They say that we are all the heroes of our own stories, but I'd beg to differ. What if we were made to be the sidekick for other's success stories? I thought this was kind of stupid too, until I began to really think about it and reflect on my life. I began to find similarities between my story and Joey's from Yugioh or Brock from Pokémon; yes, I had my own accomplishments but ultimately, I couldn’t see the direction I needed to go in to complete my story, I just seem to be floating around hopping from story to story helping others on their quest with no clear end game for me. My name is Caleb Dudley, I'm a 20-year-old Male living in Florida and this is the story of how I became a sidekick. I started my life as most American kids do; going to school, making friends and not caring about anything except when P.E was. I went to multiple nice schools, not really fitting in anywhere, I was always the outsider, the expendable kid. Not only was I aggressive to my teachers/school staff, there were very few people I really trusted. Looking back at it now I’d say it was because my father wasn’t there much, and my step dad influenced my mother to create a abusive household- hell on earth in the middle of a suburb. I think the only thing that kept me from truly snapping was my childhood best friend Vikram. I can’t thank him enough for keeping me grounded in some of the hardest times of my life. I can see that he was the first hero I became the sidekick for. He was the brains and I was the brawn, we were unstoppable in anything we did. In 4th grade my mother moved us to San Antonio Texas for her work, away from my friends and from my dad I had nothing. This is where I had to develop myself; something snapped in me and I suddenly stopped being aggressive and I stopped crying but I still felt alone. I did find new friends but I knew they only befriended me because I was an outsider and an outsider I would continue to be. 5th grade we moved back to Florida where I attended my old elementary school and was accepted into a International Baccalaureate middle school. This school was supposed to be a government implemented program where they take “gifted” kids from all over the city and put them in a school in the middle of bad neighborhoods. To me things were looking up, we moved back into our old house, I had my friends again and I had my hero again to help me through my shitty living situation. This all came crashing down when I started middle school. See because I had to go to this neighborhood for school I spent about 4 hours of my day on a bus with other kids, both in middle school and high school, in my situation. I thought everything was going great; the same kids who knew about my troubled elementary school years were going to the local middle school, so this was a clean slate. My feelings were affirmed when I started school, for reasons unknown I became the class clown and everyone knew me as such. By 8th grade I was on top of the school, I even became close with most of the cliques in the school; being the glue that made our class so close. This, unfortunately, became the only happiness I had in my life at the time. My best friend, being 2 years older than me and having strict parents, was busy making the most of his high school years, destined to do great things as any hero should. The 4 hours I spent on the bus everyday became my 2nd hell but was also where I met my 2nd hero. My bus ride was where I was bullied almost every single day, they couldn’t make fun of my clothes because there was a uniform requirement at my school but they made fun of everything else they could, sometimes even resorting to physical violence. To this day I hate thinking about my time on that bus. I was ultimately the damsel in distress, which is where my hero came into play. In 8th grade a new high schooler rode our bus named Valarie, just by talking to her you could tell she was a social outcast, just the person to not give a fuck about others opinions. She became my new hero, someone who would help me through 8th grade and protect me from the kids on the bus while I became her sidekick, someone who would be there to talk to her and make her laugh. You probably get the point by now: I remain a social outcast, I get bullied some more, I find a new hero, I move, repeat. You’re probably bored with this post by now and I don’t blame you. This looks like one big sob story to be honest. I guess the only reason I made this was to warn everyone to not be a sidekick like me. I need help, I need a new hero.


Travel to one of the most amazing collection of planetary vacation opportunities you will ever have a chance to see. The **Telix planetary system** is comprised of eight roughly earth sized planets, three with breathable atmospheres. With a little something for every one, you are sure to find the beauty and excitement that is the **Telixian** experience. Owned and operated by **United Container** the leader in commercial storage for more than 400 years, some of the **Telix** system has been adapted to a luxury resort for recreational travel. Set up a consultation for your visit as soon as you can. Shuttles leave from **The UC** Starbace every standard day. The **Telixian** star is almost identical to the Earth sun in almost every way. Being a short, 37 Standard L.Y. trip from Earth, you can be at the **UC Starbace** in less than one standard month. And it is only 14 Standard L.Y. from Venaos. Telix is a rare gem. **Telix 1** One of the most desolate, bleak and driest places in the known galaxy. Used mostly for long term storage, **Telix 1** has no detectable weather of any kind. It is a smooth spherical planet with a hard featureless sandstone like surface. It is described article in *Planet Hopper's guide*: "Places I Wish I Never Went" , as "*a giant gray ball monotony broken up by storage containers*." It is utterly devoid of any life other than the company employees heavily suited up in hazardous environmental equipment. Some extreme sports enthusiasts still travel there to experience the sport of container jumping in the two thirds Earth gravity. Over 400 deaths are reported per standard year, although body retrieval is not always possible. Sand storms will blow at some 100 km for up to one standard day, then stop for no apparent reason. The sand, being made of sharp micro silica particles often polishes everything metallic to a high luster , leaving it gleaming in the glow of the terrain. Container delivery is a constant source of exhaust gases. Making the planet's atmosphere forever unbreathable. Yet the glow of the fire trails of incoming and out going deliveries against the night sky is said to be an amazing sight, and well worth the trip alone. **Telix 2** , In contrast to the previous, this is a planet with an abundance of plant life. Yet, early archeological excavations have found only six different species of animal fossils on the entire planet. Only two surviving species are left on the surface of this lush world. The Zotten is a heavily scaled, seven armed vertebrate having one large center aligned mouth. It averages some three meters in height. Having an obnoxious smell, and making a loud sound as they move through the forest of vegetation feeding on plant life. It strips plant life continually stuffing it into it's mouth in a blur of speed. Listed as the most obnoxious organism ever discovered in Adventures in Space Travels, the Zotten do not fair well in captivity due to a high metabolize rate. The last attempt died in transit to the offworld zoological park, before it could be loaded for travel, from starvation. Their mating season is only five minutes , ever two standard years. This keeps the population down for this voracious eater that would otherwise strip the planet to a desert. They lay one egg per mating season. The second species is a small fur covered disc shaped creature averaging one half meter in diameter called a Gob. Lacking any mobility of their own, a Gob has a very low metabolize rate to avoid starvation. A gob may spend most of it's life never coming in contact with another of it's own kind. The continued existence of the gob species is thought to be directly due to the zotten's eating habits. Gobs have a very bitter taste to zotten. As a hungry zotten shoves almost everything into it's mouth while passing through, gobs are also picked up. A zotten will spit a gob up to half of a kilometer upon tasting one. Travelers baring the noise and smell can delight at the fantastic sight of the flinging of the gobs as infuriated zotten spit them in all directions. It has been theorized that all other animal life forms have either been trampled to death or died of shock. Fossels of early life forms appear to have a shocked look to them. **Telix 3** A world covered entirely with ocean. Surprisingly, it is crystal clear and has a purity that revels any body of water yet found. The diverse life forms found in the water are very delicate, and are all invertebrates. The average water depth is twenty meters. Although there are fourteen moons around **Telix 3**, there is no noticeable tidal effect on the planet wide sea. **Telix 3** is also the the only planet in the system with moons. A scientific observation station was placed on the planet over fifty standard years ago. To avoid contamination supplies as well as personnel exchange is handled by electromagnetic rail sling, and capture. A famous contamination leak of cooling fluid took place some 10 standard years ago. The cost for containment and clean up had almost put United Container out of business, threatening to shut down the very productive **Telix 1** operations. There is of course a permanent ban on all travel to this planet to anyone with out science clearance. Illegal exportation of any of the indigenous life form of **Telix 3** is punishable by life imprisonment . One poacher was caught off world selling a Dieso, which is an organism similar to an earth Jelly fish. It has a neurotoxin that can kill most of the current population of Earth, per micro gram. Dieso carry on average up to four litters of a two part mix that becomes the toxin when frightened. **Telix 4** A frozen world, with snowy mountainous terrain, for winter sports with out end. The snow never ends, but in a scenic calm. There are no blizzards, or oceans on **Telix 4**. Every winter sport that has every been thought of is here, and waiting for you to enjoy. There are over 400 U.C. hotels with connecting high-speed rail . **Telix 5 through 8** These are gas planets and are only useful for scientific observation. Prior approval is needed before travel in U.C. rated craft to observe them. Inquire about rates, and reservations. **United Container , 2189** *At U.C.


(WP) Evil Lives Here When the Gavindales lost their oldest child, a young woman named Diana, the neighborhood banded together to find her, her parents and brothers praying that they would find her alive, unharmed. The search for one of the community’s brightest stars continued for more than a year, and eventually, everyone lost interest, distracted by the latest instance of scandal. But the family had never healed from their loss; Mrs. Gavindale held a press conference, begging whoever had taken her little girl to return her to where she belonged. Milk cartons, a special on the local news station, radio talks; everything they’d tried hadn’t worked. But still, they refused to give up. “I know Diana is out there, alive. I don’t know how to explain it,” Alicia murmured to her friends, still a beauty even after two years had passed. “She will return to us, I know it.” \*\* Mrs. Gavindale was on the porch, indulging in her after-dinner cigarette, when a police car pulled up in front of the house, lights painting the young woman’s face blue and red. An officer in uniform stepped out of the car, and a shadow followed, hidden by the man’s bulk. “Good evening, ma’am. Is this the house of the Gavindale family?” “Yes, officer,” The housewife replied, her face obscured by a thick, gray cloud of fragrant smoke. “Is everything all right?” “I bring your family good news, ma’am. It’s your daughter, Diana. I’ve come to give her back to you. The poor thing was as cold as death, and we fed her a meal and had her take a shower before she came home.” Diana stepped into the light, silent, staring at Mrs. Gavindale. “Mom… I’m home.” \*\* The silence of my night was shattered by the sound of the front door closing with a bang; I was engrossed in a book I was reading, and dropped it on my bed. “Heather! Heather, your sister’s home!” My mother’s joyful shriek hung in the air, and it took me a moment to process what she said. Diana? Diana was home? After two years of God knew what? I didn’t know what to think. “Heather, come down here!” “I’m coming, Mom!” I called back, exiting my room and walking down the stairs. There was no denying it, now that we were face to face. This was indeed my sister, the one I’d worshipped and admired my whole life. But when she looked up at me, her eyes were holes boring in my face, and her dark hair was in a long, sleek braid, her olive skin bruised around the wrists. When she noticed I was looking, she anxiously pulled down the sleeve of the thin jacket she was wearing, despite the cold. Mom, meanwhile, was busy brushing tears from her face, smiling benevolently. “I always knew you would come home to us. Where have you been all this time, Diana? Why didn’t you call us? We… We thought you were dead!” “I… I met someone,” Diana replied, and she smiled at our mother; her eyes darted to me, and they flashed bright red. “And I got distracted.” “We can talk about where you’ve been later.” Mom said, brushing away the weak excuses like she was swatting at a particularly bothersome fly. The night seemed to pass in a blur; though Diana had eaten already, and had said as much, Mom insisted on cooking dinner for us, and she refused to let either of us out of her sight until close to bedtime. Diana snuck out of her room and stood at the threshold of mine, peering in with eyes that were curious, even hungry. “Long time no see, sis,” She said, smirking at me. “How have you been doing these past couple years? Got a job, a boyfriend?” “You’re the one who decided to run off to God knows where without telling anyone, Di,” I replied, on my guard. I wasn’t sure why, but this was not my sister; an impostor, somehow, but I didn’t dare say it, not until I had more proof. Diana shrugged. “So a girl isn’t allowed to grow up? Come on, Heather.” Her sleeve slipped upwards again, and she frowned, her brow knitting. Before she could grab her sleeve, I spotted a bright green four-leaf clover on her wrist. “Do you have a tattoo?” I asked her, incredulous. That cemented it in my mind; this was not my sister. Diana had always hated tattoos, and hadn’t been shy about making it known, either. “It’s none of your business, Heather. You’re a kid. You wouldn’t understand.” “You’re so full of shit, Di. You may have fooled Mom, but you can’t fool me.” “Not exactly the warmest welcome, little sister. I would’ve thought you’d be happy to see me.” “I would be, if you were really my sister.” I shot back, walking over to her and looking down at her; I felt a bit of spiteful pride, that I was a few inches taller than she was. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, but you’re not Diana. My sister hates tattoos.” There was a tense, pregnant pause, and then the thing taking my sister’s body for a ride smirked so widely that her eyes became mere slits. “What do you know? A human who actually pays attention. Messing with you will be fun.” I’d never believed in things like angels, demons, or God; they were distant, arbitrary ideas that had little to do with me; our family was not religious. But for the first time, a dark, cold flame was born in my heart, turning my blood to ice. “Well, good night, little sis. And remember… This is our little secret.” The monster put my sister’s hand to her lips, and my throat closed up; I was unable to speak.


What I am about to relate may come across as the ravings of a madman. At the very least, it might seem like the whimsy of a lonely daydreamer. In all fairness, I wouldn’t ordinarily believe it myself but I swear, every single word of this earnest account is true. While reading my testimony, you may feel it is a farcical fantasy or mischievous hoax. It is not. I am trapped in a place ‘neither here nor there’. I simply ask that you consider all of the details with an open mind. Scientists have long believed other dimensions and parallel universes could exist. What I stumbled across floating high in the sky above a local mountain deserves no less logic or consideration. Driving home a few nights ago, I was stunned to see a rugged mountain range, up ahead in the distance. It was incredibly high in elevation and covered in alpine snow caps. While I know of several quaint ‘mountains’ in the area, none of them are nearly as majestic as the one that loomed right in front of me. It was massive and had breathtaking peaks and glacial-carved valleys, down below. Honestly, it was so surprising I did a double take. It didn’t seem possible for such an epic wonder of nature to be so close to my home, unbeknown to me. I’d made the same drive a hundred times before and never saw it. Upon closer inspection however, I realized it was really just an optical illusion. A nebulous cluster of clouds were perched relatively low in the horizon. They tricked my eyes into believing the real mountain beneath it was infinitely taller than it actually was. The top of the ridge-line was so obscured by a thick blanket of fog that it appeared there was a frosty snowcap, perched thousands of feet higher up in altitude. I smiled at the coincidental camouflage that initial misled me and continued on home. The thought of such magnificent terrain nestled way up in the clouds started me to thinking. ‘What if?’ It was a wonderful, albeit temporary escape from my mundane personal life. I spent a few more moments on the grandiose idea of scaling the ice-shrouded behemoth and then moved on to more practical matters. Admittedly, I didn’t give it another thought until my routine commute back home the following night. The stunning topographical illusion was back again and if anything, it looked even more breathtaking than the first time. I marveled at how alluring and charismatic it appeared but obviously I knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be; yet it looked as solid as the pavement beneath my tires. There were no mountains of that splendor for over a thousand miles but I was still hypnotized by it’s deceptive lure. Nightfall was still two hours away. I entertained the fanciful notion of driving toward it, just to see when the mirage would fade. I had nothing better to do. Back and forth I went in my mind ‘for’ and ‘against’ the idea. When I approached the crossroads of my planned destination and the route to the mountain, I made the whimsical (and regretful) decision to change course and head straight toward the seductive ‘peak’. Of course I was driving toward an actually mountain a few miles away but the difference in height of what I saw was ‘night and day’. I’d been to the top of John’s Mountain many times but honestly, it was little more than a ‘molehill’ in comparison to the stunning phantom monolith I was drawn to. The imaginary extension dwarfed the modest real mountain below that I was used to seeing. At some point I knew the blacktop would end and the rocky illusion would fade away. I guess I just had to see it for myself. I knew the road well enough leading to the top but the extra heavy cloud-cover present created an additional level of confusion. Some curves in the highway were less familiar than others. Many of the caution signs seemed new. Once I reached the true summit of John’s Mountain, I expected the winding roadway to continue back down to the other side. Surprisingly, the rugged asphalt just kept going upward. From that pivotal point forward, everything I saw was completely new. The sensation of driving on a road I knew didn’t exist was absolutely terrifying. It felt like my car was going to careen off a jagged cliff at any second. I expected to plummet to my death but I still kept going anyway. It was a bit like descending down an endless flight of stairs in total darkness. Each moment forward into the journey required a substantial level of faith that I didn’t possess. Despite my reluctance, I elected to trust what my eyes saw over what I knew to be true. The full juxtaposition of truth and fantasy was mind-numbing. Amazingly, I drove up a mountain incline I knew had actually ended many miles back. My car continued up the winding lane and I took in the phantom scenery as if it were real. Slowly as I climbed in altitude, the lush vegetation gave way to frost and then heavy snowfall. My car didn’t have winter tires installed but in light of the total lack of reality I was experiencing, I didn’t believe it mattered. Everything was a stark-raving hallucination as far as I was concerned. It had to be. I was almost tempted to sit back and let the mirage take me where it wanted to go but I also felt a gnawing need to maintain some semblance of control. Steering the wheel offered me that illusion. The scenery going forward was fantastically picturesque but what I saw in my rearview mirror turned my blood to ice. The road behind me slowly dissolved into a misty haze of nothingness! There was nowhere to turn the car around, and no place left to return to, apparently. I was on a one-way excursion to the top of a phantom peak in the foggy realm of unexplained fantasy. Of course I could have just stopped the vehicle but that wasn’t going to be a long-term solution. I was in the middle of a postcard-like fairy-tale odyssey. I kept weaving around the mountain road through the frigid wilderness, hoping it eventually led back down to reality at some point. It didn’t. Then I reached the end of the line. The narrow wheel ruts I’d been straddling in the virgin snow for the past few minutes ended. I judged myself to be at least a thousand feet from the summit. I watched in horror as the clouds completely sanitized my path. The entire road and all evidence of my trek ‘evaporated’. It was as if I’d always been in this frozen wasteland. I was ill prepared to travel on foot in permafrost but I did have a blanket to wrap around me and some hiking boots in the trunk. It made survival at least temporarily possible. I don’t know what fantasy dimension of Hell this is, but I still have hope it intersects with the real world at some point. I’m sending this urgent plea for help via my cell phone. I have the modest shelter of my car and some food and basic supplies. Perhaps a rescue helicopter can fly up here and free me from this icy hell before I become permanently entombed.


\ “This is it”, Eugene thought. He has succeeded the impossible, what hundreds of others before him had attempted, but all failed. Eugene drew his sword from out of the monsters body. He had passed all the obstacles in his way to his destination. He had reached the door of eternal life. Inside was the secret to immortality. Oh, all the things he would do with immortality. He would no longer fear the ever creeping hand of death, he would travel for all eternity, discovering all that there is to discover. As he went to the door to the final room, he thought of all what he had to do; slay hundreds of monsters, pass perilous traps, face his greatest fears. And now, finally, he would get his reward, he will be immortal, he shall be a true hero. Bards and minstrels would sing of his great deeds for decades ahead. He opened the door, held his breath and looked inside. To his surprise, it was a small and simple room, not bigger then 10 meters in any dimension. it was very plain, the walls were all made of stone and there seemed to Eugene nothing in it at all. As he looked around, he suddenly noticed there was a man looking at him in surprise. The man seemed ancient, his skin all wrinkly and pale. He was extremely skinny, almost as if he was just skin put over some bones. He looked into his eyes, they seemed cold and lifeless. “you must be the final guardian to immortality” said Eugene. “i guess you could say that, in a way” said the old man. Eugene drew his sword out of its sheath and advanced over to the man. “May the best man win.” He charged at the old man, and the man just kept staring at him with his unfeeling eyes, not doing anything to evade the attack. He slashed his sword at him, and to his great surprise, the man did not even flinch, and as the sword connected, it simply bounced off his skin harmlessly. Eugene’s jaw opened in shock at what had happened, all the while as the old man kept on staring into his eyes. Eugene backed away in fear from the old man as he understood that he was not just a mortal man. He had gotten the gift of immortality. Eugene realized he had no chance. The old man began to approach Eugene, and Eugene ran away in fear, going to the door out of the room to flee. But as he tried to open it, he noticed it was locked. He turned back and looked at the man who was still approaching, still staring at him with his cold and lifeless eyes. “Wait! No! Please spare me!”, cried Eugene as the man was barely a meter away from him. “Please don’t kill me”. The man stopped at arm’s length of him and cocked his head to the side a little. Eugene almost cried as he came to the realization that he was going to die at that moment. He closed his eyes and waited for the man to kill him. He started crying as he thought of how pointless it all was, all he did just to die so pathetically. He waited and waited for the blow to come, but it never did. He opened his eyes. The man was standing there, still as a statue as he kept on staring at Eugene. “i do not intend to kill you, lesser one” he said. “Quite to the contrary, in fact.” Eugene stared in disbelief. “Tell me, did you think of what you would do once you were immortal? Did you think about what it truly means?” “Of course”, said Eugene. “I would have wandered the world without having to fear how fragile I am, without the impending touch of death always getting closer and closer.” As Eugene gazed into the old man’s eyes, he thought he saw a bit of remorse in them. “That would be a good plan at first, but what about after 100 years? 200? 1000? Do you think you would still enjoy life as you do now?” “We-well…” Eugene stammered as he tried to think of a response. The old man leaned in a bit closer to him. “Would you enjoy it if you would be here for thousands of years, exhausting all possible ways to spend your time?” The man leaned even closer. “I have been here for so long…. Countless years…. I gained what I thought was the blessing of immortality, but it was a curse. They made it so that he who has received the curse cannot leave this room at all, left here to suffer for eternity. Do you know how many times I have tried to kill myself? Slitting my wrists, hanging myself, trying to suffocate, stabbing myself in the heart…nothing worked…“ Eugene was speechless. The man somehow leaned even closer. ”all this time I had to suffer… so do you see now? This is not a blessing… this is the worst curse anyone can hope to receive.“ the man leaned back a bit. ”do you now understand? Would you like me to open the door so you can go while you still can? “y-yes…” Eugene said. “i am sorry for you, and I wish you the best of luck with your life. I am sorry i cannot help you.” He started to open the door, which was now open. He was going to leave when suddenly the man clasped his wrist. “Oh how I wish it was that simple…” the man pulled Eugene back in. Eugene struggled against him but his grip was like iron. “Now… now you shall carry my burden…” he put his hand on Eugene’s forehead. Eugene then understood what he was going to do. “Wait no! Please don’t!” Cried Eugene. The old man stared at him once again in his eyes. “Now…” he said. “Now I shall be free.” For the first time, Eugene saw something in the old man’s eyes. Instead of the cold, lifeless, unfeeling eyes that once were, there was joy in his eyes. The man smiled and started crying from happiness. The little that was left of his body withered away, and Eugene saw the old man begin dissipate into thin air, with a smile on his face, he looked in peace with himself. Eugene bolted to the door in despair and tried to go through it, but an invisible force kept him within. Eugene fell down on his knees and started crying. Thinking about what was to be… Eugene lied down on his back and continued crying, for what would apparently be an eternity.


A monotone buzz began to scream from an alarm clock into a very carelessly decorated bedroom. *7:45* the clock read as Terry groaned loudly. “Ugh… I thought I unplugged you!” Terry said as he nearly smashed the alarm clock with his hand. Terry climbed out of bed slowly as his eyes adjusted to the light spraying through the window from the bright sun. He yawned as he stumbled through his disgusting home. He rubbed his eyes, his hands rubbing against the many wrinkles on his face. Terry was an older man, around 53 years old. He was never the cheerful type and did not enjoy others company. He loved to complain, and his latest subject was the craze that had swept across the entire world in only a few months. The Changing. The Changing was a very cheap surgery where people could be turned into their favorite characters. Their looks and voice would be changed to be exactly like the character, so many people jumped at the chance to become their heroes. Most people became superheroes or their favorite movie character. Even other famous people got the surgery too! Almost the entire world had been changed after only a month of it being allowed. It was normal to be walking down the street and see Batman sitting alone drinking coffee or Michael Jordan playing basketball in your neighbourhood. Terry never understood the trend and thought it was a waste of someone’s life. He was one of the last original humans, at least in America, and he planned to keep it that way. He walked into his bathroom and stared at the person in the mirror looking back at him. He sighed heavily as he began to brush his teeth, his eyes focusing on the empty bottle of beer in the corner of the room like a monster glaring at him menacingly. He spat into the sink noticing the art gallery of different stains in and around it. Terry stumbled into his room, putting on his work uniform- A blue polo shirt with a small logo in the corner reading, “Terry’s Comics!”, and some jeans. He checked his watch. *8:10.* Terry clutched his car keys tightly as he left his house, slamming the door closed. He hopped into his car and ignored the trash collecting in every crevice of the vehicle. The engine jumped to life surprisingly quickly. Normally Terry would have to hit the dashboard a few times before the car finally started. He prepared himself for the work day ahead as he drove towards the mall. Terry stood behind the counter of his small comic shop. He stared at the people exploring the maze of aisles full of crudely put together displays of comics. He spotted Superman reading the back of a My Little Pony comic book and Sherlock Holmes aggressively eating a hot dog spilling different condiments all over himself. Terry barely contained the laughter building up inside of him. Suddenly, a very buff man wearing a ski mask ran up to the counter holding a knife. “Put all the money in the bag!” The man screamed while shaking the bag rapidly. Terry instinctively swung his hands into the air. “Uh...Okay..Just let me open the cash register..” Terry said nervously while secretly pressing the emergency security button under the counter. Almost immediately 3 large men wearing security uniforms barged into the store. Without hesitation they grabbed the robber and began to drag him out of the store. “Yeah! Don’t you ever try doing something like that again!” Terry yelled to the robber. The man spat on the ground, staring at Terry directly in the eyes. Terry rolled his eyes and continued working. The rest of Terry’s day was terrible. He got constant complaints from his customers about ripped pages in the books they had bought and lots of other bogus problems. Every time Terry would have to say that there was nothing he could do and point to the sign that read “No Refunds” hanging up behind him. The person would usually stomp away angrily or walk out of the store screaming at him. One of the only parts of his job that Terry actually enjoyed was his lunch break but even that went wrong. He ate quietly sitting on a bench outside of his store. Out of nowhere Princess Leia walked by and spilled her coffee all over Terry. “Oh my God! I am so sorry!” She screamed as she tried to clean him up but he stopped her. “It’s fine. I can handle it.” Terry said hiding his anger. He walked away cleaning himself up in the bathroom. At around 7:00, the end of Terry’s work shift, he walked to his car just praying that the day wouldn’t get any worse. He drove out of the parking garage and headed towards Skippy’s Bar. He watched the many people walking along the road, laughing with their friends, and just having a good time. Terry shook his head, disappointed in himself, and parked his car in front of the bar. “Hey Terry! how ya’ doing?” Skippy asked as Terry walked into the bar. He looked around the bar and saw Indiana Jones passed out on one of the tables and Jack Sparrow, The Terminator and Dracula all playing pool together. Skippy, just like Terry, was also one of the last original humans in America. He and Terry had become pretty good friends because of that, but also because they both hated The Changing. “Not very good. Just give me the usual.” Terry said, sitting down at the counter and putting his head down. “Hey man, what’s got you so down?” Skippy asked as he filled a glass full of beer and handed it to Terry. “Just a terrible day at work. It was a nightmare.” Terry replied. “It seems like every day is a terrible day for you Terry. Just remember man, I’m here for you and you can talk to me anytime.” Skippy said as Terry chugged his first beer and burped loudly. Although he wasn’t asked, Skippy slyly handed Terry another glass of beer, which he easily drank. Skippy continued handing him drinks as they talked. “Why can’t The Changing change a person’s personality too. No one can get their character’s personality right! You get me?” Terry said as he pointed at the other men in the bar and both of them started laughing. “Yeah...At least we still got each other.” Skippy said as he wrapped his arm around Terry. “Thanks Skippy. You’ve always been a good friend.” Terry said, mumbling after his 5th drink. “I think I should be going.” Terry said as he stumbled towards the door. “Okay. See you soon.” Skippy said smiling. Terry barely made it out the door because of how drunk he was. He limped out onto the sidewalk, completely forgetting about his car. He walked in the direction of his house, but bumped into two huge bald men wearing black suits and sunglasses. “Hey sorry guys, Hehehe..” Terry said as he fell on the ground. He tried getting up but was punched in the face by the first bodyguard and he passed out instantaneously. Terry woke up with a terrible headache. He groaned as his eyes adjusted to the area around him. He looked down and saw that he was sitting in a wooden chair with leather restraints holding his hands and feet in place. He shook his limbs rapidly trying to set himself free as he screamed for help. He noticed that he was in a small room with walls made of concrete, and there was a metal door closed in front of him. Suddenly, the door swung open and Skippy walked in with the two bodyguards from the night before right behind him. “Hey Terry. How was your sleep?” Skippy said with a sense of madness in his voice. “What is this, Skippy? What’s happening?” Terry yelled, looking around the room rapidly. He visualized the night before trying to remember what had happened, but with no luck. “Well, as you know, The Changing is a worldwide phenomenon now. Almost everyone in America has had the operation done by now. Only a few people are still the originals, including me and you.” He said pointing at himself and Terry. “I want to be the last human. Imagine all the fame and glory of being the only original person, but I can’t have that if you’re still here. I knew there was no convincing you to get the surgery via normal ways so… I had to take matters into my own hands.” He said as he pulled out a large syringe with a strange green liquid inside. “No….No! You can’t do this Skippy! I thought we were friends!” Terry screamed, trying his best to hold back tears. “We were never friends.” Skippy said with no sympathy as he drove the needle directly into Terry’s arm. The two bodyguards held him down as he screamed and thrashed, his voice getting deeper and darker by the second. Terry could feel the fluid running through his body, as if it were a snake venom slowly killing him. He felt muscles begin to grow in his arms and strange bulges cover his entire body. His grey hair began to fall out and his feet doubled in size. Skippy stared at the creature in front of him as it grew and screamed at the same time. Terry was now a very ugly looking goblin, his clothes completely ripped from the transformation and his new self looking nothing like it did five minutes ago. “It is done.” Skippy said as he motioned towards the guards. The bodyguards exited and Skippy waved at Terry while laughing hysterically.


I will always think upon that summer home my parents were renovating as a joyful one. The old cobblestone path that guided my small feet home to the porch of that tall, four story wood cabin. My mother was truly a gifted painter. She touched the wood with a cedar finish that shined brighter during the rain and glowed in the night. My father restructured the home and repaired the old, mold covered wood. His hands alone made it sturdy and strong, while moms made it warm and inviting. I recall playing out under the old white willow tree that stood hundreds of years old and as tall as my young eyes could see. A goliath of nature, there to protect me. It was under that tree I first saw it. When it came to me it was nothing more than a blur behind a bright light. Beckoning me over, I followed it into the woods. It showed me so much. It showed me the pond where frogs hopped, snakes slithered and where crickets sang loudest. The days went by and it showed me so much more. It showed me life being brought into the world, doe giving birth to baby fawn, and it showed me frogs that had died due to a sudden change in weather. As time went on I asked my parents to bring my imaginary friend inside, and they both smiled and laughed and told me "Yes.". They told me my friend wasn't real but they wanted me to enjoy my friend before the summer would end, as we would be back in the city. My friend did not like that. We met under the willow tree late in the night. Its bright, deluded appearance, shrouded in light had less of a glow. I could start to make out small features. My friend had fur and made grunts, I don't think friend was human, but I loved friend so. My friend did not want me to go, instead, offered to keep me here. I told it my parents and I would go back to the city where my friends were, it became so upset. It asked me to follow him into the woods before I left. I did. It took my hand and I his and we made our way into the woods. Friend told me if I followed it into a cave in the hillside, I could stay here with it. I became scared of my friend. My friend grabbed my hand so tight it hurt, when I pulled away from my friend, it dragged me closer to the cave. "You will stay!" it demanded. That's when father came running into the woods. "Get inside!" he cried out in anger. I was so happy to see father. Even despite being upset with me, he could see how scared I was. I told him my friend made me! It dragged me! It betrayed me! My father never said anything, only held me and carried me inside. My Father insisted we finish the home soon, my mother reluctantly agreed. For weeks my former friend never showed. Dad slept during the day but stayed up at night, watching outside. I slept in bed with mother. It was the night of the move, a storm gathered outside, fierce and without scrutiny it shoved trees along and crashed against our summer home. I looked out the window one last time before I would go to bed. I looked over at the old willow tree. It was on fire, burning bright, ashes collecting in the gust torn skies and pieces of my fond memories flying, scattered in the wind. Father ran out to put out the fire, how fast he ran! That's when I saw my friend, and the hate that had grown within. It had hooves covered in black tar and fur full of mange. It stood up right like us, and a face of a goat with horns that curled and bent with menace. It had the torso of a man and the hands of one too, yet its fingers were long and covered with hair, it beckoned me over with haunting pale eyes. I screamed "No!" and slammed the window shut, my mother came running and looked outside in horror. She covered my eyes and pulled me into the closet. She told me to wait here and never make a sound. I stood still and silent, I refused to be found. I could hear its hooves click and then step inside our summer home. It called for me, its voice growling lower with each haunting repeat of my name. I covered my mouth and begged in my mind, praying for it to leave. It re-assured me it was still my friend, it wanted me to come with it out behind the old willow tree. I closed my eyes, refusing its calls, that's when I heard it stomping through the hallway and now in my room. It must have known where I was, it broke through the door with its horrid horns. It punched and kicked, hissed and swore. Why was it so violent? I thought we were friends! "Stay away from our son!" The voice of my mother. "You came once before, now you will leave!" cried out my father. It hissed and stomped, trotted and swore. "I was only a boy when you took me from home. I fought like my son and freed myself of you. So come after me as a man, I promise you'll fail." my mother spoke up, "You'll die a thousand times if you harm a hair on his head!" The creature hissed and snarled, banged and wailed profanities I would not speak. It returned to its cave, back deep beyond the willow tree. My parents have since told me to stay wary of imaginary friends. My father had met it, once my age. He told me how mean the creature was when he refused its hand. He begged me steer clear, never go there. He had not suspected the beast had travelled since last he had seen it. We live in a new cottage now, far from the noises of the city. It doesn't have that willow tree I played under. It's forest is not as vast and the animals outside are so few. But my parents are here, and I feel safest.


Deep in the Herman Hallow Forest, past the Kluen Family Farm and the Galloway Village, sat a little old house on top of a little old hill. Now, in that little old house on that little old hill sat a little old man and his little old wife, Winston and Beatrice McCloy. Little old Winston and little old Beatrice lived very happily in their little old house on their little old hill. They did not have any children in their life together, but that was no problem. They were perfectly content. Winston had worked his young life at his father's mill, and he had spent his adult life running it. Beatrice spent her time mending the villagers' clothing, as well as baking pastries and cooking meals for wives who needed help. There was nothing extraordinary about the couple, and there was nothing extraordinary about their little old house on their little old hill. But one day, when Winston was headed home from bringing Allen Kluen a casserole that Beatrice had made for his family, he stumbled upon a magic flower! It was purple and glowing and had a teeny tiny face on its teeny tiny centre. Winston gasped as he picked up the flower, gently cradling it in his hands. "Don't worry," he said to the flower, "I will take care of you." The flower smiled brightly at him as he gently sprinkled water on its teeny tiny petals. It seemed to bristle in happiness, leaves stretching in the new care it was receiving. "Oh, thank you, mister! I really needed that!" Winston smiled at the flower and cuddled the plant to his face. "Of course! Anything I can do to help!" The flower smiled as it sat up in his palm, saying, "I am not just a flower, sir. I am a magical flower. I can grant you any wish you would like! Just name it!" Winston thought for a moment. He could ask for endless money, and he and Beatrice would never have to work again. But, then again, he liked to work and they made enough money to live comfortably. He could ask for a younger, beautiful wife. But he loved Beatrice with all of his heart. He could ask for a new mansion! But he loved his little old house on his little old hill. He wasn't sure, but he pursed his lips and nodded. "I want to be happy for the rest of my life!" he decided. The flower smiled at him and nodded, saying, "Then all you have to do is kill Beatrice." Winston was horrified! "K-Kill Beatrice? You want me to kill my wife?!" The flower seemed to grow cooler in his hands, its petals darker, yet its smile grew larger. It shrugged. "You said you want to live the rest of your life happily, right? Well, how can you do that with the nagging, free loading, good for nothing wife at your side?" Winston furrowed his eyebrows at the flower. He loved Beatrice! He could never harm a single hair I her head! How dare it speak to him like this! But before he could protest, the flower shrugged again. "But hey, that's up to you. Now that I've told you how to be happy for the rest of your life, I'll go back to being a regular flower until another waters me as you did." Winston was amazed. "If another waters you, they get a wish?" he asked. The flower nodded. "Yes. Until another waters me, I will be a regular flower during the day. At night, I will come to life, but only you will be able to see me move and hear me speak." Winston realised that he could not let this flower fall into the wrong hands. It was an evil flower. But the flower seemed to know what he was thinking and let out a shrill laugh, "You can't kill me, Winston McCloy. I'm magical." "Then I will never let another water you ever again. I will keep you by my side and make sure nobody sees your evil little heart," Winston decided. He tucked the flower in his pocket and headed home." ~ * ~ "Oh! What a lovely little flower!" Beatrice squealed as Winston dropped the flower into a cup of water. So long as the flower was in water, Beatrice would never feel the urge to water it. Winston nodded grimly, wanting to tell his wife to never go near or water the flower. But his little old wife was stubborn and telling her not to do it would only ensure that she did. So he kept quiet. "Where did you find it?" Beatrice asked him. "Just on my way home. What's for dinner?" Winston asked as he started to take his boots and coat off. Beatrice smacked her head in shock. "Oh, I've forgotten to put the ham in the oven! I'm sorry, Winny. It'll be an hour or so before dinner." Winston felt his stomach rumble, and his gaze moved to the flower. He could've sworn it was grinning to at him wickedly. "It's okay, Bea. I can wait." He went to his office, the flower in hand. He set the little cup on the windowsill and sat in his chair, staring at the flower until he was called for dinner. It whispered things to him, things he did not want to think about. He could not live without his wife, even if she was hard headed and stubborn and forgetful. Every morning, Winston changed the water in the cup. Every evening, he listened to its evil little whispers. "She's so annoying. What does she do all day? She's always late on dinner. She has an annoying laugh! Life would be so much better without her. Her head would make a lovely addition to the mantelpiece." Every day, its petals darkened along with his heart. He didn't sit with it at first. Not that it mattered. No matter where he was, he could hear the whisper as if it was directly beside his ear. He started to notice things, as well. Beatrice was clumsy. She was nosy. She made food for everybody and their family, but she never seemed able to have dinner ready on time. She nagged him day in and out about everything, from his shoes in the doorway to being even 5 minutes late. "Winston, you've tracked mud in!" "Winston, you can't be serious about that stench. You need to wash up immediately!" "Winston, why make a pot of coffee if you're just going to drink one cup?" "Must you insist on leaving your hats on the dining table?" "Dinner is running late, Winston, I forgot the marinade in the freezer." "Wash your hands before you eat!" "Did you remember to drop off the casserole at the Kluens'?" "Dinner will be up in a half hour, Winston, the chicken took a while to thaw." "Did you remember to water that flower of yours, Winston?" "Did you buy hand towels like I asked?" "Dinner will be late, Winston. Time just flew by today! Watched my shows, took a nap, and next thing I know, you're home!" "Dinner will be late." "Dinner will be late." "Dinner will be late." ~*~ "Are ready to be happy, Winston?" the flower asked him one night. Hatred had grown and harboured in his heart for the entire fortnight the flower had been with them. But he could not bring himself to murder his own wife. "Please. Please stop. No more," he begged. He was tired. He wanted the whispering to stop. "If you want it to stop, then you know what to do." The flower smiled at him brightly. Winston angrily stormed out and went to sleep, turning his back on Beatrice with her damned cold feet. Icicles seemed to cling to her lower appendages, but his rage kept his body warm as he faded off to a world where he was free from her annoyances. ~*~ The next morning, Winston woke up late. He rushed out of the house to get to his meeting on time. He barely made it with a breath to spare. The time flew by. He kept busy, and he put his all into the presentation. It wasn't until he was headed home afterward that he thought he had forgotten to water the plant. But when he got home, he was happy to see that the water levels were to par. He was pleased that, even in his rush, he remembered to save the world from yet another monster. "Perhaps I just needed a change of perspective. Maybe I was just imagining that stupid little flower due to the stress. That's probably it. There's no such thing as stupid, magic flowers," Winston thought to himself. The meeting had gone well, and he was in a good mood. Beatrice had made dinner early, and he didn't hear the voice at all while he was doting on his wife, happiness flooding his heart once again. He loved her. He could never kill her. He went to bed that night with an empty ear and a full heart. ~*~ "Didja hear about the McCloys?" Allen Kluen asked Boom Trevor at the general store in the village. Boom tilted his head with a half-hearted chuckle. "Did Winston finally get thrown in the pen? Enough bruises and cuts on Beatrice to throw him away for life, but she just had to defend him. Loved him to death." Allen nodded gravely. "To death is right. Winston didn't come to work the last few days. Sheriff went to their house on the hill to look for him." Boom gasped and looked at Allen with wide eyes. He couldn't believe it. His hands shook as he asked, "He did it? He finally killed her?" Allen shook his head. "Actually, they found Winston's head on the kitchen table. Beatrice had cooked his body into a dozen different meals, including casseroles that she had labelled to give to the neighbours. She had been eating him for 3 days. When they found her, she was whispering, 'Happy for the rest of my life.' They say she was putting chunks of his flesh into a little cup with a little purple flower in it." Boom's jaw had dropped. He was astounded. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Allen continued talking, but Boom wasn't really listening anymore. "Yeah, so they took her into custody, and the sheriff gave the flower to his little girl to take care of." Boom still couldn't get over it; little old Beatrice had killed her little old husband in their little old house on their little old hill.


Page 23, commandment 17: ‘Omit needless words.’ ~~I’m a writer~~ I write. At least I try to. As I write to you now, a copy of the *little book* sits before me. A paperweight sits on it, trapping it. Keeping it pinioned, and away from drifting back into my hands. God knows what damage it could do once it gets back there. I first heard of it in my Freshman year ~~of college~~, sitting in the Music Building lounge waiting for my next class when Jason ~~, my roommate of the time, now deceased~~ came crashing in, with the appropriate amount of chaos, announcing to all “Ah shit, I can’t find my Strunk and White.” Everyone else in the room apparently knew what they were talking about, but I sat with a blank stare. ~~I remember asking him about it later. I do not remember his answer, I’m not sure I even listened. I think I was just trying to make conversation - It got quiet at the house.~~ First contact with this good book came in the form of a ~~writing~~ night class I was taking ~~four or~~ five years after that. I remember as the *professor* teaching the class\~\~, a man whose name, coincidentally, was also Jason\~\~ made us write as the spouse of someone lost to 9/11. This was ~~just~~ two nights after it happened – if that doesn’t tell you everything you need to know about him then I’ve omitted one analogy too many. It was also at this ill-fated night class that I met Her. She was small, she was proper, and, within two and a half weeks, she was dating me. I was obsessed with both ~~of them~~, these catalysts to servitude. They were the guiding yokes under which my life was kept straight. She kept me sober. It kept me fashionable. She kept me respectable. It kept me publishable. I owe my greatest achievements to them. ~~Choosing to part with one, and forcing myself to part with the other has likely ruined me.~~ And wherever I went and whatever I did, those two were always on my mind and in my fingers, nudging me towards a more articulate existence. It was that phrase - ‘Omit needless words’ – that I swore by the most. In most of my writing I ended up cutting good one or two fifths of it. Eventually this habit came to me as I wrote, a page became a roiling sea of struck through parts. My writing group always knocked me for that one, back when I submitted ~~the majority of~~ my work as hard copies. I bound myself to the adage, every aspect ~~and component~~ of my life being branded with it~~s virtue~~. I threw out clothes bought only a month ago. I would pawn ~~family~~ heirlooms to revel in the simplicity of the space created. I ~~even~~ went as far to sell off my ~~town~~ house, trading it ~~in~~ for a railroad apartment just half a mile over. All straight lines and strong borders and perfectly uniform. I was doing it right. Now Her: she was one of the last artefacts of my old life. My ~~messy~~ first draft. *~~Dead weight~~*~~.~~ She would chide me for it at first, just the occasional prod when it was just a quirk ~~and nothing more~~. But when I sold the house – I think that’s when she knew something was wrong. She pushed her whole operation up a gear. I could tell she wanted to leave me, but she wanted see it through first. So, if something did happen ~~– something bad –~~ ,she couldn’t feel guilty for not being there. I told her what she was doing was unnecessary, ~~that I didn’t need it,~~ but she wouldn’t’ cut it. ~~She refused to.~~ I think she had grown sentimental to it. ~~She had built so much on it.~~ I saw what it was doing to her and, in turn, to me. She decided for me to be rid of the book I needed a change of place. She had no real family there anyway so we picked up everything and left. We were to go far away. We had always waxed poetic about Maine. We would have a layover in Nevada. Neither of us had been before so she suggested we make the most of it and stay a while, drive through the Mojave, that sort of thing. I went along with it. We touched down, hired a car, and set out into the wastes. ~~I drove.~~ ~~Within a couple of hours~~ We arrived at that place Nevada is most recognised for: Nowhere. She came to me, ~~I think to make the most of the privacy,~~ but I was elsewhere. I looked about ~~the wastes,~~ the emptiness, I basked in it. All was free of wanting. All was with purpose. All was unimprovable. *The elements of style.* It was in this moment, where I stared into the face of the minimal sublime, that the little book returned to me, its teaching back on my mind. Its ~~burning~~ fervour to cut all ballast from me, from my work, from my life back in my fingers. I say I must go back to the car for water. There is no water in the car. I drive off. I leave her there. I leave her there. I leave her there. And you know what the worst part is? I felt guilty. I did not feel guilty for submitting to a book. I did not feel guilty for leaving her in the desert. ~~No.~~ I felt guilty for ruining the desert with her presence - that place that wanted for nothing. *’The Elements of Style,’* Page 23, commandment 17: ‘Omit needless words.’ Take its advice, tear it from your copy and leave it in the desert. But don’t do it in the Mojave - ’The Elements of Style,’ Page 25, commandment 18: ‘Avoid a succession of loose sentences.


Dear Claire. You will never read this. I know that, because you died today. In a car accident on the interstate. Some drunken idiot rammed you into the railing, where you and your father died on impact. I regret that I didn’t say these things to you earlier. If I did, maybe you would be here today, and not in some other place. You know that I don’t believe in heaven, but I’d like to picture you there. With the saints and with your sister. The two of you never got to know each other, but I hope you do now. I should have said this earlier. I love you, Claire. I won’t say that I’ve loved you since the day we met, because that would be a lie. I took me almost two years to see the shining light that is you. Do you remember the party we had this summer? When we drank cider with our friends and stole dad’s scotch when they had left? How we laughed at Pam and Jims wedding? That was the second I knew I loved you. On that couch, seeing Pam and Jim getting married. But I was always a coward. So I waited and waited, tried to get closer to you. And we got closer. You said that I was your only real friend. You know that you are among my closest friend, possibly the closest. Do you remember that time we went water skiing? How I could not for the life of me get up, yet you managed it on the first try. Or maybe the movie we saw, when we weren’t alone. I still felt like we were alone. Like no one else in the universe mattered, in that moment. And what about the first snow of the season? How we were standing outside with our eyes glued to the sky. How I grabbed your hand and you grabbed mine back. I should have said something then. The night when you wanted to talk will always haunt me. How you crept into my bed, way past midnight. How we talked about philosophy and math, movies and books, the future and the past. How we eventually got too tired to talk and just laid there, holding each other. I felt at peace then. The only time in my life that I’ve really felt at peace. If you were here, you would understand. You know how fucked up my life has been. You were the one thing I saw as a way to leave my past life behind. But now you’re gone. Dead, soon to be buried. I’ve bought a suit. Not rented or borrowed, I bought one. It was the suit I was gonna wear to prom. Remember, how you helped me pick it out. It was gonna be a surprise that I bought it. I looked forward to it. The suit that you helped pick out for one of the most festive days of my life will be used for the saddest. Maybe saying something to you would not have changed things. You could have rejected me, ending our friendship. Had that happened, you would be attending my funeral instead of me yours. But maybe you would have felt the same. And then you could have been here with me instead of in that car with your dad. I don’t know. Nothing could have been different, or everything could have. I don’t know. I never will. I love you, Claire. I haven’t always loved you, but I probably always will. A small part of you will live on inside me, just as I would have lived on in you. I love you. I’ll see you soon.


It was just a normal night for me, eating pizza rolls and catching up to my favorite Youtubers when I finally decided to kill my father. The videos I watched had nothing to do with my resolution. I had been thinking of killing my dad for years. He had always been disappointed in me for not following in his athletic aspirations. To tell the truth, we had absolutely nothing in common. But now I needed money and, while we didn't along, I was the only family my well off dad had left. Surely, I'd inherit something. Plus, it wasn't like I had anything else going on in my life. I had been stagnating for far too long. After all, doesn't everyone need a hobby? While my commitment to murder was sudden, I wasn't going to impulsively fly off the handle and just shoot him. I had to remain free to enjoy whatever spoils I got. Besides, I enjoy mysteries. I thought it would be fun to craft the perfect murder. So, I researched. I found out that some of the hardest crimes to solve were those that started with random impulses. A lot of those do end up being caught because the lack of planning usually leaves lots of evidence behind and perpetrators who are quick to confess. But it's another story if the killer is lucky enough, or plans all along to target random people, and doesn't leave evidence behind. Cops also have trouble distinguishing between copycat killers so I started paying attention to the local news and police blotters. I knew I would also need an airtight alibi. The police would be quick to suspect a family member and I didn't want to get caught just because some dumb cop just assumed it was me and worked backwards from there. To that end, I started streaming videos of me playing games. I made sure to only play older games with absolutely no commentary nor have any over the top reactions to the action on screen. That and the fact I did no advertising kept my viewership practically non-existent. Fine by me. I needed as few variables as possible. I streamed like this for 2 months before fate gave me what I wanted. I read about two very similar murders that happened relatively nearby. Both victims had their back doors broken into. Both had been killed by slit throats with their own kitchen knives. Not a lot of evidence was left and the attacks seemed completely random. This was the best news I'd had in quite some time! Police were still unsure if those cases were connected but I wondered if they'd admit to a potential serial killer if a third body popped up. All I had to do was recreate those scenes but leave no DNA evidence behind. Then, all they would have to go on is the evidence already gathered that wouldn't point in my direction. I made sure a pre-recorded video of me playing games was being streamed as though I were live. That gave me 3 hours to do the deed so I immediately rushed over to my dad's house. Luckily, I rarely went over there so no neighbors would recognize me or my car. My dad was surprised to see me but I told him that I had big, good news. I sat him down in his armchair facing away from the kitchen and then told him I needed a drink to calm my nerves. The fool didn't suspect a thing. I had kept my gloved hands hidden in my hoodie pockets but he didn't notice. I was able to waltz right over to his kitchen knife holder and draw the cleaver. I even put on a hair net to make sure I left no evidence. I was shaking with excitement as I walked back. My gloved hand went over my father's forehead and pulled his head back, exposing the neck. My dad didn't even say a word. He was probably confused but expecting an explanation. Instead, I slid the blade across his neck and cut deeply. I dropped the blade on the floor and spent the rest of my strength on pushing my father's shoulders forward and down. This made him unable to get up and all of that gushing blood flowed away from me. Very quickly, his attempts to get up and to talk stopped and I just stood there until every last drop of blood stopped spurting out. I carefully wound my father's watch so it read 3 hours later and then smashed it with the butt of the knife before dropping it for the last time. Then, I popped outside the back door, only to break in again. I left through the front and locked the door with my own key. Finally, I drove home. The only emotion I felt was smug satisfaction. I made sure to swap out the fake streaming footage with the real deal but this time I apologized to my 1 viewer and promised I would interact with the chat more. And I so for the rest of the night. Especially around the time I had wound my father's watch to. At that time, i made sure to comment on every single thing going on in the chat. The police came the next day. Actually, they came twice. First in the morning to tell me that my father had passed away. And then, 2 detectives came to ask me a hundred follow up questions. I'm not a great actor so I told them the truth, that there was no love lost between my father and I. But before they could speculate further, I showed them the online recordings of my whereabouts. As expected, they were most interested with the times I was the most active. It was like playing chess with someone who only knew checkers. Just to be sure, I 'accidentally' dropped a newspaper to the ground and picked up while pretending to read, as though it were the first time, the article about the other two killings. I wondered out loud if all three murders were connected. This was my one mistake but just a little one. They were immediately suspicious as to why I had a newspaper around, being as young as I was. The truth was so I could look up crimes to copycat without leaving a trail in my computer's search history. But I told them it was a rare purchase, just because I had been nostalgic for the comics. They seemed to buy that but the next day I had another visit. This time from a senior detective that I hadn't seen before. He asked again for my alibi and more information about my dad. When it seemed like we might be done, he suddenly produced a warrant and had a couple uniformed officer's take my computer. Detective Howard Phillip had me sit down in my own armchair in front of him as he explained, "You aren't under arrest. Not yet. But I wouldn't go anywhere if I were you. Just to make sure, those two officers are going to stick around in a car just outside. I know you killed your father." I tried to protest as I rose but he just gave me a hard stare as he raised his hand out and then lowered it slowly. I sat back down in response. He continued, "Coroners are pretty precise these days. Precise enough that we pretty much only listen to them now and don't put much stock in what a smashed watch says." I tried my best to look confused as the detective paced in front of me. He spoke confidently, "My boys are going to pour over every bit of data and we'll figure out exactly what you did to fake the footage. That will be enough for me to come back with handcuffs. You think you're pretty smart, don't you?" I did but I ignored his question and tried to sound just as confident as I asked, "What are you going on about? Did you find new evidence? I promise you that there is no possible way you could link me to the crime scene because I didn-" Detective Howard Phillip interrupted with a loud, strong command, "ENOUGH! I do not like having to play nice with murderers. We'll respect your rights but you are living on borrowed time. You're also right. There isn't a shred of evidence that puts you at the scene of the crime." He turned to me and remained motionless through the rest of his speech. He just stared right into my eyes as he said, "But you messed up when you hypothesized this might be the work of another local killer. When I heard that, that's the exact moment I knew for sure you were the killer. You see, people with a strong motive try to hide their crimes by copying another criminal. It happens enough that we cops look out for that. But it can be hard to prove. Except in your father's case. We quickly ruled out that other killer's involvement and you've been our number one suspect from hour one. You see, we already had fingerprints and hair from the other killer. Yesterday, we finally found whose prints they belonged to. Your father." The detective ranted some more but I didn't hear any more of it. I also didn't move, not even when the cops left. The rest of the day flew by in a blur and I still remained sitting in that chair. Nothing else matters any more. They'll be back tomorrow but I have no intention of leaving alive. In fact, all I'm planning on now is how I can leave them the biggest mess to clean up instead. The worst part of it all is the thought that keeps running through my head. I guess my father and I aren't as different as I thought.


Kyle Douglas is dying faster than most people. His genes are shot and he’s got more cancer in his chest than he’s got lung. Such a shame. When I told him the news he laughed so hard he coughed up blood. Good for him. Whatever he’s got there’s probably no treatment for. I say probably because we have no idea what he’s got. Whatever it is he got from breathing in that corpse dust on Mars. Whenever I go in to up Kyle’s morphine dosage (that’s what we do when there’s nothing left to do), I find myself talking to him about what it was like to be the first man to walk on Mars. He tells me that on Mars the gravity is weaker so it’s less tiring to walk around. The day Kyle fell from the sky was the day the media decided it was going to talk until we evolved to not have vocal cords. What he found on Mars was too good not to milk. The rover images that were transmitted to earth in the days after his return were stunning. Columns of red marble and crumbled statues of alabaster. The statue was of Atlas, or his martian equivalent, holding up the sky. Kyle got invited to speak on just about every single late night talk show in America. The invitations stopped when he started to cough up his lungs. I guess journalists must’ve collectively decided they wanted selective electro shock therapy because, while their coverage of the discoveries from the martian mission has remained consistent, they seem to have forgotten about the man who is dying from some illness we have no recorded cases of. Tourism companies have already started shipping off billionaires to get the privilege of breathing the same dust of the man who is dying from space cancer. The world will remember his discovery but not him for he will be forcefully forgotten because his fate does not align with the interests of those who control information. When Kyle opened the sarcophagus in the Martian Temple he saw himself staring back at him. I guess it makes sense that we would choose Mars. It is man’s nature to return home. A great man told me we were food for worms. A great martian told me we would be food for *Creatis Incelopathys*. That’s what we named the airborne disease Kyle contracted when he breathed the same air as that martian corpse. Don’t bother trying to make sense of the name, we gave something that we have no knowledge of an utterly nonsensical name in the hopes that its nature may reveal itself to us. We still have no clue why the cancer is spreading so quickly. I must remember to short the stocks of the businesses owned by the billionaires traveling to Mars to smoke the ground up bone marrow of their ancestors. Kyle tells me that he thinks he’s seen what happens next. That is to say, next after dying. He tells me he’s going to a world without pain or lies. I tell him that the morphine is causing him to hallucinate. I’ve already been forced to sign a non disclosure agreement by about twenty different corporations who funded the mission. “His body is ours and so is his fate.” they tell me. I suppose that’s appropriate, most of his cells are now infected by some disease they inadvertently caused him to get. When he’s lucid, I ask him who he sees when he sees what’s next. He tells me he sees his long dead love. I tell him she’s food for *Creatis Incelopathys.* He laughs.


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


Hundreds of beasts scurry throughout the ruined city of Colosia, the remanence of a battle over the rights of the sentient. Their base of operations all but destroyed, four soldiers shuffle between buildings working their way out of the heart of the city. Electronic warfare is keeping all long distance communication silent. What’s left of the squad is in search of a way off the lost planet. The Acers are a motivated mercenary company contracted out by generals of Dynamus whom they sympathise with. They believe grit should not be reaped from sentient life as they are sure its destroying the very soul of those reaped. The Astras empire on the other hand has no problem dissolving their slaves and prisoners into grit. This difference in values of life is what is fueling the war. Grit is a multidimensional particle that has just been discovered in the last two hundred years, and its capability of opening portals to hyperspace has had its value skyrocket. Combining powerful navigation computers with the ability to enter hyperspace allows travel to anywhere in the galaxy in short order. It’s collected by using a high frequency energy that breaks up the living or recently living tissue and releases grit which is collected by a specially designed negatively charged container. It didn’t take long for grit to become a standard currency which is used across the galaxy. “You really think the elevator is still functioning?” Rob asked his superior, referring the the space elevator a few dozen kilometers outside the city. “Has to be. It’s our only way off this grave yard. Just hope its still under Dynamus control” Luke said holding up a closed fist, signaling to his unit to stop. At the end of the alley is the growling of two wyrm hounds fighting over some garbage. The hounds were the remnants of monsters summoned by Astras to take down the city. “Hey!” Luke belted out not too loudly. It got their attention and they charged the soldiers. They bounded taking long strides and moved quite fast. The sound of the weapons were suppressed, made little noise, and short work of the animals. They bled green and didn’t smell so good. “We’ve only seen wyrms and traps set by Astras, do you think any of the army is still here?” Rob quizzed again. “Hard to say. There’s not much left to fight over. Those that weren’t captured and reaped managed to get at least out of the city, if not off the planet.” Doug chimed in. He was the units designated marksmen. The planets sun began to creep up casting long shadows and golden light down the streets. Taking full caution, the unit moved corner to corner keeping an eye out for traps and monsters. One at a time they switched off their night-vision. Their standard issue PR-330 light armor had kept them warm throughout the night. “Take five.” Luke allowed, walking into an abandoned restaurant. “Ammo checks and bio breaks.” Terra swung her backpack off and started counting magazines. “We’ve got plenty to go around yet. Two dozen clips and a half dozen nano patches. Not including your belts.” Terra is the engineer and pack rat for the squad. “How much farther?” “Your full of questions today” Terra smirked at Rob. “Well i-“ He stopped, crouching down and raising his weapon towards the window. The sound of heavy metallic footsteps drummed outside. “Ours??” he whispered. Terra pulled a heavy grenade from the backpack and passed it up to Doug who was closest to the window. The large bipedal machine thumped and than screeched dragging one of its feet, apparently damaged. Once it came into full view In front of the building the soldiers sighed. “It’s an FR-1080, one of ours…” Doug laughed and stood up. A second later machine gun fire lit up the robot from down the street and an anti tank round ripped through the biped and white hot metal erupted from the wound, it stopped in its tracks and fell to the ground face first. “Get me eyes on!” belted out Luke. Rob pulled a sphere off his belt and tossed it out into the street. It’s a drone for locating enemy targets. It gave a visual readout onto each squad members digital face shield, showing the pinged targets location. “Okay, out the back. Rob, Terra.” He commanded. “Get ready to flank.” They bolted out the back door of the restaurant and into the alley way. Their readout showed a dozen enemy soldiers in the street on the other side of the building. Rob and Terra moved up a half block in the alley to get behind their foe. In the meantime, Luke and Doug posted up behind the little cover they could find and waited for the enemy to come check out the robot that was taken out. It didn’t appear that any of Luke’s squad had been detected yet. The robot slayers moved from cover and began to cautiously approach the downed machine. This was all shown by the drone in the street. Terra and Rob got into position and raised their weapons to engage the enemy from behind. They opened fire. Two of the foes got tore up by the metal slugs thrown from the Acers weapons and fell to the ground. One more fell when running into view of Doug and Luke. A blue bubble, crackling with energy formed over the remaining soldiers in the street as they ran for cover. Rounds from the four man squad were stopped by the blue bubble. “They have a starmancer.” Rob spoke loudly over the short range radio, referring to a magic user in the enemy unit. “You think?” Terra growled back pumping another round into the chamber of her weapon. “Doug!” shouted Luke. “Yup!” He replied arming his hand grenade, it beeped once to audibly confirm it was armed and he tossed it to intercept the enemy. A fantastic explosion and the smoke cleared revealing all targets were eliminated. “Clear!?” yelled Terra. “Clear” Responded Luke. “What the hell? I thought it was just the hounds left.” Spoke Rob. “They were probably in the same boat as us. Left behind for bigger things.” Replied Doug. “Check the walker for a pilot” Luke pointed to the downed machine. Rob quickly climbed up to its hatch and knocked on the locked door with the butt of his rifle. “Anything?” Rob replied “Don’t think so, doesn’t look like anybody is home. Could have been unmanned maybe?” “Maybe.” Luke spoke. “Let’s get going. Another kilometer to the suburbs and twenty passed that to the elevator.” The party looked over their fallen foes for anything useful but found nothing they needed. So they piled up what was left and destroyed it with an explosive charge. The Acers marched on.