experience with the talking stuffed animals. Something was happening here in Coldfast. "That all sounds great, team," said Peter. "But I've found something even better." The other three stared at him. "They have a regular Nintendo here." "What?" said Tom. "A regular Nintendo. The old kind. It's in the den." "Do they have Duck Hunt?" asked Susan. "Yep! It's the one combined with Mario Bros." "What's Mario Bros?" asked Elle. "Oh, you'll see, because I found something else. Something amazing. I was playing one of the levels and then I hit this block as Big Mario and then somehow Mario got sucked into the bricks and then I was at this warp pipe, and it was a new level, one of those awful water levels, but the level name was World -1." Tom had played a lot of Mario in his life and he'd never heard of World -1. "What does that even mean, Peter?" "It's a secret world, obviously," said Peter.


A man wakes up in hell. He feels nothing but pain. He lies on a hill amongst ruins, the foundational outline of a missing home. This is not a world meant for anything living. The sky is thick and gray with clouds like wet cement. Plants do not try to grow here. The carcasses of trees lie beside each other, twisted on the ground. The landscape lies as still and gray as the sky, unstirred by even the wind. The man inhales his first breath and coughs. From his mouth is borne a cloud of white ash and dust. He gets to his feet and walks through the ruins of what must have been an old town once. Instead of buildings, now the bricks are stacked like rubble. The jagged edge of one wall reaches a peak above the rest, at half his height. Upon it his fingers trace the outline of a heart drawn in ash. He looks around at the battered image of a hollowed out town. He closes his eyes. He waits for this nightmare to be over. He coughs up some blood and spits it out. On the ground mixed with the ash it looks more like tar than something from anything alive. He continues now on a path that leads away from the town. The dead trees lie together as though they’d been slaughtered in battle. Fallen comrades. None of them heard. He follows a trail of smeared ash through a large, empty stretch of land. It might have been a field once, when things could grow. He stands over a patch of lifeless earth and watches it. Tears leave trails of smeared ash like the one which led him here. He continues to another ruin. The suggestions of architecture linger. Some stone steps lead him down to a cellar below. Here he finds a hatch and crawls down into it. Inside there are a couple of beds and a smattering of empty cans across the floor. In the center of the room is a table, swept clean except for one half-eaten can of mush. He vomits up some blood then sits down to eat. He eats less than a mouthful worth of bites then lies down in one of the beds. After a fit of violent coughs he’s asleep. He is exhausted. He is even more exhausted when he wakes up. He sits at the table and cries over the can. Finally he rises weakly to his feet and heads back out into the world. He walks through the field to a disturbed patch of dirt and ash. Nearby a shovel lies on the ground and he decides to dig. He digs for hours in a daze. The Earth slowly opens up for him, shovelful by shovelful. Suddenly here, protected from the decomposing world above by a blanket of dirt, he finds the body of a woman. He stoops down, transfixed by the peaceful expression locked upon her face. His own expression is distant, his mind in a hole miles below the one she lies in now. He gently kisses her forehead and then he drags her out of the hole. A coughing fit strikes and he needs to sit down. Then he fills the hole back in. He carries the woman’s body up another path away from the field. It stretches for a mile or two uphill and over rocks. He has to stop several times to try to catch even a gasp of breath between his coughs. He pulls her body up a hill and when they get to the top he can see the whole town. Here at the top of the hill he holds her body and cries endlessly, even when the tears stop. He sits with the body next to him and props her head on his shoulder. This is where she wakes up in hell with him. Her eyes open to a world that life abandoned. It takes her some time but eventually she coughs white clouds of ash to clear the way for air. They watch the distant ghost of a town together then make their way back down the hill. She’s still weak so he helps her down but he doesn’t have to carry her this time. They make their way back across the field and over her grave to the ruins surrounding the stone steps. Together they climb down to the room where all that is left lives. He looks at her with concern which she affirms by vomiting blood across the floor and shaking like chattering teeth. He kisses her forehead and they hold hands at the table for a while before lying down in the bed together. She coughs in her sleep and he doesn’t sleep much at all. When they wake up they eat from some of the dusty cans. After a few bites she stops and coughs for a long time. He watches with concern and fear. He doesn’t want to be alone here. Together they walk through the ruined town and look up at the ruined sky. Neither of them has anything to say. She stops at various piles of bricks and watches them as if imagining what they would look like whole. They come across the wall he woke up by and she traces the heart with her ash covered fingers. She stands in the ruins of a building and here she cries for a long time. He switches between standing back and letting her cry and holding her shuddering sorrow in his arms. Eventually the tears turn from a river to a stream and finally to a faucet, which is how they stay for the rest of their walk through the town. Back in the room they eat some more cans of mush and lie in bed. He cries while she sleeps. This cycle continues for almost a week, with walks through the hollow town, meals of mush out of old cans, and taking turns in tears. More often than not though they cry together instead of waiting for their turn. One day in town they find some old books scattered in the ashes and bring them home with them. The woman hates the books and can’t stand to look at them but the man thumbs through them now and then. After a few days neither of them go near the books anymore. His cough is gone and her cough is getting better. She breaks the long silence with a question. She wants to know what the point of living is. He chews his mush and stares into the empty can wondering how long their food will last and whether they will last long enough to finish it. One morning she doesn’t get out of bed. This goes on for two days. The next day she sits at the table and heaves growing sobs. He sits quietly on the bed. His face looks as lifeless as the town. The next day they are both weeping but they need to go outside again. They go to the field and there he digs another hole through tears while she sits and wails on the ground nearby. At the bottom of this hole the man finds the body of a boy. He picks the boy up tenderly and holds him close, tears running down his cheeks and into the boy’s dirty brown hair. The woman can’t even look. The man lifts the boy out and then fills the hole back in. They bring the body into their room and the man seals them off from hell. The boy lies in one of the beds. She screams and cries. The man touches the boy’s cold head. His face is locked in peaceful slumber. That night they sleep and when they wake up the boy’s head is burning hot. He’s sick. His eyes are closed and when they try to feed him he won’t eat. They stay down there a long time and none of them eat. The man and the woman feel sick with worry. They watch the boy and sit by his side. Even though he can’t hear the woman reads the books to the boy and even though he isn’t looking she hides her tears from him. One day the boy finally opens his eyes. They can all eat again and even share a can of fruit instead of mush. The boy starts getting better. His head cools off but never gets as cold again as when they dug him up. They live together in the underground room. Now their worst problem is boredom, a blessing considering what lies outside. She reads the boy books throughout the day until he’s asleep again. They play games at the table some nights. They eat meals out of cans together and pray for hope. They try their best to be happy, and being together they’re sometimes able to succeed. This lasts a long time and hell feels distant. The man worries about the possibility of the devastation leaking into their home down here but he never lets his worry show. He doesn’t want to lose what he has to the emptiness outside. Then one night a voice on the radio says that bombs are being dropped and that this could be the end. They all rush out of the room and through the hatch. Sirens are going off in the town. The boy cries in terror. She carries him to a room upstairs and lays him in a bed. The man meets her in another bed and they fall quickly to sleep together as the sirens go quiet. The next day they go into the town and she takes the boy for a walk while the man buys cans of food he hopes he’ll never eat. The sky is blue and full of birds and the bricks are stacked like buildings. Trees stand tall and brave and donned in tremendous green. People walk the sidewalks and smile for good reason. An old woman whose hair is gray yet full of life, lets the boy pet her Scottish terrier. The boy, the woman, and the man walk home through a field of grass that hides an orchestra of crickets who fill the air like music. That night the man and woman put the boy to bed together and read him his favorite book. He tells them he wants to write books just like it when he grows up. In their own bed the man watches the woman as she falls asleep. He kisses her forehead and smiles. He has everything. He takes a deep clean breath and feels nothing but bliss. Then he falls asleep in heaven.


A cool draft slips down my shirt making me shutter. The eerie feeling after its collapse made us stand there in silence. Lily, the tanker of our group, clenches an amulet and drops to her knees. Sobbing. Leo, the priest, begins tearing up and rubbing his eyes furiously trying to hide his tears from us. Lucas, the leader of our group, looks towards the sky and doesn’t move. He stands over the corpse and a couple of flies land on him, but this however, does not cause him to flinch in the slightest. He stares into the sky with an almost vacant, yet cheerful expression. As for me, I find a stable rock near the area and sit down, while wrapping bandages around my abdomen. I stare at everyone with a blank expression. No thoughts enter my mind as I take this chance and touch my temple. A status screen opens with all my skills appearing. Two new skills and the title “Savior” appear, but I close the window as Lily stands up and looks at us. “We did it,” she says in tears. “We finally killed God.” Night falls. Everyone is laughing and eating roasted meat. I try to laugh with the rest of my party, but there’s something unsettling eating at me. Like a centipede gnawing on a cockroach. I can’t hide it anymore as Lucas turns around and stares. Through the corner of my eye, I see Lucas leaning in for a closer look on my dumbfounded expression. “Well that’s a first. What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled look on his face as well. “Nothing in particular, there’s just… I don’t know. I can’t quite put my finger on it,” I reply. I feel everyone stare at me as anxiety begins to creep over their faces. Lily interjects, “What are you talking about! We just killed God over here and you’re just-” “I know. It’s just…” I take a long pause and hold my breath. “What now?” I reply. My hands gripping my staff, almost breaking it. The other members look at each other in confusion as silence consumes us. Lucas looks at me and tries to say something, but immediately closes his mouth and tightens his fist, raising both hands so that they are now covering his mouth. Lily caresses her amulet between her thumb and index finger while Leo begins to carve symbols on the dirt with his foot. “You’re right… What now?” Questions Leo, still looking down at his blood stained shoes. “We can try looking for survivors. I mean… who knows, maybe a couple of people were able to escape underground or… or maybe they weren’t touched by the hands.” Lucas states in a reluctant manner. Swallowing his pride and belief as he utters these sentences. “No. There’s no way anyone else could have survived. We were the strongest people out there, and we only just barely managed to survive his hands. And even then, it took us a couple of months to get back to full health and well… There was literally no one.” I state with a somber expression. I tilt my head up and notice a translucent gate stationed in our atmosphere. The gate itself spans almost the whole sky, yet the darkness of the night almost consumes it, but somehow, someway, it’s visible. What everyone thought was heaven at one point in time, ended up being everyone’s worst hell. The rest of the members look up too. Lily is the first to look back down. “I can’t believe it’s been eight months since the gates opened,” she states. She pushes her hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear. A dark smudge is left on the top of her ear as her dirty finger grazed it. A cool wind envelops us which would have left us shivering if not for the fire that I created at the start of this. Some embers jump out of the fire, reminiscent of the great jump. A mass suicide where thousands of self-immolations and jumps occurred at the same time. Lucas and Leo are still staring into the night sky with blank expressions, while Lily is staring at the flame, lost in thought. I take a deep breath and resolve myself. “I have a couple of ideas if you want to hear them?” I state in a confident manner as to not worry them. Everyone is now staring at me as they begin to nod one by one. “We can travel the country and look for survivors, but I’m pretty sure we all know how that’s going to end, or we…” I hesitate to finish my words. “Or we can all go to sleep.” They look at each other in befuddlement until Lucas speaks up, “Sleep? I don’t understand, we’ll just wake up the very next day and be in the same situation as today. What does holding off our decision for the next day even accomplish?” Leo grabs his shoulder gently and shakes his head and softly says, “Suicide.” I look at Lucas as his eyes widen at the mere mention of the word suicide, but I swiftly interject. “Actually, it’s more of a spell. One that I never showed anyone because of how inhumane it is.” “What's the spell?” Asks Lily. “It’s sort of a sleep spell that makes you forget who you are and gives you an illusion of my choosing. You’ll be in a state bordering death, but in a state of paralysis,” I reply almost immediately. “How's it inhumane though?” Questions Leo after a couple of seconds of silence. “You don’t age when you’re asleep, neither do you need food or drinks to keep you alive. I can make you live the worst day of your life or your happiest.” One of my fingers begins to glow as I clench my fist, and the light disappears. “Not only that, but a person under my sleep spell can never wake up unless I undo it, and the only way to break the spell is with my death.” Everyone looks at each other in morbid curiosity, but I notice their faces light up ever so slightly. Lucas even smirks a little bit. “And how will the dream work?” Asks Lily. “I could either let you live day by day within a happier world. No hands of god, no death, no fear. Only you and whatever you want. Or, you can choose your happiest moment in life and keep reliving it.” I reply swiftly. “But won’t we get tired of repeating the same dream over and over again?” Leo asks. I shake my head slowly and say, “You’ll live your happiest moment, and by the end of the day, you’ll forget everything that happened and go back to the beginning of that same day. You’ll be stuck in that same loop without even realizing it.” “I’m in,” says Lucas as he looks over to Leo and Lily. “I mean think about it guys, we can wander around the country, trying to survive, or we can live happily without a care in the world. We’re all in our mid forties already. We’ll slowly begin to lose our power over time and eventually die due to some heart attack.” “Do you think you can give me a minute? I need to think about it for a second,” replies Leo. “I’m in” says Lily as she stands up still holding onto the amulet around her neck. She opens it up and stares deeply into it. I look over to Leo, “I’m planning to put myself to sleep right after everyone, and once I do, that’s that. You’ll be stuck living by yourself for the rest of your life. Do you really want to go through that?” Leo lets out a heavy sigh, “I guess I got no choice,” he says while rubbing his bald head. “Do you mind if I go first then?” Everyone shakes their head. “Not at all,” I reply. “Lay out your blanket on the ground and lay down.” Leo opens his backpack and unravels a brown, torn up blanket and extends it on the ground. It’s not entirely unfolded however, as wrinkles and clumps are visible even in the small bit of light that we have. This doesn’t matter to him however, as he lays down. His ankles are peeking out and resting on the dirt, instead of the blanket. I approach him and get on my knees. The tip of my finger begins to light up. “Give me about two minutes,” I state. We all sit there in silence as my party members are observing me. “So,” I say softly, trying to break the silence. “What do you want to be when you’re in the dream?” “I want to stay a priest,” he replies. Lucas speaks up from behind me, “Are you sure about that?” “Yeah, we literally dedicated so much of our time trying to kill God and you just want to return back to being an ignorant priest!?” She replies in a cold, yet heated manner. “I want to go back to being a priest, not because I want to be ignorant or can’t handle the truth, but rather, I want to see my village again. I want to see Petra helping out the homeless again, I want to taste Madam Oakley’s food once again, I want to see everyone from my village once again. They meant the world to me and… If I can see them one more time, then, I don’t care if I’m a priest,” replies Leo. “You know, I can give you all that and not make you a priest.” “No. It’s fine. This is a sin I have to bear,” he replies. “Thank you so much for everything. I really love you guys.” Tears roll down his smiling face as my finger touches his forehead. The light makes everyone, but myself squint as the light only grows brighter. He slowly closes his eyes and says, “Thank you so much… Lu-” He falls asleep. I close my eyes with him only to be standing in front of a large fountain. There are several pennies lying at the bottom as more people throw in coins. Leo passes me, but doesn’t recognize me as his attention is on an elderly woman. He’s holding three bags of food and looking directly at her as they talk. A young boy runs to him and extends his arms out in a hugging position. Leo hands the child a bag as they walk into the distance. I stand up and rub my wrist out of view from everyone. I turn to them with a forced smile on my face and ask, “So, who’s next?” They both look at each other and eventually Lily raises her hand slowly. “Sorry Lucas. Looks like I’m going on ahead,” Lily says. “It’s fine. As the leader, I need to watch you guys off don’t I?” He says with a smile on his face. Lily grabs a blanket and neatly places it onto the ground a couple of feet away from Leo. She stares at him and smiles. After placing the blanket down she stands up and hugs Lucas tightly. She lets go and then hugs me. “Thanks. You’re the best,” she says with a smile on her face. She quickly lays down and as I’m kneeling next to her, she takes out her amulet and opens it. She stares at it for the longest time and eventually closes it as she sees my finger light up. “Can you set me back to when I was sixteen,” She asks, “I want to make everything right this time at an early age. I want to spend more time with all my brothers and sisters.” “Of course.” My finger lights up as I slowly set it onto her forehead. “I’m finally going to be able to see my brothers and sister again! I-” she says, choking on her own words. “I really miss them.” She grabs a hold of my finger just before I’m about to touch her forehead. “I long since wanted to hold their hands again, eat with them, play with them.” She says with tears flooding out. “I- I- I wasn’t always the best sister to them. In fact, I had no idea where they were being sold to and because of that…” She bites her lips. “If only I had known… Thank you! Now my last memory of them won’t be just me holding their corpses. Really… Thank you so much!” I touch her forehead and the light engulfs us for a brief second. She calms down and smiles. Her eyes slowly shut as her tears began to dry. I close my eyes as well. A run down orphanage is seen in a field of flowers. Lily is in the center of about ten children. All of them ranging from ages five to thirteen. Some of them are holding hands and running around in circles, while others are sitting on a bench. Everyone with smiles on their faces. She stands up and all the kids scatter as she begins chasing them down one by one. Even the children who were sitting on the bench stand up and hide. With the older kids she tags them almost immediately, but feigns ignorance when it comes to the younger children. A little girl runs up to me and says, “You’re not going to play with us mister?” I shake my head and crouch down. “I’m only here visiting. You should go back and hide before Lily finds you,” I say. “Okay!” She replies swiftly and begins to run back to the orphanage. “Hey!” I call out to the little girl, not realizing what I had just done. She stops and turns around. “Tell Lily I said thank you for everything. Tell her… Tell her I love her. I wish I could have told her sooner, but I didn’t want to distract us.” The little girl smiles. “Ok!” She turns around and runs towards Lily who scoops her up into her arms. She taps her shoulder and points to me while relaying the message to her. Lily blushes and looks over to me who smiles and waves. She places the little girl down and looks up, only to see nothing but trees and flowers. I open my eyes and see Lily sleeping soundly next to Leo. Lucas has his blanket set down next to hers, but with a large gap in between for my blanket. He is sitting directly in front of the fire as he looks over to me and says, “I guess it’s my turn next huh?” I nod. “You know, as the leader of the group, I always wanted to look after everyone. I held myself responsible if any of you got injured,” he says. Lucas stands up and slowly walks over to his blanket where he sits down and looks over at me. “You’re not gonna set up your blanket? I even left you that space next to Lily.” “Was it that obvious?” I ask. He shakes his head. “You said love when you had your eyes closed. I just connected the dots from there,” he says. I chuckle a bit. “I’ll do it after you fall asleep,” I answer, while trying to avoid eye contact. “Sure. Whatever makes you happy,” he replies. He lays down with his hands behind his head and looks at the night sky with the translucent gate. “You know,” he says, “I’ve lived a terrible life even before the hands of God came… I drank everyday and caused my wife so much pain. Once my son came into the picture however, everything changed. I sobered up for a couple of years and dedicated my time training him into the next master swordsman… A little too much,” he says with sadness slowly creeping over his face. “I took him for granted and forced him to train everyday. He hated fighting though, and would rather spend his time reading a book under a nice tree. He had no talent for fighting, but deep down, I wanted to believe it was there. Deep down, I wanted to believe he was going to become a better me. I mean, he was my son after all. Tears roll down his face as a small whimper escapes him. “I gave up on him! I went back to drinking, and beat him almost everyday! I didn’t know how much I loved them until they were gone and I- I was…” I place my finger onto his forehead and say, “I know.” He wipes his tears. “Thanks Lucky” he replies. Lucas smiles as I close my eyes along with his. I’m standing under a tree with a makeshift wooden swing hanging from it. The smell of lavender and roses is the first thing I notice however as rows of lavender and different colored roses are lined up on the outside of their crops, sort of as a decoration. There’s a small, humble house in the distance as Lucas is carrying his son in his arms. Lucas’s wife comes out of the living room and begins to play with them. They all have the biggest smiles imaginable as their son laughs. Lucas turns to me and signals for me to come on inside. He continues to wave his hand until I shake my head. He hands the baby over to his wife and I lose sight of him for a moment as he steps behind the door to open it. Once open however, only flowers remain as he looks around searching for me. I stand up and look over at everyone’s sleeping faces. The fire is almost out as the last bit of the flame dances violently. Resisting the wind. I sit down in front of a rock and my finger begins to glow. I press it to my forehead and close my eyes… Nothing. I open my eyes and stop the glow from my finger. I take a deep breath and curl up into a ball. I stare at the happy faces of my former party as the fire slowly dies down. My savior, my love, and my best friend. “I hate you guys.” I mumble. The flame dies out as I curl up even more into a ball. My head is pressed into my lap to stop my tears from coming out, but it doesn’t work. A chill runs down my back as the heat from fire is no longer there to keep me warm. I should have stayed quiet, I think.. I tap my temple and a list of skills appear. Under the “New Skills” tab I see “Magic nullification” and “Immortality”. “I hate you guys.


2256 — Earth — New Maryland at the Planetary Bureau of Investigation Beyond the slew of case files resting on my desk; I spy Chief Isaac on the phone in his office, pacing about—like a caged tiger. Whatever is going on has the Chief’s panties in a twist. And then his gaze falls upon me, and so does his anger. “Agent Franklin in my office now! Shut the door—sit and listen up. The top brass wants an old unsolved case closed—ASAP. Starting today, you are being reassigned to this case.” “But Chief Isaac…” “No buts, Franklin—start packing, your destination—Perfection.” >>>><<<< 2256 — En Route to Perfection The first to arrive and settle on the new world would name the planet Perfection. From there on, the name stuck. Perfection orbits Proxima Centauri, one of three stars in that solar system, and it is roughly 4.3 light-years from Earth. That makes this a twenty-year jaunt across the galaxy. It's a good thing Friday and I don’t sleep or eat or breathe or have a life. “Friday, be a sweetheart and cue up the J.R. Holmes's case.” “First off, Franklin, I’m not your sweetheart, nor do I socialize with the lesser A.I.” Friday is the ship’s Level-Three, A.I. and my partner. She has the sexiest voice you’ve ever heard. “I’m told Friday that virtual sex is as good as the real thing and that it relieves stress associated with long voyages.” “Keep dreaming, Franklin, that will never happen. Cueing up the latest reports on the case.” She transmits the data to my head. I can see and hear what she sees and hears, and vice versa. “I knew one day I'd get into your head Friday.” “Ha-ha funny Franklin, now all jokes aside, from what we know, this J.R. Holmes has murdered thousands of settlers across the planet, spanning decades. And all within the last hundred years. The anomaly, our suspect, hasn't aged a day since the first murders. This would make him roughly a hundred and fifty years old. Though not implausible, except for the fact that…” “He hasn’t aged a day. I get that. So, what is—he, exactly? A simulacrum, an immortal, an alien, a time traveler. What?” “A simulacrum—impossible. The Laws of Ethics are hard-wired into our circuitry, ‘thou shalt, not kill’, being the first tenet. This leaves us with an immortal, plausible. An alien, plausible but unlikely. A time traveler, extremely unlikely but plausible.” “No Friday, that leaves us back to square one. In the meantime, until we can figure out how this guy is staying young. I’d like you to monitor all planetary communication. Of one thing I am certain, this guy will kill again and again.” >>>><<<< 2276 — Orbiting Perfection During the twenty-year excursion to the planet. Holmes managed to make time, in his busy schedule, for an extra two hundred murders. And more videos surfaced of this monster, revealing he still hadn't aged a day. Unfortunately for the victims, Friday and I were no closer to solving this case. We decided to leave orbit and touchdown where the killer was last seen. A cow town, known as—New Texas. “Alright Franklin, you got me, what’s with the Stetson and Cowboy Boots?” “When in Rome Friday, do as the Romans do, Aurelius Ambrosius.” “Ah Saint Ambrosius. You are aware of Franklin that what he said was, ‘When I am at Rome, I fast on a Saturday; when I am at Milan, I do not. Follow the custom of the church where you are.’” “Isn’t that what I said? For a Level-Three A.I., you often trip over interpretation, a design flaw associated with the lesser A.I.” “Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Franklin.” Using my best western accent, I say, “I reckon I am a little miss.” >>>><<<< 2276 — Perfection — New Texas The starlight of three suns at high noon bake the denizens who walk along the dirt-paved roads of New Texas. A town, echoing a world found only in the memories of those from the old American West. This is an outré world and I distant traveler in search of answers. And that’s when a drunkard patron comes flying out through the wooden doors of the OK Corral Saloon, landing in the dirt in front of me. “Well, Friday looks like them Cowboys are a-gettin' all roostered up.” Through the swinging doors, I enter the saloon and make my way to the bar. My boot spurs make a ching-ching-ching sound in sync with the creak-creak-creak of the dusty floorboards. Behind the bar, a busty bartender wipes down a greasy shot glass, with a dirty white towel. And she says, “Everyone, lookee-here—it's Howdee Doodee!” The saloon erupts into laughter. Laughing, Friday says, “I reckon you're not in Rome.” The laughter and my embarrassment ebb back to the sea. I move to question the busty bartender. “P. B. I., Agent Franklin,” Flashing my badge and I.D. “Have you seen this man frequenting this establishment?” I asked, showing her a Hollo-Print of the suspect. And to my surprise she says, “Yep, he's a regular, shows up once a week. He always sits at the same table over there by the grand piano. So, what’s the guy done?” “It would be best not to concern yourself, Ma’am. And when do you expect him to show up again?” “Well let me see, If I’m not mistaken, it's been nine Earth days, that would make it tomorrow evening, Decadi.” Perfection takes ten sidereal days to complete a full rotation. The days are: Primidi, Duodi, Tridi, Quartidi, Quintidi, Sextidi, Septidi, Octidi, Nonidi and Decadi. “This must be our lucky day Friday; in twenty-four hours we’ll catch this psycho!” “That’s great news, so what’s the plan, Franklin, do we grab him before or after he enters the saloon?” “After, I’ll pass myself off as the evening’s entertainment by playing the Steinway. Then wait for Holmes to show and take a seat at his favorite table. The enclosed space of the saloon will limit his possible escape. And Friday, I'll need you to track the operation as it goes down. Now partner, please be so kind, and come pick me up.” >>>><<<< 2276 — Decadi — New Texas at the OK Corral Saloon The nights on Perfection are as hot as they are during the day; absent the light, or in a downpour like tonight. The packed saloon has patrons standing outside getting wet. This doesn't stop them from enjoying themselves. And with luck, nor will it stop our killer. I’ve now played the ‘Piano Man’ five times and still no sign of Holmes. “Well Franklin, it's been eight hours now, do you think someone tipped him off?” “Doubt it Friday, serial killers are creatures of habit, he’ll show. You know Friday, I’ve been with the bureau now forty-two years, and have served under Chief Isaac sixteen of those. And not once has the chief ordered me off-world on such an important, high-profile case. So, you see, I can’t—won’t let him down.” “You won’t, Franklin—we won’t let that happen.” “Thanks, you're the best partner a Level-One simulacrum could ever… wait a sec—the bartender is signaling. Reading her lips—Holmes!” I watch Holmes as he makes his way through the crowd and towards his favorite table. He pulls out a chair and sits. A pool of water forms at his feet. The bartender places a shot glass and bottle on the table. He slaps her bottom as she walks away. Pouring himself a shot, he tilts his head back, swilling its contents. I stop playing, walk over and stand behind him. I then place my hand on his shoulder and say, “P. B. I.—Holmes, you are under…” Swilling another round, he turns his head to look straight at me. Why is he grinning? Standing, he strikes me with a left across the face; shooting me through the piano—splitting it in two. He then bolts out the way he came in; knocking over patrons as he goes. I give chase, but the rain and the crowd don’t help. I’ve lost him. “Friday, what the hell! I’m as strong as four men, but he was stronger—how?” “Searching… you won’t believe this; it was the drink. It’s called juice. It's distilled from an indigenous plant that endows the locals with enormous strength. But its effects are momentary.” “That would explain how he committed the murders using his hands. I’ll be ready for him when we next meet. Now Friday, are you picking up the tracker I placed on his shoulder?” “Yes, partner, reading the signal loud and clear. Holmes is heading towards the outskirts of town… I’m coming to get you.” >>>><<<< 2276 — Fiat justitia ruat caelum We find Holmes hiding inside an abandoned structure. So we wait for him to make a move. He won't escape a second time. “Franklin, detecting an ignition signature, he's making his escape!” His ship blasts a hole in the roof as it ascends. We give chase. Within minutes, both vessels break free of Perfection's atmosphere. Holmes's ship is smaller and faster and stays ahead of ours as we continue the pursuit. “Friday, do you see what I see?” Ahead of us is a black hole. A black hole we had not detected on our arrival. Now the truth of why Holmes did not age comes to light. “Franklin, if Holmes moves his ship any closer to the black holes' event horizon, we will not be able to apprehend him. And he will not be able to escape the black hole’s gravity.” “Well then Friday, fiat justitia ruat caelum. Now hail his vessel.” “Let justice be done though the heavens fall? Ah understood Franklin, hailing.” “This is Special Agent Franklin of the P.B.I., shut down your engines and prepare for boarding!” “Franklin, he isn’t responding and has now pushed his vessel into the event horizon.” “Well, my girl Friday, this case is now closed.


There she was, again. For years I've seen her sitting on that bench, as I make my way to work, crossing this park. It's funny, we've never actually greeted each others, let alone speak, but I have this feeling that we both notice each others. One cold morning I poured my coffee down the drain and made my way outside, to be greeted by a morning mist, a sort of shapeless guardian of time, fighting the sun to keep this peculiar moment, called crepuscule, going. Well, I felt minuscule, as I walked across the road, these dark fluffy clouds hovering over the very city I've lived in all my life. I made small talk with the chicken, on the other side of the road, exchanging pleasantries. ME ''How are the kids'' CHICKEN ''They're just fine, still in their eggs and all'' ME ''Well, say hello to the wife will ya friend'' CHICKEN “Will not, since a fox got to her last week, gruesome affair'' ME ''Sad to hear it, good day'' CHICKEN ''Same to you, watch for the geese'' As I tucked my icicles in my pockets, I realised that I was laughing like a mad person, completely lost in my mind, walking. Making my way under the tall trees, I entered the park. In these trees were big-nosed monkeys, hurling rocks and branches at passerby. As I pass the biggest one, I avoid eye contact and start hollering, filling the crisp air of an absurd, primal music. Soon enough the monkeys got down from the trees and started to walk, as people do, stopping and pretending to talk. The big-nosed one stayed on his branch and clapped his hands, then I kissed his ring. Blessed by his majesty the Prime minister of the big tree, I kept on walking my merry way. My mind kept trying to focus on the upcoming day at work, but such thoughts could wait a few more minutes. As I turned to the left at a park highway, a flock of cyclists passed me on the left, at incredible speed. All of them had the standard Spandex suit, with the helmet and sunglasses. One yelled something as he passed me by, making these intricate movements with his arms, as if I were to understand some bodily cyclist language. After a few minutes the flock thinned. The last one I saw was a pig on a unicycle, struggling to keep up with even the slowest of the flock. I pushed him down and, ignoring his screeching of panic I laid my judgment upon him, taking its pathetic life, to the blind eye of many witnesses. Cleaning my hands on a nearby bush, I was ecstatic. My white tie was stained with the invisible blood of a non-existent animal that I slain without pity, yet my mind was in complete ebullition. Above me was hovering one of the biggest dragonfly I'd ever seen, and I've seen at least two in my twenty-four years on this earth. In one swift move its wing began flapping in a noisy way, and it stood still, a few meters above the ground. Its wings were so noisy in fact that I couldn't hear anything else, neither the chirping of the harpies nor the screams of agony of the ants. The dragonfly flew away, seemingly disinterested by my humble presence. The deafening silence made way to a symphony of nature's most mundane noises. Only to be interrupted by a soloist, performing the lacrimosia. I had completely forgot her. There she was, again. Sitting on that bench. But today she was crying, and she wasn't alone. Seeing her in such an emotional state took me completely off guard. I must've had such a concerned face, which is funny since we were nothing more than strangers. How I wished I could go sit next to her and comfort her, not as an excuse to finally talk to her, but only for her to not be so sad anymore. As I approached, they didn't even seem to notice me, so focused they were on the corpse on the ground, in front in front of them. I tried to say something, but nothing came to mind. I tried to do something, but nothing came to body. I finally laid there, on the ground in front of them, as the clouds opened their hearts and let forth their tears, much like her. To all I was an unfortunate man, that somehow died while crossing a park. To her, I was this stranger that she never dared talk to. To me, I was a mad person, so deep in my own imagination that I died from it. As I stop breathing, I feel as though this is for the best. I look one last time at her, as I accept my departure from this world. She wasn't crying, she was laughing.


Far into the northern mountains, hidden deep within the snow-covered trees, the warrior clan had made one rare glade into their winter camp. Tents strewn about, warriors of men and women did their part to gather firewood, forage for berries and hunt any wild game that could be found nearby. I had been with Cahal’s clan for nearly three months and while I could now speak in their mother tongue, and even though they saw me as one of their own. Not one of them would allow me to aid them with any chore, at most they would ask me to light a torch and use it to ignite the campfires. Often I had asked why they refused to let me aid them with chores, and the answer was always the same. A thank you followed by comment about how I did not need to help. I was a guest, or that the woman of the clan chieftain needn’t worry about such trivial things. They meant no disrespect of course and I knew that but still… Being among such hard working folk and not needing to lift a finger was quite boring. After being cooped up inside the tent for several hours I had become immensely restless. I had an idea of how I could remmedy my boredom and it would be a good way to kill some time before the evening meal was ready. So I stole my lover’s fur cloak and hurried into the forest. I was glad that the snow didn’t rise higher than my fur boots, otherwise this treck would have been far more difficult. After some time I found myself standing before an ancient tree. Its base was massive and it would easily take half the warriors to form a circle around it. It was wonderful sight, its many strong branches covered by snow, its leaves refusing to budge under the weight. A playful thought came to my mind, one I had not had in many years. Glancing around I knew I was alone and that no creature had yet come to this part of the forest. I strode toward the tree, stopped a few feet from a large root that threatened to burst from the ground. I gave a bow to the ancient Cedar and began to place the cloak along with all of my clothing upon the upturned root. Bare as a newborn babe I turned around and walked away until I was under the edge of the Cedar’s canopy. With a smile, I called upon my magic, I sought after the heat of fire. Just enough to keep me warm. I felt the power of the flames radiating from my belly, like gentle waves crashing onto the shore heat pulsed throughout my form. My arms extended outward from my sides, palms facing upward. My left leg extending forward, then sliding around toward my back. My toes lightly touching the cool snow before diving down to touch the ground hidden beneath. I twirled around to face the tree once more, gave another bow and began to move about in an ancient styled dance. One long lost to the minds of humans. It was a dance of celebration, of life and nature. I moved about to the silent music of the world. I have no doubt that if the faerie folk had been there to watch they would be smiling. To know that they had not been forgotten by all, to see that some of their ancient ways still lived on. I moved about in graceful freedom, with each breeze that came I spun and twirled along with it. If ever I got too close to another tree I would spin and leap back toward the center of my dancing circle. Bouncing from one foot to the other, leaping into the air and twisting about in frantic joy. Skipping around the edge of my circle, arms poised as if I were dancing with another. Laughing and smiling like a fool I became lost to time. Too long had it been since I let my body move about in such freedom. As if giving their applause at my free spirited ways the branches of the trees dipped and swayed. The snow upon their branches dancing down upon the wind that swirled about. Each flake that touched my skin melted away to become one with the earth once more. My curtain of snow only made my dance that much more fun. I recalled a dance I once saw on the road before meeting Cahal and his clan. I stood in place for a moment, hands at my side before hopping on one foot and then the other. A forward leg extension here, a backward one there. To my right then my left, one criss cross here and twirl there followed by another criss cross. The lad had called it a jig I believe, a strange yet fun little dance than many had come to join. I had to admit it was fun to watch but even more to perform. I spun around at the sound of someone whistling. I was greeted by the sight of Cahal, leaning his shoulder against a tree. His head tilted to the side with an amused smile playing across his lips. I had no clue as to how long he had been there, but it mattered little. I gave him a bow and extended one hand toward him as a soft smile crept upon my lips.


It happened in an instant, in less time than it takes to blink. One moment I was just going down the road, minding my own business, trying to act "normal" (whatever that means) so people around me wouldn't feel discomfited. The next, I was deader than dead. Minding my own business... nothing unusual; been doing it all my life. I believe experts call it "masking." On days like that I thanked all past, present, and future gods us humans aren't telepaths. If people took a peek inside my head at any given moment, they'd do any, some, even all of the following: \*. Zone out and/or fall asleep from utter boredom. \*. Have an aneurysm through the whole of their nervous system. \*. Run away crying to their mamas. I've always been unusual, at least according to most people. When I was a kid, Mom would claim my brain was "wired differently" from everyone else's, which is why I was so "peculiar," as she'd put it. As for me, I never quite understood why people thought me "weird" or "different." At any rate, *they* were the ones who deviated from the so-called norm. I'm a simple kind of guy: if I have something to say, I say it with the least number of words possible, then move on once I'm certain my message's been picked up and acted upon accordingly. Likewise, I only need to listen to a statement once in order to comprehend and act as required. On the other hand, most "normies" I've come across need to have things repeated to them at least twice, and even then they're bound to screw up some way or other. Gave me no end of grief growing up, having to speak to freaking grown-ups as if they were toddlers. Some of them got real mad and tanned my hide with their stinking bells. If they'd spend half the time they waste drinking, having one-night stands, and buying junk becoming aware of their surroundings and using those oversized heads of theirs to think for a change, I wouldn't have to debase myself like this. Apologies. Seems I've gone a bit off-topic. Happens all the time. I've been alone most of my life. Mom and Dad were busy working most of the time, so they'd ditch me over at Grandma's when I was an infant. Not that I blame them; I'd ditch me too, if I had the chance. Twenty-odd years or so I carried on like this, doing my utmost to avoid all the usual "triggers," steering clear of people who'd bend my ear if they spotted me rounding a corner. "Smile and wave," Mom used t'say, smile and wave. Don't let them see it, how much they drain you, tax you, vex you, test the limits of that pittance of patience you were allotted with at birth, almost like an afterthought. Don't let them see how much you hate it when they think they can hold you up for hours at an end just because you grew up around them, how much they aggravate you when they believe they can do or say anything to you and get away with it. Smile and wave; smile and wave; wave and smile; wave-smile-and; smile-wave-and/or etc., etc. Point is, I'd had a real lousy day. I'd been having significant trouble sleeping for the past coupla months; my boss had been on my case lots more than usual. Also had to put up with this jock I knew from school, an insufferable little toady who went from dark-haired Adonis to middle-aged washed-up rugby coach in a coupla years. For some reason or other, guy believed ten-plus years of torment and humiliation could be magically wiped away with a tepid "I'm sorry"; after that uninspired sham of a spectacle, he wouldn't stop chatting me up for money or some other nonsense. To think I came perilously close to losing my temper. I wanted to yell at him, tell him to take his uninspired sob stories and sell them to anyone rich, bored, ignorant enough to buy them, but dealing with the aftermath of that would've proven an even bigger waste of time and energy. People, man... you keep explaining yourself to them over and over again with polite language; everything you say goes in one ear, out the other. If you throw a fit, however, they no longer forget: they mark you for life. They call you "difficult," "grouchy," "ornery," "temperamental," "antisocial," all two or three terms that comprise what passes for vocabulary in those mite-filled heads of theirs. Moral of the story: when all else fails, give 'em a tongue-lashing. You may get beaten up or yelled at, but they won't dismiss you so readily from then on. Damn, I did it again! Digressions, man... Uncle Paul said I should've become a lawyer, like him. Back to the day I died. Long story short, I got run over by a speeding vehicle. Don't remember size, make, or any such significant details, save that it was dark red bordering on burgundy. Might as well have been a comet, seeing how it sped by. My whole body was broken, on (figurative) fire for all of a few minutes, then I drifted away and that was that. Didn't even get to shut my eyes beforehand. When I next blinked, I was at... a stable? I figured it had to be one, with the procession of steeds coming and going and whatnot. Strangely enough, those stallions bore six legs rather than the usual four. I looked around everywhere. My surroundings were more than a bit off, to say the least. They seemed "ordinary" enough at surface level, but if you looked close enough you'd realize something wasn't quite kosher, so to speak. "I've been kidnapped!" I said to myself. "I'd better bail before I--" "Good of thee to awaken, young warrior!" A boisterous male voice boomed, echoes reverberating through my wiry frame. Before me stood an elderly man with a white beard, clad in a robe. Wielding a walking staff on the left hand, the visitor bid me follow him outside. We emerged in a torchlit courtyard connecting the stables with the rest of that citadel. The old man insisted I accompanied him some more; I didn't have it in me to refuse. At last we reached a banquet hall of sorts, filled to the brim with burly warriors from all across the Universe, if the countless races and species I beheld were anything to go by. The old man spoke to me again: "I have many names, Young Sir. Thy fellow mortals call me "Odin," among countless others. "Odin!?" I all but froze. At long last my brain caught up with the rest of me. Those weird horses, that strange pack of wolves chasing after strange golden and silvery objects... this place could only be... "Valhalla... the ancient hall of slain warriors!? This... this must be some kind of mistake!" "'Tis no mistake, Young Sir. Hadst thou proved unworthy, thou wouldst not be here." "Worthy!? Worthy of what!? I-I'm just a nerd, a stinking geek! The only battles I've ever fought were against bullies from my old high school, and *those* didn't end well!" "Do not disparage thyself. I and mine have kept thorough chronicles of thine endless struggles against fear and despair, the first and final enemies of Man, from which all others foes are born." "Fear and despair? You mean... depression? Y-Yeah, it's true; had it all my life. Don't see how it makes me worthy of Valhalla, though." "Thou didst fall and stumble, yet thou relented not. Many a day thou couldst have carved thyself thy final rest through bane, noose, or bodkin, yet thou didst none such thing." I thought back on the worst days of my life. That time I was invited to join a fraternity in college, only for them to haze me, kick me square in the nuts, toss me into the mud, and walk away laughing. That time I asked my best friend Lenny out for that stupid school dance, only for him to punch me in the face and get out of my life altogether. That time I did nearly all the work as part of a research team and the head researcher passed it off as his. God, I bawled my eyes out for months! The fact that waste of space got caught and lost his job, titles and awards ten years later wasn't as gratifying as I'd hoped, though. The night I came out to my folks, only for them to tell me to pack my things, leave, and never return. Those fifteen minutes I sat at the railroad... my closest brush with death yet, till now, that is. So I took my seat among such beauteous warriors (the females were quite the lookers, too), ate and drank my fill. I've been here ever since, training, honing my skills. Little do the living know Ragnarök is upon us. Chances are I'll run into my parents, my so-called friends, that day. Good thing their blood isn't worth spilling... \ Originally written for r/WritingPrompts. OG Prompt: "You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought.


I threw a fast and hard right cross. Reverend Hayes evaded it and threw a hook that got past my guard. “Come on Susan, the more basic part of boxing is keeping your hands up.” He said. Boxing was part of my training. Ever since I helped Charles, my deafblind brother who happened to be a vampire, put a stop to Papa Brown and his zombie reign of terror, Reverend Hayes began training me to join the Protectors of Humanity. It was rigorous training that included everything from intense workouts, to boxing, to shooting lessons. It had been just six months, and already, I was at the level of a trained soldier. Doing all that while still having a full time day job made things even more difficult. “That’s enough for tonight.” He said as he started taking off his gloves. “Besides, Charles and I are going to go on a routine patrol?” “Alright, I’ll get ready.” I said. “No you’re not.” He said. “You’ve improved a lot over the past six months, but you’re still not ready for real field work. Especially not on the night of a full moon.” I was starting to get frustrated. Even after everything I’d done, I was still “not ready” for just their regular patrols. “Come on, you guys hardly ever even find anything out of the ordinary on your runs.” “Yes, but when we do, it’s dangerous.” Reverend Hayes continued. “So you’re not joining us, end of discussion.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The next day, I went to the church around 6 in the evening. My training wouldn’t start until 7 (we were doing knives that day), but I was hoping to see Charles for a little bit. I had mastered the basics of tactile sign language, and could not communicate with him. We could even play chess together on his specially made braille chess board. But that day, when I went into the church to see him, I could tell there was going be to no time to play chess. I went upstairs to his quarters, and saw him lying on his bed, covered in scratches and bruises. “MY GOD!” I shouted. “Don’t be afraid.” Reverend Hayes said. “He’ll be alright, he just needs a few more nights to heal.” “What happened?” I asked. “Susan, please stop shouting. He can sense the vibrations of your…” “What happened?” I asked, louder this time. “Last night, we had an encounter with a werewolf.” He answered. “It was in the middle of eating a woman over on Broughton Street.” “Charles tried to fight it, only to find himself quickly overpowered. I managed to scare it off with my handgun, but killing a werewolf without silver bullets is very difficult.” “It’s not impossible, but werewolves quickly heal from anything not made of silver, killing one with regular bullets almost always requires a clean shot to the brain or heart.” “THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU HAVE SILVER BULLETS!” I shouted. “Susan, I’m sorry.” He said. “You’re right, I should’ve been more prepared, especially on the night of a full moon.” I composed myself and said “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” “Your brother’s hurt, it’s natural for you to be emotional right now.” “What can we do?” “Not much we can do until the next full moon.” Reverend Hayes said. “By then, he should be healed up nicely, and we can resume our hunt. Now that Charles knows what he smells like, there’s nowhere in Savannah where the werewolf can hide.” “Good, it’ll stand no chance against the three of us.” Before Reverend Hayes could reply to that, I said “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go out with him alone on the next full moon. If he’s in any real danger, I need to be there to protect him.” “Very well.” Reverend Hayes said. “Once tomorrow’s training begins, I’ll begin training you to kill werewolves.” \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The next day, we met at an outdoor shooting range outside of city limits. Officially, it was closed for the night, but Reverend Hayes apparently has wealthy connections within the Protectors of Humanity, he could slide a little extra money towards the owners to keep it open just for him after regular hours. “Like I told you yesterday, werewolves heal quickly.” Reverend Hayes said. “Which makes them difficult to kill with anything other than clean shots to the brain or heart.” “That is, unless you use silver.” He said as he reached into his ammo bag and pulled out a silver bullet. “Silver is the only known substance that werewolves cannot heal from.” He explained. “Unfortunately, I only have four silver bullets in stock, and more would have to be on backorder for months. So for now, we’ll train with regular lead bullets.” He loaded his Savage M1907 semi automatic pistol and handed it to me. “See those targets out there?” He asked. “Well, yeah.” I said with a hint of sarcasm. The field was lit up, how could I not see them? “Well, not anymore.” He said. He then flipped a switch, and killed the lights. Now, the only way I could make out the targets was their vague silhouettes in the moonlight. “I’m sorry Susan, but it’s time you learned to shoot in the darkness.” He said. “When we finally catch our werewolf, we may not have street lights around to make him an easy target.” The gun held 9 rounds, and there were three targets in the firing lane. If I landed even one in three shots, I’d have hit them. But instead, I hit…zero. If there were daylight, I could’ve shot fine, but at night, I could barely shoot straight. After I fired all my shots, Reverend Hayes turned the lights back on to reveal that I landed a total of zero. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” He said. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The only good part of our situation was that we had a full week to prepare for the next full moon. And by then, I was a lot more prepared. By then, I could fire in complete darkness. Even if it was pitch black, I could hit a target if all I could do was hear it. Reverend Hayes setup six wind chimes out in the shooting lane, and even with no light (not even the moon), I could still hit them all just by listening carefully. “Excellent.” Reverend Hayes commented. “You’re ready to hunt the werewolf with us tomorrow.” “Thanks.” I said. I was gonna go on that hunt whether he gave me permission or not, but it was nice to know I wasn’t even going to have to ask. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ The next evening, we prepared. Reverend Hayes prepared two revolvers; his had four silver bullets, mine had two. But the other chambers were all loaded with regular bullets. “It’s very simple; if you have to use lead, aim for the head.” He reminded me. “Or the heart.” I replied. “Yes, but that doesn’t rhyme.” He retorted. Once the moon went full, Reverend Hayes approached Charles and communicated with him using tactile sign language. “Are…you…ready?” He said out loud for my sake. Charles then approached a window, and sniffed the air a few times. Now, I’d done a lot of reading on supernatural creatures (Reverend Hayes made me) and all the books say that vampires have the best sense of healing in the animal kingdom. And I don’t think most books account for vampires who’ve been dependent on their sense of smell their whole life. If the werewolf was still anywhere in Savannah, he could find it. It took Charles just seconds to signal to us that he had a lock on the werewolf. “Come, we may not have much time.” Reverend Hayes said as we hastened our way out of the church. “The werewolf could take another victim any moment.” We ran several blocks without stopping. A normal person might’ve been exhausted, but the two of us were in good enough shape to make the trek just fine, even while taking turns supporting Charles (in his bat form) on our arms. After just about eight minutes or so, we found the werewolf feasting on an elderly woman it just killed. When Charles smelled that we were close, he transformed back into his vampire form, and went to once again confront the wolf. The werewolf began to charge at Charles, and Reverend Hayes opened fire. I couldn’t tell how many of his shots landed, but it clearly wasn’t enough to stop it. The beast still rammed into Charles, knocking him against a wall. Charles fought back; he clawed at its face and bit into its arm, but still, the werewolf was just too strong for him. I then stepped in closer to fire, but Reverend Hayes stopped me. “At this range, you could hit Charles.” He said. But I wasn’t content to simply wait. I grabbed my knife and went to charge at the werewolf head on. “NO!” Reverend Hayes shouted, but he wasn’t going to change my mind. I wasn’t going to let my brother die. I ran up to the werewolf, and stabbed it in the back. It then dropped Charles and turned its attention to me. It swung around and wiped me in the side of my face with its paw. I then quickly pulled out my revolver and shot it twice, hitting it in the chest both times. While I clearly did a lot of damage, I didn’t quite kill it. And unfortunately, it was right in front of me. Now that the werewolf was weaker, it was a much more even fight for Charles. Charles slashed at its leg, crippling the wolf with a single blow. Then, he felt its face until he found its eyes, and gouged them out. While the wolf howled in pain, Charles went for the neck. It took just three bloody bites for him to finally kill the wolf, stopping it’s reign of terror for good. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ “That was incredibly brave of you.” Reverend Hayes said while he administered a lycanthropy shot. While it was unlikely that I got infected, as the wolf didn’t bite me, he felt that just to be safe, he should give me a shot. “I couldn’t let it kill Charles.” I said. “Very admirable of you.” the Reverend said. “I think you have a very bright future among the Protectors of Humanity.